Chapter Text
In the house of the Zoe family (the one in the city, since the country estate is not appropriate at this time of year) there’s only one thing more important than money and decorum.
“You have to get married now,” Augusta Zoe tells her daughter, Miss Hange Zoe. “At this age, all the girls of fine birth are already married. Keep it up and you’ll be on the shelf!” Her tone is such that she seems to be prophesying the worst possible death, rather than simply the possibility of remaining single.
Hange Zoe isn’t frightened.
She shrugs, not taking her eyes off the open book on her lap. It’s so massive that she can’t read it comfortably by holding it in her hands. Even taking it from her father’s modest library was quite an odyssey. Although she almost knocked over an entire shelf when pulling it out, it was worth the effort. The flower illustrations are beautiful, and everything she’s learning about botany feeds her mind so much that she can’t wait to read another.
“Hange!” Suddenly she hears her mother scream and is so startled that the book slips and falls with a thud on the carpet. Her mother shoots the innocent leather-clad a hateful look. “You should be embroidering. Embroidering is the perfect pastime for a young lady like you. Not… whatever you like doing.” She waves the handkerchief in her hand and wrinkles her nose in disgust.
Hange flashes a small smile as she recovers her book. There’s nothing new in this conversation. “Embroidering is boring.”
“Nobody said it wasn’t. But how else would you express your suitors your affection? Embroidered cloths are the best present this time of year.”
“Maybe I should do like cousin Sasha and cook for them.”
Her mother rolls her eyes. “Cook. That’s so low class.”
Hange raises an eyebrow in amusement. “It worked for her, didn’t it?” As much as it pains her mother, cousin Sasha’s husband, Nicollo, has more money than all of Hange’s suitors. And Hange, as a good daughter, loves to remind her.
“Well, what will you do then? I’d settle for you cooking if that would get you married soon. You know how sick your father is. What will become of us if he doesn’t live long—?” Her mother cuts herself off as she meets her daughter’s furious glare.
“Father will be fine. He’ll live for many more years.”
“Naturally. Still, our economic problems won’t be solved overnight.” Her mother covers her mouth with the handkerchief in an obvious show of mortification. “If the news that the Hacienda is pawned got out, your suitors would disappear like this.” She snaps her fingers to illustrate how quickly they’d give up trying to marry her.
Hange genuinely wishes they did.
“They’ll do it anyway when they find out I don’t have a dowry.”
“You still have your good name. And lacking a dowry isn’t the same as being deep in debt to the top of your head, Hange.”
Hange places a hand on her forehead. She feels a headache start to develop behind her eyes. “If I agree to marry…” Her mother's gaze flashes with hope. “...would I possess complete sovereignty over my choice?”
Her response is a—-unpolite—laugh. Hange makes a face. The roar of her mother’s mockery is like a painful prick against her temples.
“What are you going to know about choosing a proper husband? No, no. I can already imagine who you would choose. An intellectual, or a… a…”
A soldier, in fact, Hange thinks. Just thinking of him brings a tender feeling to her chest. Her incipient headache seems to recede, and she hides a smile behind her gloved hand.
“A nobody,” her mother concludes, finding no other word that would better describe the husband her daughter would surely choose given the opportunity. “What was the name of that little friend your cousin Gabi had?”
Ugh. Not this again. “... Falco.”
“Yeah, that one,” her mother all but spits. “A mere soldier boy, daring to wish to marry a lady of her stature. What a sacrilege! The good thing is that your uncles acted before a tragedy unfolded. In my opinion, Gabi does better abroad.”
Hange bites the inside of her cheek to keep from talking back. Like the intellectuals, the working class, and the peasants, the soldiers don’t escape her mother grouping them in the category of commoners. And therefore, inappropriate to associate with their good name. Except for, of course, the few soldiers who have a huge title such as general or commander.
A title that, by the way, the man who invades Hange’s thoughts lacks. Not that it keeps her awake at night. In half an hour, he’ll be waiting for her in their usual hiding place. Hange almost shakes and jumps with excitement.
However, not being what a young lady with manners would do, she stays put. But her excitement makes her thoughtless. Or at least, it’s the only possible explanation for her next statement: “What if I already have someone I want to marry?”
If looks could kill, Hange would already be dead under her mother’s violent scrutiny. “And what does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Hange is quick to reply. Folds and unfolds the corner of a book page. Damn her recklessness. Why doesn’t she know when to be quiet?
“Hmm. I hope so. Your father pampers you far too much…” Hange’s restless hand ends up attracting her mother’s attention. “And put that book down or it will wake up in the dumpster. I’m serious, young lady.”
Hange’s shoulders rise and fall with the force of her sigh. Faced with that threat, she obeys. The thing is, as she repeatedly hears, as long as she lives in this house, what her mother says is done.
‘If you want to do as you please, go and marry the gentleman I introduced you to last night. Then you’ll rule,’ her mother repeats to her whenever Hange doesn’t do exactly what she wants, how she wants. Which, in Hange’s opinion, is far from being true and ideal. If she marries a gentleman of her mother’s liking, it’s certain that either she’ll end up with someone who’ll never allow her much-desired freedom and will only want to be served, or someone so malleable that he’ll be molded even by the slightest desire—from her mother, not hers, hence the problem.
“My God, Rosa!” Her mother yells as she tastes the tea the maid has just brought her on a tray. “Don’t you know how to do anything right?!”
