The one who found Count Britton so familiar was not Estella—but Yoon Seo-yi.

The broad-shouldered frame, the hair white as snow, the full beard covering half his face, the ruddy round nose, even the genial ho-ho laugh—he was the spitting image of Santa Claus. Sitting in his wheelchair, smiling benevolently at Estella, he looked as though he might have hidden gifts tucked away somewhere.

“Though belated, allow me to sincerely congratulate you both on your marriage. Since a long greeting would only tire you, I’ll end today’s welcome here. Cedric!”

His voice boomed as heartily as his laughter when he called to his son.

“Yes, Father.”

“Show the couple to their rooms, and see that the others are also guided somewhere they may rest comfortably.”

“Yes.”

Though Cedric, lean and wiry, did not resemble his round, genial father at first glance, their smiles were identical—eyes curving into crescents that drew others to smile in turn. Watching them, Estella’s mood grew soft and warm.

At the count’s command, Cedric moved swiftly. He ordered the servants to lead the Squirrel Mercenary Band, the two physicians, and the Black Lily Knights to their quarters.

Two sturdy servants stepped forward to take Ciel’s stretcher from Bruno and Kyle, but the pair politely refused, insisting they would manage. The servants were as brisk and efficient as their master, every motion quick and precise. Everything was so well-ordered that Estella found herself watching in a daze.

Cedric entrusted the others to the servants, but he himself looked after Estella and Ciel.

Ciel was shown to his chamber first. The stretcher swayed when carried up stairs or through bustling corridors, yet he kept his eyes tightly shut, like a man in deep sleep.

The chamber was grand, chosen clearly with his rank in mind: a wide bed piled with cloud-like bedding, sofas large enough for ten, expensive ornaments gleaming here and there. It was the complete opposite of the fortress’s austere practicality.

Estella watched silently beside Cedric as the servants laid Ciel upon the bed, handling him with the care one would give a fragile glass vessel.

“Shall I order the servants to wash His Highness?” Cedric asked carefully. He had sensed how sensitive Estella was to Ciel’s well-being, and thought it best to gain her permission first.

Since leaving the imperial dungeon, Ciel had not properly bathed. Martino and Angelo had often wiped him down before treating his wounds, but it was nothing like a full cleansing, and the smell lingered.

Realizing she herself had not washed properly either, Estella flushed with embarrassment. But she could not entrust Ciel to strangers. Trust was not the issue.

“I will tend to my husband myself.”

The word husband slipped from her lips without hesitation. Cedric smiled and nodded. Looking at the prince’s condition, it was only natural. He could only imagine how dreadful his state must have been at first.

His father had often told him in private, over drinks, how the Emperor, worshiped by all, was in truth terrifying and cruel. He would grumble in frustration, wondering why no one else seemed able to see what he saw.

“I shall have hot water and towels prepared.”

“Thank you again.”

At her repeated gratitude, Cedric fell silent a moment, then spoke.

“His Excellency the Marquis Cardeine is the one who saved my father’s life. Were it not for him, my father would no longer be in this world.”

Estella blinked, startled.

“Then… the count’s leg…?”

“Yes. The Kardian that had my father’s leg in its jaws was slain by His Excellency himself. Our family owes House Cardeine a great debt.”

She had assumed the missing limb was from some accident, but to learn this story—she could vividly picture her father charging, sword in hand, at the monster.

“So rest here without worry. If you feel ill at ease, it will grieve my father.”

The warmth in Cedric’s tone made it clear how deeply he loved his father. Estella felt glad Lumina was to marry such a man.

“You must be tired. I’ll have supper brought to your room.”

He bowed lightly before she could thank him again, then departed.

It felt like a storm had swept through—yet one kind and gentle.

On the bedside table the servants had left washcloths, a steaming basin, and fresh clothes for Ciel. He still slept soundly like a child.

Weary, Estella sank into a chair beside him.

“Just a little longer. We’ll be home soon.”

She took his bandaged hand, stroking it gently. Even a thorn beneath a nail caused agony—how much worse to have the nails torn out? She dreaded unwrapping the bandages. Could she have endured such pain herself?

