Chapter 22

Sylvia’s expectations were completely off the mark.

The Grand Duke was deeply interested in her.

It was obvious just from how he had returned to his old self, with that dry gaze, ever since she disappeared.

He might stubbornly deny it with words, but…

Sir Jayden, who knew this well, had been watching her movements closely.

Lately, even he had noticed her occasionally coming and going from the kitchen.

And today, she had taken over a spot right in the center of it.

“Lady Sylvia,” he said.

Unlike his recent distracted self, the Grand Duke showed immediate interest.

“Today, she went straight into the kitchen and seems to be baking financiers herself.”

Kallain had heard as much a few days ago—that Sylvia had been visiting the kitchen.

He could still see the look in her eyes when she asked for one more chance.

‘She’s probably making food for me.’

What could she possibly make with those hands that didn’t seem to have touched a single pot before?

Still, he was curious. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of taste food made by those pale, delicate hands might have.

Well, it wouldn’t be a mystery for long anyway.

She was clearly making it for him.

Even after being driven out so harshly—does she not realize how it looks, coming back holding something like that?

Should he at least say her heart is in the right place? Or should he laugh at how pathetic it seems?

It was almost ridiculous to think she’d try to apologize with food to someone who’d told her to prove her worth.

What was he supposed to do if she was really trying to apologize with such a ridiculous move?

Should he just pretend to give in and accept it? Or punish her further for hiding such darkness inside?

Or should he throw her out of the Grand Duke’s estate for the crime of stirring up his emotions without permission?

His heart, which had just barely settled in the past few days, felt like it was starting to shake again.
Damn it all.

Just then, loud cheers and applause erupted outside from the knights.

When he looked out the window, his eyes captured an unbelievable scene.

It was her again.

She was far away, but there was no mistaking it.

Among a group of burly men clad in black, a woman stood out, holding a large basket.

Even though she was just wearing a plain dress.

‘Why is she there again?’

He tried to look away, but his gaze wouldn’t budge.

Jayden, who had quietly approached, followed his master’s gaze out the window.

The Grand Duke, focused on the scene outside, didn’t even realize Jayden’s eyes were on him.

He was pretending not to care, but the way he looked—it reminded Jayden exactly of how his lord used to be when he was younger.

From an abandoned prince to the master of Detroit—those lost expressions had only just started to resurface on his face not long ago.

And the spark that had ignited that change was now gracefully moving in the distance.

“Your Grace,” Jayden said.

Only then did Kallain’s gaze slowly return.

His face was blank, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just spotted Lady Sylvia.
As always.

Count Jayden also spoke innocently.

“Seems like she didn’t make it for Your Grace after all.”

Kallain’s face instantly twisted, losing its composure.

A rare sight indeed.
He always had the same calm expression, whether slaying beasts or even cutting down men—as if he were just taking a walk.

The woman who stirred all those changes was, in a way, remarkable.

Jayden felt both anxious and amused by it all.
As with all change.

“It’s a shame. The sweet smell was delightful.”

The side profile of the Grand Duke, now furrowed in silence, was a sight to behold.

And the fact that Jayden was the only one, not just in the estate but in the whole empire, who could tease him this way—it was rather amusing.

“She probably made something inedible anyway.”

But contrary to his words, the Grand Duke flipped through the papers with irritation in his large hand.

“She was eagerly learning from Chef John. Asking about oven temperatures, stirring it for hours with care, and so on.”

A hairline crack appeared on the Grand Duke’s expression.

“She said, ‘How about adding a heart this time?’ What kind of person puts a heart shape on a financier?”

The crack deepened.

“But if you’re trying to express your feelings, isn’t a heart still the best symbol?”

At some point, the rough flipping of papers came to an abrupt halt.

The papyrus-like sheets felt as though they had turned to wood.

The coarse texture left dark marks on Kallain’s fingertips.

His mood was thoroughly soured.

Why did he feel like this? An invisible scratch gnawed at him, twisting his insides.

Watching his master’s face contort subtly, Jayden smugly twisted the knife.

“Well, I wonder where that heart-shaped pastry ended up.”

The papers landed on the table with a harsh thud like wooden boards.

Kallain might believe he had simply set them down, but it was unmistakably a throw.

“For her to go that far, there must be someone in the Detroit knight order who’s completely shaken Lady Sylvia’s heart.”

Even after discovering she wasn’t a noble, Count Jayden continued to call her “Lady Sylvia.”

It had become a habit, and besides, she wasn’t the sort of woman who could be casually referred to as “that woman”—a sentiment he shared with the Grand Duke.

And perhaps, he wanted it to be that way, too.

“What connection could she possibly have with those black-clad men?”

His tone was unusually rough—uncharacteristic of the Grand Duke, whose voice rarely wavered.

“There’s definitely a connection. Wasn’t she looking for the training ground at the crack of dawn last time?”

Sir Jayden, as always, had an annoyingly vivid and detailed way of describing things.

He was clearly enjoying teasing him.

Kallain knew well why the Count behaved like this.

He was like an old man desperate to match him with any woman who crossed their path.

Somehow, what should have been a parent’s role had become Jayden’s, ever since they came to this frigid northern land.

So, Kallain knew the affection behind the Count’s persistent teasing.

He also understood Jayden’s naive belief that the woman had come without ulterior motives and just needed a little nudge in Kallain’s direction.

And yet, the Count’s petty little trick worked.

His thoughts were already consumed by the woman from that day.

He tried to push her out of his mind—but the more he pushed, the more she came in, like a warm breeze sneaking into the season of bitter cold.

As if mocking his efforts.

“The Detroit knight order is the pride of the North, after all.”

Pride? What nonsense. Some of them drop after barely crossing blades.

And yet, the fact that she went there anyway—clearly, all that talk about pride was just an excuse.

Just like someone said, it must be a case of deep, obsessive affection.

To leave a room where everything is handed to her and go bake something like that, learning it all from scratch—that could only mean one thing.

He could just imagine her sitting there, nervously asking the chef questions. Probably trembling all the while.

Really, what on earth did she hope to feed him that was so important she went that far?

Normally, he would have played along with Jayden’s teasing just to humor him, but today, it grated on him.

Like someone who actually wanted to eat that ridiculous heart-shaped bread.

Jayden, seeing right through him, continued to fan the flames.

“Our proud knights of Detroit do have impressive bodies, don’t they? If she saw them without their uniforms, she probably melted right there.”

“What a grand love story this is,” Kallain muttered coldly, his expression hardening beyond words.

He flipped the mirror on the desk over, disgusted with the reflection looking back at him.

His gaze drifted once more toward the window.

Outside, the woman was pulling things out of the basket and handing out bread to the knights, the whole scene serene and beautiful.

But he wasn’t in that beautiful picture.

Of course, among all that bread, there wasn’t a single one meant for him.

Or… maybe. That still couldn’t be said for certain.

“One of those pastries must be mine.”

It was annoying that she would save his for last, but he’d let it slide.

After all, the last one is always reserved for the most precious person.

That heart-shaped bread or whatever it was—surely it was hidden deep inside, just for him.

The thought left him quietly satisfied.

And just like that, the bread was all distributed, the knights clapped, and the warm scene came to an end.

And the woman… sat down next to a large knight.