Hange cringes as if she was the one on the receiving end of the scolding and hugs the closed book to her chest. Her mother’s voice is her constant source of anxiety, so much so that on repeated nights her nightmares consist of her mother screaming and trapping her in a small box in which she cannot move.
Every so often she feels like, when she’s in a room in her mother’s vicinity, she’s being watched so closely that she shouldn’t even be able to breathe. At moments like those, it’s not even herself who is present, but a copy that her mother has made to her own liking.
Anyway, for all that, her interest in getting married is rather low. At least, to marry one of the prospects that her mother considers for her, as if it were a game. What reminds her...
Hange checks the time on the big, noisy carved wooden clock on the wall.
Uh.
She stands up, smoothing her pompous skirt, which is in line with the latest European fashion trends. But she wishes that, for once, this fashion would include something that she could run with without any major problems.
“I’m going out to visit Nanaba, is that alright?” She asks, already walking out the door. Nanaba, her best friend since childhood, married an English dignitary, which pleases her mother a little too much. “Tell father I’ll be back early!”
Her mother dismisses her with a wave of her hand, all her attention on scolding the maid for making her tea without honey (which is how she asked her to make it earlier, that Hange remembers) instead of two tablespoons, as she prefers taking it.
Hange leaves, unaware that her mother is watching her with a keen eye.
“Rosa, tell Dirk to accompany her, but without her seeing him. I want him to tell me exactly where Hange’s going and what she’s doing.”
Rosa makes a curtsey, her face still red from being the last recipient of the matriarch’s fury. “Yes ma’am.”
“Oh, this girl. My head…” Augusta leans against the back of the chair with her eyes closed and wipes her forehead with the handkerchief. “Does she not understand we’re broke? If such a thing were to come to light, we’ll have no hope.”
***
Plants hang from the white marble garden gazebo, while flowers and trees of all varieties and sizes almost completely surround it. Which makes it the perfect place for clandestine meetings, not only because of the dazzling beauty that the flower-carved dome ceiling projects when illuminated by the sun, but also because of the foliage that covers it, since it provides a sense of privacy.
Two pigeons fly away when Hange’s back collides with one of the pillars, one of its edges wedged between her shoulder blades. But with Zeke’s lips on hers and his hands on her waist, little does she notice the protests on her back.
Zeke’s mouth parts from hers to spread kisses down her jaw, down to the space between her ear and neck. Hange’s eyes roll with pleasure and a moan escapes her as waves of heat engulf her whole.
“I love you,” he murmurs between breaths, his blond hair brushing her cheeks. His hand tightens around her. Zeke presses against her, and in her stomach, a kind of pressure builds, her pulse racing faster and faster.
They could ultimately bring this to its grand conclusion. There’s no doubt that her body wants it, but…
“Wait…”
Hange places her hands on Zeke’s hot chest and gives him a little push. He exhales in disappointment, but gives in to her wishes. As always, he never urges her to do anything that makes her uncomfortable.
His breathing hasn’t stabilized yet and his cheeks are flushed, causing her to squeeze them lovingly. How much she loves him. She wants so badly to be his, to reach the unknown climax of those skin-deep feelings that tickle her every time they have encounters like this. But she can’t. Not yet.
They always come to an abrupt end, as Hange refuses to cross a certain line. Her mother may endlessly renege on her rebelliousness and dislike of society’s rules, but despite this, Hange generally adheres to them. After all, if she were ruined in its eyes, it wouldn’t solely affect her (who scarcely cares about the opinion of all those people), but also her family, whose reputation would never recover. And that they couldn’t handle as well as she could.
Consequently, as always, she stops when her mind isn’t entirely lost on the earthy, piney scent of her lover.
“I can’t wait for the day when you’re all mine. Imagine it, waking up together every day, not having to hide…”
Hange imagines it. But today those invented images seem even more distant than usual. She smoothes and smoothes her dress.
“My mother is insisting on the matter of getting married, more than before. Maybe it’s time you talk to my father…”
Zeke adjusts his glasses. “I’ll go talk to him tomorrow if you think it will do any good. You know there’s nothing in the world I want more than to marry you. But… do you really think he’ll accept me in my current circumstances?”
Father, maybe. Mother… “No.”
“Then we have to stick to the plan. If all goes well, with the impending conflict brewing in high places, soon the war will allow me to make a good name for myself. And then, we can get married, as we want.”
Hange nods heavily. “Yes Yes. I know we must wait. It’s just hard for me to do it.” It all sounds great, but so far away. So hard. Why, if everything in life is extremely complicated, can’t love be at least a simple matter?
Love is, she ponders, playfully stroking Zeke’s beard. What isn’t is everything surrounding it.
Zeke runs a finger over her lower lip before trapping it between his and starting to kiss her again. All of this may be a daily source of concern, a situation that portends nothing but trouble ahead. But in breaths like this, in which she inhales Zeke’s love like a peaceful fragrance, she knows she’d do it again, a thousand times over. Knows that no matter what comes, she can handle it.
Zeke breaks the kiss and takes something out of her small bag. “What is this?”
“Oh.” Hange laughs and takes her little book back. “The book on plantations that I told you about. Albeit we may never fully get the Hacienda back, it still belongs to my family. I think I can figure out a way to improve crops with new methods and—”
“I don’t think it’s your place to worry about that. If you keep reading that much, your brain will be damaged, dear. Maybe you should do more useful things. Like embroidery. I’m still waiting for that cloth you promised me.”
