Chapter 72
The Distance Between Their Lips
Celestian, who had been quietly nestled in Daphne’s arms, was now the one holding her.
His hand placement is…
Because she was wearing thin pajamas, she could feel everything—the firm strength of Celestian’s arms wrapped around her back and his large, warm hand resting gently against her side, right where she had been shot.
Feeling strangely self-conscious about the position, she tried to glance down at where his hand was, but his other arm blocked her view.
She wriggled slightly, placing her hands against his chest, attempting to push him away with whatever strength she could muster. But each time she tried, Celestian only tightened his grip further.
Under her palm, she could feel the unfamiliar ridges of his muscles, and she unconsciously clenched her fist. He held onto her as if he had no intention of ever letting go, keeping her completely locked in his embrace.
Even though she had only been in his arms for a short moment, the chill that had been running through her body disappeared instantly.
Their combined warmth was making everything feel hotter.
Their chests were so close that she could feel his heartbeat, syncing with the rhythm of her own, through both her palm and the space between them.
By all accounts, he was an asshole—grabbing her without permission, cutting her off mid-sentence. But despite that, Daphne didn’t feel bad.
“…Ah, right. You said you didn’t like it when I spoke like this.”
Celestian, half-asleep, seemed to assume her silence was because of his tone. His voice was thick with drowsiness, yet still somehow elegant. Daphne swallowed hard.
When she still didn’t respond, he murmured again.
“But what should I do? You were sick somewhere I wasn’t, without my permission….”
His mumbled words stabbed at her heart.
His eyelids fluttered slowly before he let them drift shut completely. Soon, she could feel his soft breaths against the top of her head.
Now that sleep had loosened his grip slightly, Daphne managed to shift just enough to properly see his face.
His arms were still wrapped warmly around her back and waist, but she didn’t push him away. That warmth was something she needed right now.
He’s… really handsome.
Daphne naturally began studying his features, piece by piece.
Her gaze finally landed on his red lips—lips that, for some reason, looked delicious.
…Huh?
She abruptly turned her head, staring up at the checkered ceiling.
Something had definitely crossed her mind just now, but it was too embarrassing—too ridiculous—to dwell on. A small, incredulous laugh escaped her lips.
The steady sound of Celestian’s breathing, the ticking of a clock somewhere in the room—everything felt stretched out, drawing her into a slow lull.
She blinked sluggishly.
I can’t fall asleep. I should at least cut off one of his hands—no, wait…
It was warm.
And she was sleepy.
Even though he refused to let her go, the pressure of his hold gave Daphne an odd sense of comfort.
It almost felt as if all the chaos of the past few days had quieted down into nothing.
It’s just the medicine.
Blaming the drowsiness on the lingering effects of her medication, Daphne willingly let herself lose this battle.
*****
“Lady, there’s a gladiator match at the royal palace tonight—”
Kisha strode boldly into the glass greenhouse, one side of his face covered with his hand. But after taking just a few steps, he froze in place.
“Well, well.”
He dropped his hand and clicked his tongue in disapproval. His eyes swept over the scene before him: the young lady in white pajamas, wrapped tightly in the arms of a golden-haired man. His expression could not have been more disdainful.
The first to wake at the sound of movement was Daphne.
“Kisha?”
“Yes, it’s me, Lady.”
“Why are you just standing there? Sit down—”
“Hmm. You two seem quite cozy.”
Ignoring her invitation, Kisha continued pacing around, clearly making a point of being a nuisance. Daphne felt the urge to crumple up a handkerchief and throw it at him. Unfortunately, trapped within Celestian’s arms, she had limited mobility.
“Lady, do you have no pride? No self-respect?”
“I never had any to begin with.”
“So as long as he’s handsome, you’ll forgive him?”
“…I never said I forgave him.”
Kisha’s sharp eyes narrowed. He studied the two—practically glued together—looking every bit like an affectionate couple.
“Lady, you’re not the type to go soft like this. Weren’t you cursing him out for days on end? How are you managing to sleep while hugging your enemy?”
“He smells nice.”
“…What the hell are you saying?”
Only a few days ago, she had been grinding her teeth, muttering that she’d use his head as a replacement, or that she’d cut off his limbs and make him write a confession in his own blood.
But now? Now, she was complimenting him?
Still squinting, Kisha pulled a dagger from the sheath at his waist.
“Lady, it’s time to cut off his limbs as a warning. You said yourself—no exceptions, even if he’s April’s father.”
“April?”
“His first daughter’s name.”
“Oh, for god’s sake. Stop joking around and go away.”
Daphne waved a hand dismissively, trying to shoo him off—only for Kisha to grab her wrist. She blinked in surprise and looked up at his face.
His head was turned slightly to the side, as if he were hesitating.
“Alright, joke’s over. But you really don’t have time for this. Your family is calling you for dinner.”
Daphne thought of Marius and Amber. Immediately, she felt suffocated. A family that desperately needed real conversation.
“Tell them I’m sick.”
