"I'm clearing tomorrow afternoon." In the office, that was all he said.
The Ice Grand Duke had cleared half a day from his schedule. On its own, that was simple: flip through the planner as usual, say "Understood," and be done with it. By rights, there was no reason whatsoever to lose sleep over a superior's scheduling.
And yet, that night, she couldn't sleep.
Lack of sleep dulls one's judgment. Sleep is the top priority of labor management. Three times Rosalind reminded herself of this, and three times, her eyes opened again.
One reason was the note.
She took out the slip she had received in the office from the front of her nightgown.
I'm proud of the future you chose not to take.
One short line. No matter how many times she read it, it said the same thing. And yet she couldn't shake the feeling that, behind it, another meaning lay folded up.
—My imagination. Go to sleep. That is an advisor's duty.
She pushed the note under her pillow and closed her eyes.
...And, eyes still closed, opened them again.
The other reason was this: that Grand Duke had cleared his schedule for the first time in his life.
A man who left no gaps in his work. A man who moved his schedule for no one. And of all things, he had set aside half a day for her alone.
He was trying to say something today. He started to, and swallowed it. I saw his lips move. I know I did.
There was a soft rustle of a feeling, as if someone had laid a single sheet of paper over her heart, and it did not lift until morning.
The snow was still falling.
The next morning.
When she opened the office door, black tea and a baked sweet sat at the edge of the desk, as always.
No note.
Rosalind's shoulders relaxed, just a little.
—Thank goodness. An ordinary morning.
The thought lasted only a moment.
"Advisor Rosalind."
It wasn't Lucas who came in, but his aide, Sir Dieter. The man known as a taciturn master of the sword paused in the doorway for a beat, unusually, and cleared his throat once.
"A message from His Grace."
"Yes?"
"'Today, you won't need ledgers or a pen.' That is all His Grace said."
Rosalind stopped her hand halfway to her pen.
"...So it isn't a meeting."
It was shaped like a question, but half of it was confirmation for herself. The weight of the note that had rested on her heart since last night seemed to know the answer already.
"It is not a meeting."
"Nor an inspection, nor an envoy reception."
"No."
Sir Dieter shook his head. He offered no further explanation, only turned his gaze away from Rosalind, ever so slightly.
In all his long years of service, the master swordsman had never once seen His Grace wear a face like this. That bewilderment sat quietly on the man's shoulders.
Rosalind stared at the tip of her pen for a while.
—Clearing working hours for something that isn't work?
Within a few seconds, Rosalind landed on a conclusion. Not work, but one-on-one time with her superior. Ah, of course. A meeting about her future career. Renewal of her advisory contract, or a discussion of her terms going forward.
"...A consultation about my future career, then. Is that it?"
Sir Dieter neither confirmed nor denied it.
His back seemed to stiffen, just slightly.
Rosalind didn't notice.
Afternoon.
Lucas was not in the office.
Instead, Sir Dieter led her deep into the east wing of the castle, to a corridor Rosalind had never once set foot in. The ceiling was high, and a thin film of ice clung to the windows. Winter light cast long shadows across the marble floor.
Rosalind kept her stride even, conscious of the sound of her heels.
—Under operational protocol, entry into unvisited areas required prior application, if I recall—
She started to think it, then stopped. Today, her mind refused to run in that kind of order.
At the end of the corridor, a single door stood half open.
Sir Dieter stopped just short of it and bowed deeply.
"He is waiting for you inside."
With that, he went back the way they had come.
From within came only the faint crackle of burning firewood.
She steadied her breath and put her hand on the knob.
The room was much smaller than she had expected. Bookshelves, a desk, a fireplace, and two chairs.
And Lucas, standing by the window.
Not in formal dress for official duties, but in a simple black shirt with a coat thrown over it. Even the sword belt he usually wore over his shoulder was absent today.
Noticing Rosalind come in, he lifted his eyes from the window.
"You came."
"What is the matter at hand?"
Lucas seemed to smile, a little.
"Asking for the conclusion first. That's just like you."
Rosalind remained standing by the door and tilted her head slightly.
"Your Grace, under the terms of my contract, summoning me outside working hours requires that you clearly state the business purpose—"
"Right."
Lucas nodded and indicated one of the chairs before the fire.
"Sit down. This isn't work."
Rosalind repeated those three words, this isn't work, under her breath.
—...He said it outright. This isn't work.
Not labor management. Not a meeting. Not an inspection.
—Then this is... a career consultation after all? No. A career consultation would also count as "work," properly speaking. And yet he clearly said, "This isn't work."
For the first time in a long while, the corporate-slave office worker Ritsuko Tanaka in her head wore the face of someone who couldn't find the relevant file in the drawer.
"...Your Grace."
"Lucas is fine. Today."
"Pardon?"
"Today."
The second "today" was just slightly lower.
Rosalind slowly lowered herself into the chair.
"...Lord Lucas."
When she brought the formality down a step, she saw the line of his shoulders loosen, ever so slightly.
Then he turned his gaze to the fireplace.
The fire gave a sharp crackle.
"Would you mind if I told you about something from three years before you came here?"
—What? Rosalind thought.
Three years ago. A party hosted by the Crown Prince of Albert. In a corner of the reception hall, spoken to by no one, standing by the wall reading a book on economics: herself.
A hazy fragment of memory brushed past the edge of her mind.
Come to think of it, back then, someone had come to stand beside her?
Without looking at Rosalind, his eyes still on the fire, Lucas continued.
"It's a long story."
"...Yes."
"And you'll probably be surprised."
Rosalind gently folded her hands together in her lap.
In the front of her nightgown—no, her dress—last night's note was no longer tucked away. And yet the sensation remained, as though someone's fingertip were pressing softly on the very deepest part of her heart.
Beyond the window, the snow kept falling, soft and silent.
Lucas slowly drew a breath.
There had, in truth, been words he'd started to say last night and swallowed. Only their shadow still lingered, left behind beside the fire.
There was the sound of a mask coming off.