Hange’s neck grows rigid as she crosses her arms over her chest.
Zeke lets out a laugh. “Sorry, sorry. We can discuss this later. Don’t be mad at me, yes?” He grabs the sides of her arms and jiggles her. “You know I love you more than anything in this world, don’t you?”
She forces a smile. “I love you too... I should go now.”
Zeke kisses her goodbye on the cheek, but Hange struggles to let go of his hand.
“In three days, yes? Right here?”
“Three days.” Zeke puts on his soldier’s hat. He looks so handsome in his full uniform.
When she’s finally able to let go, Hange slips through the bushes until she finds her maid, who shifts her weight from foot to foot over and over again. “You lasted too long this time, miss!” She exclaims upon seeing Hange. “If Lady Augusta suspects something…”
“It’s fine, María.” Hange straightens her hairstyle. “Am I presentable?”
Maria runs her hands through Hange’s hair. “Presentable and as beautiful as ever, miss.”
Hange smiles at her and takes her lace umbrella from the maid’s hands. Together, they venture downtown—specifically, to Nanaba’s mansion. She doesn’t want, in the unlikely event that her mother inquires about her visit, to have to lie.
Around her, the city is in full swing. Gentlemen and ladies walk through the center field with their arms linked. On the opposite side of the sidewalk, servants and other employees go about their business, buying tortillas or sweets from vendors. The murmur of the conversations and the clip-clop of the horses are the only discernable sound.
She’s about to cross the busy street when, right in front of her, a dark-haired woman with braids carrying a basket full of bread on her head falls, hitting the cobblestones with her face.
“Oh my…” Hange rushes over to her and kneels beside her, ignoring the ‘Miss!’ of María. “Are you alright?” Hange takes the woman by the arm to make her sit down. The woman has some blood on her forehead, but otherwise seems oriented.
Hange and María begin putting what was scattered on the floor back into the basket.
“Thank you, thank you,” the woman mumbles with a hand to her forehead.
“You’re welcome. Are you sure you’re well? Do you want to go to a Physician?”
Some hands are added to those of María and hers. Hange looks up and meets a pair of gray eyes. Blinks a couple of times and looks away. When at last there’s nothing left on the ground, the stranger helps the woman to her feet. The woman continues thanking them with bows as she walks away with the basket hugged to her chest.
“Maybe I should have forced her to see a doctor,” Hange blurts out.
“I don’t think she wanted that,” the man says. His voice is strangely nice. “Most likely, she would be fired for taking too long.”
“Oh. Right.” Hange hadn’t thought of that. Inwardly, she berates herself for not thinking about the woman’s circumstances.
As if sensing her thoughts, the man says, “Still, I don’t think it will go well. All that bread on the floor…”
Hange tilts her head to the side, thinking about it. “I don’t think she’s going to say where they were.”
“Ha.” The corner of the man’s mouth quivers. “All those people eating dirt and not knowing it…”
“At least it will acquire a new flavor. Who knows, they might even prefer it,” Hange says with amusement in her voice.
The man seems to remember where he is and with whom. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Levi Ackerman. I just got to town.” He extends his hand and offers it to her.
Rather than a newcomer, this man must be new to society altogether, Hange speculates. First of all, it’s a lack of decorum to speak to a lady without introduction, and much more so with the casual tone with which this man has addressed her. Second, ask for a handshake? A man has no right to take a lady’s hand until she offers it to him.
He could very well announce to the four winds that he knows nothing of the customs of high society.
No class, her mother would snap, looking at him once. But with money, she’d add, looking at his suit. It’s evidently new, and in addition, of the finest and most exclusive materials.
All of this matters little to Hange. Neither his suit, nor his money, much less how unseemly it’s to ask for her hand in this way. Hange regards his still outstretched hand and grins. She gives him hers, despite knowing that if her mother ever hears of this, she won’t be able to touch a book for a whole week. Maybe the anger she knows her mother would get is the reason she does it.
“Lady Hange Zoe.”
The man’s hand— Levi, she recalls—is warm and firm against her palm.
Hange glances around to, sure enough, catch more than one gaze on them.
“I’d better go or we’ll be the talk of the town. It was quite a pleasure meeting you, my lord.” She bobs a curtsy to him and continues on her way, heading for her friend’s home.
Behind her, Levi stares at her shrinking figure in the distance, until Mike appears and smacks him on the back.
“Levi, friend. What are you just standing here for?”
Levi continues with his eyes fixed on the figure of that lady. Hange Zoe, he feels in his mouth. A pretty name.
Mike finally follows the direction of his gaze. “Ah, Miss Zoe!”
“Are you acquainted with her?”
“She’s a good friend of Nanaba. Why?”
“Nothing at all. She seems… kind.”
“Tell me about it.” Mike leans against one of the trees in the center field, taking off his hat. “She’s the most popular young woman of marriageable age each season. Dozens of proposals rejected, and rumors say that this year many more will be added.” Mike looks at him in askance. “Will you be one of them?”
Levi shakes his head. “I don’t think someone of her level would ever want to even give the time to someone like me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. You’re quite an aristocrat now, Lord Levi.” Mike bows mockingly.
The aforementioned makes a face. How he hates being called that. He hits Mike with his own hat. “I am rich. Not aristocrat.”