“I already did. But they asked how long you’re planning to use that excuse.”
“Who asked?”
Instead of answering, Kisha grabbed her arm and yanked.
However, Celestian’s hold on her waist didn’t loosen, making it feel as if her arm was about to be torn off.
“Hey, hey, Kisha—my arm’s going to rip off!”
“It’s His Grace’s fault for holding onto you like you’re a piece of seaweed. Let go of her, will you?”
After a brief struggle, Kisha finally managed to pry Daphne out of Celestian’s embrace, as if rescuing her from drowning. He steadied her on her feet and dusted off her hair with a few firm pats.
“…What happened to your face?”
“Oh, this?”
Daphne’s senses snapped into focus.
Now that she got a proper look at Kisha’s face, it was a mess. A deep bruise ran from his left temple down to his cheek, and a long, swollen scratch marked his skin.
As she examined him, Kisha winced, blinking rapidly, as if his eye was irritated.
Daphne clenched her teeth. Her mother’s rage had clearly been misdirected.
“For someone whose only asset is his face…”
“I have a body too, you know.”
“Was it my mother?”
“No, I got scratched fighting Misha.”
Daphne remained expressionless—she didn’t believe his bullshit for a second.
Still staring at his injuries, she assessed what kind of object had inflicted them.
“Ashtray, or a slap?”
She ground her molars.
“Both. So, uh… I don’t think I can fight tonight. Got some ash in my eye, and it keeps stinging.”
Daphne sucked in a sharp breath.
“Does it hurt?”
“Narid rinsed it out with saline right away. I’ll be fine.”
Kisha never exaggerated his pain—not when it was real. And he especially hated using Secradion’s medicine.
“There’s plenty of ointment in Narid’s room. Go take one and use it.”
“Knights consider facial scars as marks of honor.”
“Shut up. You’re still the Serenade Young Master—go file a lawsuit against Amber Green.”
“Like you said, there’s no point fighting a battle you know you’ll lose.”
Daphne exhaled sharply, then grabbed both of Kisha’s arms and sat him down on the couch.
She even lifted Celestian’s limp arm and draped it around Kisha’s waist.
“Stay here instead of me.”
“…What? Are you going alone? I’ll go with you.”
His gray eyes widened in alarm, looking up at her.
That poor face.
Seeing Kisha’s already-swelling injury made Daphne’s anger flare again.
“You don’t know what might happen to you.”
“I doubt my mother would hit me—my face is too valuable. Besides, His Grace apparently doesn’t like waking up alone, so take care of him. That’s an order.”
“…Excuse me?”
Daphne didn’t answer.
Instead, she turned on her heel, raked a hand through her bangs, and dusted off her white dress. With confidence, she strode toward the greenhouse doors, flinging them open.
Waiting for her outside was Misha, looking pale as a ghost.
“Amber Green. A villainess of the past era, through and through.”
As she stepped forward, she cast one last look back at the greenhouse.
Being held so tightly had been warm. Warm enough to make all the frustration and resentment fade from memory.
Even the lingering illness that had clung to her for days felt like it had disappeared.
“She really won’t let me be happy, huh?”
Despite the season’s warmth, a peculiar chill wrapped around Daphne as she walked alone back to her room.
****
The capital’s grand restaurant was dimly lit by golden candelabras. The smooth crooning of a swing jazz singer filled the air, adding to the elegant atmosphere.
The dining hall was filled with high-ranking nobles, all engaged in lively conversation over their meals.
All except for this table.
From the outside, the scene looked refined. Up close, however, it felt as if the devil himself might be summoned at any moment.
Amber had undoubtedly seen the recent reports causing an uproar in the kingdom.
“A busy woman like her wouldn’t come home just because her husband’s back.”
Amber only returned to the capital twice a month, at most. The fact that she was here tonight meant only one thing—she came to cause trouble.
Daphne had already heard the story from her maids—how Kisha had been welcomed with a flying ashtray.
“She wrecked Kisha’s face and still has the nerve to be here?”
Dressed to the nines in Amber’s preferred style, Daphne already looked exhausted.
“We look like total strangers.”
It had taken her over an hour to prepare—add in the time it took to arrive, and it had been nearly three hours.
During all that time, her parents, bound by a loveless marriage, had probably sat here in complete silence, locked in a battle of wills with their untouched appetizers.
Her head ached at the thought.
“Daphne.”
Even Marius seemed fed up with the silence, as he finally spoke first.
“Yes, Father.”
“You’re feeling better? I’m sorry for calling you out when you should be resting.”
“No need to apologize. Thanks to this, I avoided an ashtray to the face.”
Daphne smiled lightly.
“Mother, how was your trip? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”
Amber’s golden eyes finally flicked toward her. Twice as cold as usual. Twice as intense.
Daphne only smiled wider.
“Daphne.”
“Yes?”
“Get rid of that trash in your stomach.”
The moment Amber’s words fell, the sharp crash of shattering glass echoed through the room.
Daphne furrowed her brows—then let out a quiet laugh.
