Chapter 20
The baron and baroness didn’t confine Irene to the house entirely. She often took walks near their home or walked to the market on her own. Still, she never formed any close relationships. Neighbors pretended not to see her, and strangers remained indifferent. Irene was always like an isolated island, a ghost wherever she went. That’s why she sat in the attic, reading books. It was the one space where she could truly exist.
Maybe her colleague was right: when someone said to meet at 2 o’clock, they meant 3 o’clock. Still, Irene preferred exact times. Ambiguity made her anxious, and anxiety led to fear. For this reason, she appreciated Divoa’s punctuality in sending the coachman.
“Good.” Irene glanced around her room one last time and grabbed her bag. Perhaps the coachman also appreciated prompt people. She didn’t want to keep him waiting long or leave a bad impression. Holding her bags in both hands, Irene left the dormitory.
Just then, a large shadow blocked her way.
“Excuse me… Oh, it’s you, the Iron Wall. Where are you off to?”
It was a shaggy jellyfish of a man. He hadn’t shaved in days, and his stubble was so thick he seemed ready to wriggle away like a hairy tentacle. What was he doing in the women’s dormitory?
The women’s dorm was off-limits to men, and the dorm manager was strict about enforcing this rule. Any man caught sneaking in was expelled immediately.
Sensing Irene’s silent question, On casually waved a document in his hand.
“I had to deliver this to the dorm manager.”
Irene nodded but realized she hadn’t yet answered his question. Remembering it was impolite, she spoke calmly.
“I have to move out by the end of this week.”
“Oh, right, but I thought you’d be the last to leave. You usually don’t go home during breaks.”
One looked sheepish, realizing he’d said too much. He rubbed his nose awkwardly, and Irene instinctively took a step back, worried he might try to shake hands. Luckily, she had gloves on.
“Anyway, where are you going? Oh, your family lives here in Therapia, right?”
On’s curiosity, as abundant as his facial hair, wasn’t easily quelled. If only he put as much energy into studying, he might’ve graduated at the top of the class. Irene glanced over his shoulder. The coachman was waiting by the carriage, watching her. She didn’t want to keep him waiting any longer.
“I’m going to Norte.”
“What? Norte?” On’s eyes widened in surprise. Irene quickly explained.
“Norte is in the far north of the Divore Kingdom, but it’s supposed to be warmer than Therapia. Or so the Archduke says. That’s his personal opinion, of course.”
“That’s not what I meant… You’re going to Norte? Why?”
“I’ve been appointed as Archduke Cassis’s physician.”
Irene ended the conversation and started walking. The coachman approached and took her luggage before she could refuse.
“Let me take that for you.”
Before Irene could respond, the coachman had her bags. Startled, she froze for a moment, but the man’s movements were practiced and careful. He didn’t so much as brush against her as he loaded the luggage into the carriage.
“Thank you,” Irene said with a slight nod.
“You’re welcome, miss.”
The coachman smiled warmly, but the unfamiliar title caught Irene off guard. No one had ever called her “miss” before, not even the servants at home. They referred to her vaguely as “her” or “you.” “Miss” was always reserved for Leticia.
Unable to reply, Irene hesitated before climbing into the carriage.
“We’ll be departing, miss.” The coachman closed the door respectfully.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed behind her. Glancing back, she saw a familiar figure running—On. Irene frowned slightly. Didn’t he say he had documents to deliver? Yet he was running off in the opposite direction. Maybe it was urgent? Or perhaps he just needed the bathroom.
The carriage rolled through the tree-lined campus, gradually picking up speed. Irene gazed out at the scenery she’d grown familiar with over four years. Would she ever come back? Maybe, maybe not.
Her thoughts were interrupted when the coachman leaned out and called her.
“Miss Rios, someone’s following us. Do you know them?”
Irene turned and looked out the rear window. Her eyes widened slightly. It was Maxi, the boastful sea anemone of a man, running after the carriage. His furrowed brow and clenched jaw made him look angry—or maybe anxious.
Was something urgent? Irene recalled On’s panicked dash earlier but saw no signs of commotion around her.
“I don’t think it’s about me. Maybe there’s a fire or something. You can keep going,” she said to the coachman.
“Yes, miss.”
The coachman urged the horses on, and the carriage quickly gained speed. Irene returned to gazing indifferently at the passing scenery.
But then…
“Irene!”
A voice faintly called her name through the wind. It must’ve been her imagination. After all, no one ever called her name here.
“What did you just say?”
The sharp question didn’t come from Baron Rios or the baroness. It was Leticia, who shot up from her seat, glaring at Irene. Back home to pack her belongings, Irene hadn’t even stepped into her room yet.
Standing in the middle of the living room, Irene stared blankly at Leticia.
“I said I’m here to pack my things.”
“That’s not what I meant…!” Leticia began yelling but stopped herself, taking a deep breath to regain composure. Her voice turned icy and mocking.
“Of course, you’d need it spelled out. What I mean is, why are you packing your things?”
“Because I’m leaving Therapia.”
“…!”
Leticia’s fists trembled with rage. Irene always answered questions with frustrating brevity, as if testing her patience. Grinding her teeth, Leticia spat her next question, her voice laced with menace.
“Why are you leaving Therapia?”
“Because I’m moving to Norte.”
“Why are you moving to Norte?”
“Because I got a job.”
“Where did you get a job?”
“I’ve been appointed as Arch-duke physician.”
It took four tries, but Leticia finally got the answer she wanted. However, her patience had run dry. She screamed, her voice raw with anger.
“And why, of all people, would someone like you get to be the Archduke’s physician? Didn’t I tell you not to even dream about it?”
Her words weren’t questions—they were accusations. But such remarks had long since lost their sting for Irene. She was too used to them.
Unfazed, Irene replied calmly.
“The Arch-duke offered terms as good as those of Mr. Flitch, his current physician. I agreed, and he even included special conditions in the contract. He’s a generous employer.”
Leticia’s lips quivered, but no words came out.
This was what she hated most about Irene: her unshakable composure, as if nothing ever affected her. Every arrow of anger Leticia hurled at her seemed to bounce off harmlessly, leaving Leticia looking like the only fool.
“Letty,” the baroness said softly, her voice full of concern.
But Leticia ignored her mother. Words she hadn’t meant to say spilled out.
“Someone as ugly and shabby as you, becoming the Archduke’s physician? Ridiculous. Do you even know how important that position is? And yet you—” Leticia’s voice cracked with scorn. “You think graduating from medical school makes you something special? No. You’re the same as ever—a nuisance and a hopeless case.”