For that, he’d have to have been raised and think like all these gentlemen who walk around him, with their impeccable manners and pompous words. No—he’ll never be part of them, no matter how much a title, some properties, and a fortune suggest otherwise.
“Your father was, and thus, you are. The blood rules, and all that.”
Another thing he hates? People referring to the man from whom he inherited his wealth as his father. Blood or whatever, if a person never behaves like one, and only on his deathbed does he acknowledge your existence, he’s not family. Period.
“By any means. Miss Hange would never regard me as a suitable prospect. She must be waiting for someone with a bigger title and a fortune worth more than the entire city.” And with that, they resume their walk to the appointment for which they’re already late.
With every step he takes, he can’t get that lady out of his mind. There’s something incredibly contradictory about her. He never expected someone of her obvious class to stop to help a mere peasant. He knows for a fact that most would rather eat dung than dirty their dresses, much less touch someone considered inferior. And she seemed to have a sense of humor akin to his.
He remembers the widening of her brown eyes when he held out his hand, and inwardly winces. Terribly late did he realize how inappropriate his action was. But in his embarrassment, he chose to carry on as if nothing was amiss. She could always have easily refused, pleading propriety or some invented affection. Yet she didn’t, and when he grasped her hand, the spark in her eyes sent shivers down his spine.
It’s a difficult feeling to forget, no matter how hard he attempts to.
Mike falls into step with him. “I’ve heard her family is deep in debt, they even have their properties pawned, so maybe you’re right. But enough about ladies. You’re a newcomer both in town and in wealth. You have everything at your disposal, but in my opinion, the only thing you need is a family. You do want to marry, don’t you?”
Yes. His head conjures up images of its own, of a warm body sleeping next to him. A kind arm linked to his, accompanying him. A home full of laughter, even with children running around. Everything that’s missing in his present, where silence and stillness abound. A powerful longing bursts in his chest, so strong he has to swallow to speak.
“Perhaps,” he replies, though inside he’s shouting a loud yes. If it were up to him, he’d get married tomorrow. Nevertheless, he doesn’t want to marry just anyone either. He’s aware that, to make his wishes come true, he needs to feel more than simple respect for the one who’s to be his life partner.
The bad part is that for such a thing, he requires to find that person, and to do that, socialize. Therein lies his acutest problem, not just because of his rather quiet nature or his upbringing. No. But because of his obvious contempt for the ideas of most of those around him. And above all, for his clandestine activities.
Mike knocks three times on the bar door, and a dark-haired man with a curved mustache leans out. He inspects them for a minute before allowing them to enter.
No one knows about this meeting, though if someone uninvited infiltrates it, or the names of the attendees are leaked, both Levi and Mike could even be exiled from the country.
Inside, Mike takes a seat in a obscure corner. Most of the tables are already occupied by working-class people, and as a minority, a few aristocrats who profess liberal ideas.
“It’s a good thing you’re not running away from marriage,” Mike picks up as Levi takes a seat next to him. “There will be a lot of good matches in the upcoming dance. Mmm, I believe it’s Lady Historia’s quinceañera.” All of a sudden, hearty laughter overtakes him. “Wait till the mothers of marriageable ladies hear from you. They won’t give a damn if you were born with a silver spoon or not, Levi. Trust me. But if you want, I can ask Nanaba later who she recommends.”
Levi orders a beer and nods. For some reason, the way Mike spoke makes him more anxious than relieved. His new circumstances never cease astounding him.
But it has its advantages, he mulls over, feeling his pocket heavy with money.
Money that at least now he can use for a noble cause.
***
Levi empties his glass in one gulp and makes a face. Argh. All to get rid of the horrible taste left by the talk he just had.
The room was filled with men in various activities, activities where Levi was out of his element. As Mike went to get another drink, some men approached him, looking him up and down.
Not even the mothers he had just escaped from examined him with such a critical eye.
“And you are?” One of them questioned, a man with white hair and round glasses on his long nose. Like the rest, he was dressed in a tailored suit without a wrinkle or trace of dust.
“He’s the Ackerman heir,” offered another, identical to the first except for the glasses. Levi wondered if when he grew old he too would become a faithful copy of all of them. “The one who died recently.”
“Ha! I remember. Welcome, welcome. You’re now part of the club.”
Club? It sounded like something juvenile. But the men were already past fifty.
Anyway, etiquette. “Thank you for the welcome, Lord…?”
“Lord Zackly.”
“And what do you do in the club?”
“The usual, the usual.” Zackly waved his hand. “Playing cards, a few bets here and there. Now that you’re here, you’ll also have to contribute to the army. Those peasant pigs, daring to question our president.” Zackly slams his fist into one of the side tables, shaking the glasses on it.
Levi tightens his grip on his drink. “And is it mandatory to collaborate with that?”
“Absolutely! The security of our nation depends on it!”
Aha. “Certainly. Excuse me, I think I’m being summoned.”
Levi left without exchanging another word, though his mind was full of insults.
Do these men not have an iota of reasoning? Of empathy? They’re selfish, fucking idiots, and—
A hand taps him twice on the shoulder. Levi turns around with a bad word about to slip off the tip of his tongue.
He freezes when he identifies the person at his front.