As she carefully wiped his scarred hand, Ciel’s eyes suddenly opened, gleaming. He smiled at her.

“So… is Wintfall my home now?”

“You weren’t asleep?”

Her voice rose in surprise, tinged with joy.

“I was pretending.”

“Because you were embarrassed?”

Her uncanny perception deepened his smile. She seemed to read his heart as though she had walked right inside it, and he found it wondrous and endearing.

“Yes.”

“Good boy.”

Her teasing praise made him laugh.

“Well then, wife must wash her husband.”

“Alright.”

At his provocation, Estella stood at once and began unbuttoning his shirt. He had expected her to blush—but instead he faltered.

“Wh-what are you doing, undressing me like that?”

“You can’t wash without removing clothes.”

She frowned at his protests as if he were being absurd.

“B-but we haven’t even spent our wedding night yet…”

“Hands off, or I’ll rip the buttons off.”

Her glare cowed him into lowering his hands. Strange, how someone so much smaller could command him so easily.

“Good boy.”

Again she rewarded him with praise, then briskly unbuttoned further. Back in her Seo-yi days, she had seen bare-chested men every morning—stripping Ciel’s shirt was no burden. And besides, he was her patient.

Ignoring his embarrassment, she dipped a towel into the hot water and wiped his torso thoroughly. Each time he twitched she had to pause.

“Stop moving. Stay still if you want to be clean.”

“It tickles.”

“What?”

“Everywhere you touch—it tickles unbearably.”

Estella stared at him, then smacked his stomach with a sharp slap.

“Endure it. Dirt is unacceptable.”

She set about with fierce focus, as though cleaning him were the most important task in the world. Each time he squirmed, the sound of slaps echoed from his belly.

“Hold still!”

Her stern scolding left him no choice but to obey. Yet despite himself, something within him burned hotter, and he pulled the blanket tightly over his lower half.

Still, Estella was quick, and soon his torso was spotless. Then she seized the blanket.

“What are you doing?” he asked in alarm, gripping it with both hands.

“I need to wash your legs. Take off your trousers.”

“What? N-no, I’ll do it myself.”

“Ridiculous. With those hands? Move the blanket.”

Her insistence only made him shake his head furiously.

“Call Bruno. Or Kyle, or even Haru.”

“That would trouble them. They’ve worked hard. Let them rest. I can finish this. Don’t worry about me.”

Before he could stop her, Estella pulled back the blanket—and came face to face with another side of Ciel. He crossed his legs and tried awkwardly to shield himself, but it was useless.

She held still for a few seconds, then dropped the blanket back.

“I’ll fetch Bruno.”

“O-okay.”

As she hurried from the room, Ciel buried his face in his hands, mortified.

“Haah… I’m going mad.”

Leaving Ciel to Bruno, Estella bathed in hot water prepared by the maids, then ate until she was full.

The onion soup, fragrant even in smell, and the tender white fish fillet melted like cotton candy on her tongue. Freshly baked dark bread with honey butter soothed even her weary spirit.

With her body refreshed and her stomach satisfied, she felt herself melt into the sofa. Yet her thoughts strayed back to Ciel’s flushed face and his other self beneath the blanket.

Think good thoughts, good thoughts…

She pulled out her notebook and flipped through it, trying to distract herself. But her mind drifted back, and finally she shut the notebook, a grin tugging at her lips.

It isn’t a crime to be full of vitality, is it?

“So cute…”

It was rare for a grown man, and one so much larger than her, to be this irresistibly cute. Cheer rising in her chest, she hummed as she reopened her notebook.

Soon all such thoughts faded, and her eyes gleamed with seriousness as she began sketching the parts of a firearm from memory.

Scratch, scratch.

Though the night deepened, her quill did not stop. She was determined to complete the blueprint for her first gun before reaching Wintfall.

And when at last she laid her pen down, the bright morning sun was rising outside the window.

The first gun of Wintfall had come into being.

Chapter 173

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