Chapter 22
Irene grew to like the coachman more and more. He was a man who understood personal boundaries and never invaded others’ space without permission. Thanks to him, she didn’t have to flinch back in surprise or apologize to annoyed people.
With a neutral expression, Irene nodded slightly to the coachman before starting to walk. Before she realized it, Divoa was walking beside her.
“…”
Irene didn’t show it, but she was puzzled. She was surprised to find that, despite Divoa’s much longer legs, his pace was slower than expected.
The station was empty. Irene felt anxious, wondering if they were late. But Divoa showed no intention of rushing.
When they reached the platform, Irene finally understood his calmness. A steam locomotive, fully prepared to depart, was waiting for them, releasing white steam into the air.
An attendant holding a flag bowed to Divoa.
“This way, sir.”
The door to the front car was already open. Divoa seemed completely unconcerned about making dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people wait for him. Or rather, he acted as if it was only natural.
Chhhiiiik.
A loud hissing sound, like the roar of a beast, struck Irene’s skin. Her body buzzed from the vibration. Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks.
The scene felt unfamiliar, yet oddly familiar. It was as if she had seen it all before.
“…”
The deafening noise, the clouds of steam rising high, the bustling people—
And then she remembered. It was the day she came to Therapia. Irene’s eyes wandered as she cautiously retraced a moment from her past.
The first time she had ever ridden a steam locomotive. Her frantic steps to avoid losing sight of Baron Rios. The smell of death lingered around young Irene.
Her frightened eyes darted about, but Baron Rios wasn’t the kind of man who cared enough to notice a little girl’s distress. She had to half-run just to keep up with him.
The moment she first met Baron Rios, who had come to the orphanage to fetch her, Irene sensed that life with him wouldn’t be easy.
Still, she followed him without hesitation. That’s how desperate she was.
At the orphanage, too many people knew her, and too many remembered the horrible incident that had happened to her.
—Oh my, is that her?
—Child, are you…?
—…
—She hasn’t spoken a single word in over six months. Not one! And she never cries for her parents either. Isn’t that strange?
—Well, considering what she went through… Poor thing.
Don’t think about it. Don’t remember it.
When no footsteps followed her, Divoa stopped and turned around. His eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed her frozen expression.
Irene’s face was unusually pale, even for someone who rarely showed emotion. Her jaw was clenched tight, veins standing out on her neck, and her hands were trembling white-knuckled.
Divoa’s gaze swept over her slowly, and a certain memory flickered in his mind. In a casual tone, he asked,
“Is this your first time on a steam locomotive?”
“…”
“I don’t know how many accidents happen with steamtrains each year, but I’ve never been in one myself. And contrary to rumors, they’re not man-eating monsters. They’re just a way to transport people and goods. Nothing to fear.”
“I’ve… ridden one before,” Irene said, her voice so faint it barely reached him.
Divoa raised an eyebrow.
“What did you say?”
With a calm expression, Irene replied,
“I’ve ridden one. Only once.”
“…”
“Steam locomotive accidents are surprisingly rare. Most are just delays caused by landslides or operational issues. Fatal accidents usually involve people crossing the tracks despite seeing an oncoming train. So as long as you don’t jump in front of one, there’s nothing to worry about.”
With that, Irene resumed walking. Despite her matter-of-fact tone, her pale face still lacked color, and her tightly clenched jaw betrayed her tension.
Yet, she continued moving forward without wavering. Unlike other young ladies, she didn’t stumble or ask Divoa for support.
That made her seem even more precarious—like someone standing in front of an oncoming train.
Divoa followed a step behind, unable to take his eyes off her. He was too concerned to even glance away, fearing she might collapse the moment he did.
But Irene managed to board and settle into her seat without his help. She faced it all with quiet determination.
Standing by the door, Divoa looked around the first-class cabin.
“This room has been prepared for you. I hope you’ll be comfortable until we reach our destination.”
“Yes,” Irene replied with a nod.
Even though his duty was complete, Divoa hesitated to leave. He didn’t know why.
After lingering for a moment, he finally added,
“My room is next door. If you’d like to talk or need anything, don’t hesitate to knock.”
“Yes.” Irene nodded again.
But Divoa doubted she’d knock on his door until they arrived in Norte.
As he turned to leave, he sighed softly.
“If you need anything, just ring the bell beside the chair. The attendant will come immediately.”
“Yes.”
Turning her head, Irene gazed out the window instead of at the bell. The beastly train began to move, its growl reverberating through the air. The scenery outside started to retreat, step by step.
That day had been the same. Leaving that place, Irene had stared fearfully at the receding landscape, uncertain where the train was taking her. She prayed it would be to a place where no one knew her, where no one could ever find her.
Divoa lingered in the doorway, watching Irene’s pale profile, as cold and fragile as snow on a winter morning.
“…I wish you a pleasant journey, Miss Irene,” he said softly.
After a moment, Divoa closed the door and walked away. But Irene’s gaze stayed fixed in place as if nailed there.
The steam locomotive gradually slowed and finally stopped. This was the last station on the route. By now, the other cars were empty.
The journey from Therapia to Norte had not been a short one, and Irene hadn’t left her room for days.
Though Divoa had told her she could knock on his door anytime, she never did. Instead, it was Divoa who knocked on her door occasionally, unable to ignore his concern for her pale and worn expression.
His excuses were often flimsy:
—Would you care to join me for tea? I happen to have a good blend.
—Good morning. Did you sleep well?
—Eating alone can be dull. Would you have dinner with me tonight?
Each time, Irene either shook her head or nodded silently. Thankfully, as they neared Norte, her nods became more frequent than her refusals.
Norte.
To Irene, it was an unknown land. A place where no one knew her. Not the baron and his wife, nor Lucas or Leticia.
The staff busily unloaded their luggage, and only then did Divoa rise. He had no reason to rush; it was natural for others to wait for him.
Irene was already standing by her door. Divoa, having disembarked first, held out his hand to her, wearing a flawless smile.
“…”
Irene stared at his hand without taking it. Did he think she couldn’t manage such a small step on her own? She had boarded the train alone, after all.
Divoa didn’t withdraw his hand or lose his smile, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Behind him, Javier, the station attendants, and a few staff members watched the two from a distance.
Finally, Irene broke the silence.
“I can manage on my own.”
“I can’t,” Divoa replied.
“…”
She remembered that he had said the same thing when he sent the carriage for her. Even though she insisted she was fine, Divoa seemed to have his reasons for not being fine.
Still, during her four years at university, Irene had learned one thing: The higher one’s social status, the more self-centered they were.
The third son of the Rosano family, for instance, was a prime example. He’d throw tantrums, sulk, and then act as if nothing had happened.
From her experience, their behavior stemmed from being spoiled and pampered their entire lives, a habit that followed them even to school.
If a mere count’s son could behave that way, then how much more self-centered must Divoa, a grand duke, and the third prince, be?
With a playful squint, Divoa added,
“Consider my social reputation and standing, if you’d be so kind.”
Ah.
Finally, Irene understood. Divoa wasn’t being self-centered; he was conscious of how others perceived him.
Her gaze shifted to the people behind him—station attendants and staff who were still watching them.
For someone like Divoa, it seemed that not offering his hand to assist a lady might invite gossip.
Irene, used to being the subject of rumors, could hardly care. But she supposed that wasn’t the case for Divoa.