“Lord Levi, aren’t you?” Miss Hange curtsies. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Err…” For the first time in his adult life, Levi can tell his tongue is totally tangled. The words refuse to come out. It’s just that he never expected to speak to her again in his life. Upon arrival he spotted her, but then she disappeared into the crowd of dresses and food. She’s wearing a beautiful dark green dress with ruffles and her hair is tied up with peacock-like feather decorations. But what stands out above all are her eyes, in incredible harmony with her wardrobe. He was not wrong. They seem to contain some kind of inner light.
Admitting, not at this time, since right now these only reflect concern. She tilts her head at him.
“Are you unwell?”
React! he yells at himself.
Levi clears his throat. “No. And… I was invited at the last minute.”
“Oh.” She rocks on her heels in a very un-lady manner. Adorable.
“So…” Levi extends his arm before he thinks it over—because if he did, his thoughts would no doubt convince him to make a quick exit instead. “Would you give me the honor of a dance?”
Hange’s entire face seems to glow with her abrupt smile. Levi’s immediately grateful that he followed his impulse.
“Of course.”
An enormous gilt chandelier hangs from the illustrated ceiling, towering over their heads as they move toward the dance floor. Their footsteps echo on the wooden floor as they make their way through the crowd and a violin begins playing a new song.
Despite the cool weather outside, the accumulation of so many people gathered in the same space makes the air heavy and a bit suffocating. But in the center of the floor, as Levi strikes a dance stance with his hands around Miss Hange, he can’t help but think that the air is pleasantly warm rather than stifling.
“How’s your night going?” Hange asks him in the middle of their dance. Levi tries not to trip over his own feet. It should be easy, since he’s known to be an excellent dancer. But apparently, not today. “I hope you’re enjoying the evening. The Reiss family did a wonderful job introducing their daughter.”
Hange looks to the side, where the protagonist of the party, Historia Reiss, a small girl with long blonde hair, chats in a corner with what appears to be her lady-in-waiting, a freckled girl.
“It’s...” Extravagant. Congested. Rowdy. “The food is good.”
A giggle bursts from Hange’s chest. “At least I know you’re quite honest. You seem to be someone with strong ideas, Lord Levi.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
She lifts her chin and speaks freely. “I believe it takes courage to maintain one’s convictions, even surrounded by contrary ideas. So I consider it a good thing. It’s well said that ‘Fortitude is the guard and support of the other virtues.’”
“Have you read Locke?” Levi tries not to sound as shocked as he is.
Hange raises a defiant eyebrow. “Haven’t you?”
He blinks, puzzled. “Yes. But I didn’t think it was considered a suitable read for young ladies.”
“It is not. Yet I beg to differ.”
Levi is instantly struck by the impression that, behind that beautiful face and those peculiar eyes, lies a rather perceptive mind. Which he really wants to hear more about.
He decides to ask something risky. More than anything, because he’s dying to hear what she has to say about it.
“Do you think there will be war?” He probes.
Hange looks around, as if expecting to be attacked for the simple act of being the recipient of such a question. Assured that, in fact, no one has developed a superior sense of hearing and therefore no one knows the subject of their discussion, she seems reassured.
She licks her lips and takes a deep breath. “There will be,” she says carefully. “I mean, I find it likely.”
“And what do you think of the conflict?” Levi’s delving into dangerous territory, and yet he can’t stop.
“We must support our government, of course,” she retorts.
Levi’s stomach clenches as a strange sensation crushes him. Purses his lips slightly. Well, what did he expect? It’s the appropriate answer to an inappropriate question.
Under Levi’s hand, her shoulder is tense. Surely, she’s internally cursing him—if a lady in her class knows how to do it—for agreeing to a dance. True gentlemen do not heckle a lady with questions of such a bold nature. Dangerous.
“But…” She surveys her surroundings again. Her volume drops. “I think the government’s position is somewhat… shortsighted. Why did we become independent if we were going to perpetuate the same customs of the old continent? I believe modern times are approaching, and we should respond to them with progress and not backwardness.”
“And what would that progress consist of?” Levi leans toward her.
“Well, first of all, pay attention to the base of our country, to the majority: the peasants and merchants. Continuing to treat them like nobodies and keeping everything the same so that a few aristocrats don’t lose power is preposterous.”
With every word out of her mouth, Levi’s heart races with an emotion he’s never felt before. And she also seems to be speeding up. Her cheeks redden the more she speaks, her tone escalating in conviction and intensity. She seems to like talking about this. Enjoy it, even.
“Do you think the president is useless, then?”
That gives her pause. But not by much. “He’s unnecessary since the leader chosen by the people wasn’t recognized. The fact that we aristocrats would put whoever seemed best to us without further ado is—”
The song reaches its end, and amidst the silence of it, she closes her mouth. They both stop, not knowing what to do. Levi wants to dig deeper into that brain and listen to each and every one of the fascinating ideas that live there. Even more, it’s invigorating to hear her speak so energetically about them. However, truly alone time between ladies and gentlemen is rare, if not nil.
Hange says goodbye with the hint of a mischievous smile in her mouth. “It was a pleasure, Lord Levi.”
He gives her a nod before she floats away from him. She stops in a corner next to Nanaba, who has her blonde hair pulled up into an intricate hairstyle and is wearing a blue dress. Next to Hange appears another woman who looks like an older version of her. The woman mutters, which makes her frown. Hange replies, and the woman, whom Levi now recognizes must be her mother, purses her lips angrily. The woman says something else that makes Hange cringe into herself, looking abysmally different from her upright, confident posture a few minutes ago.
Levi takes a step toward her, and—
“Stay there.” Mike arrives at his side. “You don’t want to go in there.”
“What are you talking about?” He definitely wasn’t about to get anywhere. He’s almost convinced of that.
“First of all”—Mike holds up a finger in front of him—“Nanaba told me Miss Zoe isn’t available to you. Second”—another finger— “see that.” He points to Hange’s group, as if that would tell him something.
“See what?”
“There’s nothing! Not a single suitor around, and few ladies interact with them. Apparently, news of their precarious economy has reached everyone’s ears, and without a penny and Lord Zoe’s critical illness, no one wants to have much to do with them. You don’t want to get in there, friend, more so as Nanaba said there was no chance between you.”
“You don’t seem to have a problem with Nanaba’s presence right there.”
“I don't want to be gutted in the night for even suggesting she stay away from her best friend. Besides, that doesn’t affect us too much. But if you want to marry well…” Mike sniffs. “You were dancing with her, weren’t you? Nobody smells like old paper like Hange Zoe.”
Levi drums his fingers on the table beside him. He couldn’t disagree more with his friend. Why should lack of money stop him? He has enough for both of them. Still, he does what Mike advised. After all, he knows more about this world, and if even Nanaba said so… It must be true. Levi isn’t for her.
Soon, Mike walks off to dance with his wife, and that woman leaves Hange’s side, making Hange’s posture visible looser. She exchanges pleasant words with Historia and laughs, a rich sound that caresses his ears and fills his soul. She seems so…alive. Free.
It is, without a doubt, more than he expected to discover in someone like her.
“Ahem.”
Levi stiffens.
“I believe we were introduced earlier.” The woman, the one who just moments ago was next to Hange, outstretches her gloved hand. “Lady Augusta Zoe.”
“Yes.” Levi takes her hand and leans in to place a perfunctory kiss on it. Hers is a face among many others he met today, one that didn’t make it to his mind until now. He didn’t know who her daughter was. As he lifts his head, he squares his shoulders and stands up straighter. Just because.
“Levi Ackerman.”
“I know.” Like Hange’s, her eyes are brown and hold a certain shine. But unlike Hange’s, the glitter on these doesn’t seem… cozy. Levi switches his weight from one leg to the other. He can sense sweat running down his back. “Do you happen to know my daughter?”
His mouth goes dry. Not knowing if he should divulge their first meeting, he decides to just share the obvious. “I shared a dance with her a little while ago.”
“She’s quite impressive, isn’t she? You won’t find someone with better manners and posture. She also embroiders some beautiful cloths, if I can say so myself.”
Levi can’t shake the feeling that he’s being sold something. To all this, how is embroidery any important?
“Oh. I see.” He snatches a glass from one of the trays and takes a sip.
“Would you like to get to know her better?”
Levi chokes on his drink and spits it out. He hurries to say, “My sincerest apologies," all while checking that he hadn’t sprayed her.
Lady Zoe wrinkles her nose, but her polite smile never falters. “You see, Lord Ackerman. I don’t like beating around the bush. You seem interested, and I saw you dance together. I have rarely seen my daughter so happy, and like any mother worth her salt, I wish the best for her. That’s why I think you could work together.”
“This….”
“Can I expect you tomorrow for tea?”
“Err…” He has a hunch that Mike would urge him to say no. He almost does. But his eyes slide to Hange almost as if possessed by a force drawing him in.
Candlelight loves her. It kisses her cheeks and flickers delicate touches across her forehead before stirring in her eyes. Levi’s mesmerized by the overall effect.
“Of course,” he agrees. “It’s an honor to receive such an invitation, Madam.”
“Indeed.” Augusta smiles, and for a blink, Levi is reminded of a feline. “We look forward to your presence.”
Levi watches her go. Turns. When he meets Hange’s gaze across the room, she no longer smiles at him like the last few times their eyes met.
Instead, she looks at him with impassive seriousness.
***
Levi arrives early for tea. Regardless of Mike’s advice to get out of the invitation by sending his apologies and even leaving town unexpectedly, Levi vehemently refused.
His stomach twists pleasantly as he waits outside the door. In his hand, he carries a bouquet whose scent reminds him of her.
The butler, a bald man, opens the door for him and ushers him into a small room with dark wallpaper. They serve him tea while he glances around. Paintings adorn the walls, as well as small chandeliers. The camel back sofa at his front looks quite uncomfortable. The one he’s sitting on is pretty uncomfortable, but he assumes they’re made to look beautiful, not to please the butts sitting on them.
Fifteen minutes pass. Levi readjusts his clothes for the umpteenth time. Half an hour. He combs his hair again. The churning in his stomach changes from pleasurable to nauseating. He glances at the clock on the wall. Could there be something wrong?
After an hour of bouncing his foot on the carpet floor, Hange shows up in the doorway with a dark-haired, turned-up-nosed maid flanking her. She’s smiling, but there’s a tightness at the corners of her mouth.
“Good morning,” she greets. Her tone denotes nothing more than courtesy.
He lifts his hat and offers her the bouquet. Hange looks at it contemptuously, but takes it. She immediately hands it over to the maid, who sniffs it with delight.
Levi feels as if excess of heat was flooding his skin. He scratches the back of his sweaty neck. Opens his mouth, yet nothing comes out of it.
“How nice that you could make a space in your agenda to come today. Sorry I’m late. You’re free to go if you have any commitments to attend to at this time,” she says. Her gaze is distant, resting somewhere above his head.
Levi feels cold. Unlike their previous encounters, where Hange was pure warmth, she now seems to exude nothing but chilliness.
“I have time,” he utters slowly, seeking her eyes. She doesn’t seem to be the person he met just yesterday.
Hange grips the skirts of her dress tightly. “Oh.” Looks up. "María. Could you order some tea? No, no appetizers.”
From there everything goes downhill. Levi makes several attempts to get her to talk, to discover some of the spark she showed earlier, but she’s an iceberg. When she finally excuses herself by claiming a headache, Levi’s muscles slacken and he allows his head to lean against the back of the sofa. Closes his eyes.
What was that?
He raises to his feet, ready to leave, but is intercepted in the doorway.
“Lord Ackerman. Did you enjoy your tea?” Lady Zoe questions in a high-pitched voice.
It tasted like manure. “I enjoyed it well enough.”
“Will you please us with your presence tomorrow?”
“I don’t think Miss Hange would appreciate my company.”
“Is that so? Forgive her demeanor. Hange’s always like that when she gets nervous, but she was delighted to have you here.”
Levi narrows his eyes. “Is that so?”
“Indeed.” The woman waves a dismissive hand. “She couldn’t stop talking about you all night.”
“Ah.” Levi scratches his cheek, feeling it overly hot.
“So, will you come back tomorrow?”
He makes a face. “I must go out of town for some business.” Seeing the woman’s disappointment, he continues, “But I’ll be back in a few days. I’ll pay you a visit then.”
“D’accord. Have a nice day, Lord.”
“Madam.”
Lady Augusta bids Levi farewell, after which she goes upstairs and slams open her daughter’s door.
“What happened down there? Why did you behave so badly with Lord Ackerman?”
On the bed, Hange’s lying on her stomach with an open book in front of her. She buries her face in the pages. “I was polite.” Her voice sounds muffled. “I’m sure Lord Ackerman had no objection to my manners. I behaved like a real lady.”
“You’re a real lady. Don’t you understand he’s our last salvation? Under other circumstances, I’d never have invited such an obviously uneducated man. But at this point, it’s him or no one. Do not ruin it.” Augusta flumps on a chair and fans herself with her handkerchief. “Do you want me to die of worry?”
“Do not burden me with a responsibility that does not correspond to me.” Hange stands up with the book in her hands. Her hands tremble from the force with which she’s holding it. “Why do I have to sacrifice myself for the whole family? I refuse.” She storms out the door, but not before yelling, “I don’t want to marry him! I don’t want to marry anyone!”
Augusta knows why. When she found out about her affair with that commoner, her only wish was to confront her and punish her for months. Nonetheless, something told her it was better to wait and act as if nothing happened. There was a chance the thing would die of its own accord without lifting a finger.
But now she knows they’ll never get anywhere if that little soldier is still on the road.
She’ll have to take matters into her own hands.
***
Zeke didn’t make it to their last meeting. It’s already happened a few times, when he’s been sent out of town on some unforeseen mission. But in those cases, he sends a message to Nanaba’s mansion.
Not this time. This time, there’s only silence.
And today he didn’t appear again.
Hange enters her home and absently removes her gloves. Thousands of scenarios parade through her head, each one worse than the last. Where could he be? Has something happened to him? Why hasn’t he let her know about him?
“Miss Zoe,” says her butler, Pixis. “A lady insists on seeing you.”
“Me?” Hange rubs her chin. “Who is it?”
“I had never seen her before. She says her name is Pieck Yeager.”
She goes completely still. “... Yeager?” She grips the gloves on her hands. “Show her in, please.”
Zeke never mentioned a sister.
The one who comes in is a woman with a prominent chest, a tiny waist, and extremely pale skin.
A bad feeling knots in Hange’s stomach. Even so, she builds a smile. “Good evening. Were you looking for me? My name is—”
“Hange Zoe,” the woman interrupts. “My husband’s mistress.”
Hange shuffles back, as if been hit hard. “What?”
“I am Zeke’s wife. And you, dirty husband-stealer…” Pieck’s nostrils flare. “I came to tell you to leave him alone.”
“No, but... It’s not possible.” Hange shakes her head, which feels awfully light. “Are you sure you’re talking about Zeke Yeager, soldier of the third division?”
“The same. My husband. He and I are going back to our village today, so don’t bother us again.” The woman turns on her axis and strides away.
Hange backs up until bumping into the sofa. She collapses on it, a sudden coldness seeping into her chest. María observes her from the doorway with an apology in her eyes.
“Miss... are you alright?”
No, that’s not true. Hange rushes outside, not caring about decorum or anything. María runs after her, but Hange hardly notices, and doesn’t slow down until she reaches the barracks. Maria turns up a few seconds later, hands on her knees and panting.
“Miss, wait...”
Hange knocks on the door insistently. It’s opened by a soldier with a sulky attitude.
“I’m looking for Zeke Yeager,” she says, breathing heavily.
The guard looks her up and down. “Who’s looking for him?”
“Please, make him come.”
The guard sighs with boredom and goes inside. Comes back after a couple of minutes. “I’ve been informed that Mr. Zeke Yeager left his post a few days ago.”
Left his post? That doesn’t sound like her Zeke. “Did he say why?”
“Apparently, he returned to his hometown with his wife.”
A ringing echoes in Hange’s ears. “No, but… Are you sure about that? What did he say? Did he leave a message for…?” She trails off. Even in her state, she’s aware that nothing good would come of giving her name.
“It’s all I know.” The man jerks a shoulder.
Hange’s arms hang limply at her sides. She strolls back home with María at her tail and locks herself in her room. She takes out some sheets of paper and prepares to write with shaking hands. She vaguely remembers the town Zeke used to live in before joining the army, so she writes a hasty letter addressed there and hands it to María.
“I’ll have it sent right away,” her maid tells her before bolting out of the room.
The days go by, and no answer comes. Every day Hange withdraws more into herself, the pressure in her chest increasing until it’s unbearable. The bed becomes her refuge, and the sheets, the wipers of her tears.
Even when she wants to rationalize it, nothing explains Zeke’s disappearance. The silence. Couldn’t he at least give her an explanation?
Why is he doing this to her?
After more than a week of not stepping out of her room, Hange takes a bath for the first time and puts on her favorite dress, a green comfortable one. Looks at herself in the mirror; her eyes are reddish and her skin somehow pallid, but to see the bright side, she’s alive. And she’s already taken many days without going to her father.
At the entrance to the master bedroom, she finds her mother.
“Do you feel better now, dear?”
No. But she can’t afford much more time. Can’t stand it. She can’t be one more minute trapped in those four walls, in that air loaded with sadness.
“I’m sorry. I’m better now,” she lies.
“Your father has been asking for you every day.”
Guilt squeezes her heart. Hange walks into her father’s bedroom. He’s sitting up in bed, wrapped in heavy blankets. Tears gather in her eyes at the sight of him. He looks worse than just a few days ago. His cheeks are more sunken and his gaze duller. His hair, previously brown like hers, is paler every day, more aged by his illness.
“Hange,” her father calls her affectionately. “Are you alright, my girl?”
He’s so cold to the touch, pure bones. The tears she had been holding back escape her eyes. She throws herself at her father’s chest, just like when she was a child and used his lap to nap. Her father strokes her hair.
“What’s going on? What do I have to do to make my girl happy?”
“Nothing. I’m so sorry. I swear I'm better now, you have nothing to worry about.”
Later, her father falls asleep while Hange reads to him at his bedside.
“Father isn’t well, is he?” She asks her mother after carefully closing the door behind her.
Her mother wipes some tears with her handkerchief. “The doctor came again yesterday. He changed the medicines and it’s expected that he’ll improve, but… who knows until when we can pay for them.”
“Is there nothing left to sell?” Hange takes stock of her possessions. If she sells all her books, she’ll probably only be able to buy a few more. Not enough.
“Unless you want to sell the bed you sleep in, no. And even if you did, it would be a temporary solution,” says her mother. The tears vanish as soon as they appeared. “By the way, someone came to visit you. He’s downstairs.”
Hange heaves a breath. Massages the bridge of her nose. “Who?”
“Lord Ackerman. He’s been profoundly concerned about your health ever since he learned of your sudden decline.”
“I see.” Hange wipes her glasses and glances up the stairs. The last thing she wants is to go downstairs and have to make small talk. But then her gaze drifts to her mother and her pleading eyes. “I guess I could go down and greet him.”
“That’s all I ask.”
Hange slowly climbs down and meets Levi with the biggest smile she can muster. Which is, in any case, small. Levi does so with the biggest one she’s ever seen on his face. Or any.
“Miss Zoe. I’m glad to see you better.”
Her movements are sluggish as she sits down and picks up a muffin. “Yes. It was a sudden happening. I apologize for concerning you.”
“The important thing is that you’re better now. I brought you this.” Levi hands her a package.
She tries to decipher its contents by its shape and weight, just as she does every time a gentleman brings her a gift. Sweets? Handkerchiefs? Lotions?
Hange takes off the wrapper.
It’s a book.
Her breath hitches. She can’t hold back a smile from surfacing on her lips. “Thank you. It’s the first time I’ve been given something like this.”
“Uh. …” Levi scratches his forehead. “But do you find it to your liking?”
“I love it.”
***
Elsewhere, in a prison two towns away, Zeke Yeager jolts the bars of his prison cell, the clang of metal echoing through the place.
“Let me out!”
His cellmate, a man who reeks of alcohol, snorts. “It’s time for you to give up. It will be bad for you if you don’t let me sleep another day.”
“I can’t just give up. I’m innocent. At least tell me why I’ve been locked up here!” He shakes the bars once more, ignoring the burning sensation in his fingertips from doing so.
A guard walks past him and smirks. “You do not know? Your sin is not knowing your place. Someone like you shouldn’t get involved with important people.”
Important people? Zeke has no idea what the guard’s talking about. He hasn’t done anything!
“At least let me send a letter. Please…”
The guard pokes a stick through the bars and hits Zeke on the forehead, breaking his glasses. Zeke collapses on the dirty floor, which is, after all, as dirty as his own body. His limbs protest with every movement, sore that they are thanks to being beaten in the torture inflicted on him daily to force him to admit crimes he’s never committed.
Zeke puts his head between his raised knees, taking deep breaths to resist. He can’t be defeated. He has to come back.
He just hopes Hange isn’t too worried about him.