Chapter Text
It’s been about five months since that big battle against Stadal. Five months since I learned that I’m the granddaughter of the Sea King. And … well … five months since I realised I’ve fallen in love with the very last person in the world I ever thought I could even think of in a romantic light — Alois Rockmann.
It’s funny how these things work. I seem to recall thinking that I would never be romantically involved with him, even if he should be the very last man alive in the world. And yet, here we are, after nearly a decade of rivalry and fighting each other black and blue! Recently, though, I’m beginning to wonder where is that, exatly …?
Benjamine, Maris, Cambell and I are having tea at Benjamine’s new home. It’s a shame, but it looks like Nikeh might not make it today. She must be very busy; she is a Knight of the Royal Order, after all.
The conversation goes one way, then the other, and somehow or other — to my great distress and embarrassment — we end up talking about my relationship with Rockmann …
***
As I’m lifting my teacup, about to savor another sip, Maris stops me in my tracks with a truly horrible question:
“Nanalie,” she says, “what are you going to do if someone else takes him from you while you’re still trying to figure it all out? What then?”
Rockmann? With another girl? Holding hands and smiling with someone other than me? Getting close with her, leaning in very close, and then they—
“No! NO!” The word just slips out. Unconsciously, I cover my mouth with my hands, as if to conceal just how upset the thought makes me.
Alright missy, stop and think for a moment here: what’re you yelling “no” for? Yes, you’re the one who said it, so you should know why, but what’s with that tone? You sound like some child pouting to their parents, having a tantrum in public! ...Argh. This is SO embarrassing. Where’s the nearest hole? I’d like to crawl into one right now. A very deep hole.
“No matter what girl Rockmann’s with, I just can’t be okay with her trying to kiss him. No way, no how. Of course, I’d also like to be able to honestly say, “no, it’s not that I want to kiss him or anything”—but I can’t really say that now, can I?
That unexpected realization sends me reeling. “Ugh...I feel so ill, I think I might die...”
“Nanalie, dear...are you quite alright?”
“I just can’t—him, other girls, k-k-kiss—! Ahhhh! I’m such a weirdo for even imagining that!” I am now covering my entire face with my hands, groaning at the image in my head.
“But Nanalie, you can’t be so relaxed about it all; someone else really might take him from you. Maybe he’s starting to feel that way about other women, and he’s so popular with the ladies—it wouldn’t surprise me if he was already smooching with them too.”
Cambell’s warning yanks me back to reality. Yes, he is rather popular among women. Maybe he’s lost patience with me already, dilly-dallying mess that I am. Maybe he IS kissing other women already. I can’t deny that possibility—he’s him, after all.
***
From there, the terrible conversation doesn’t get any better. My friends starts brainstorming various methods and tactics I should employ to be more proactive about my relationship with Rockmann. Some of the ideas they throw at me are so outrageously embarrassing that just imagining me doing them makes me want to hide in my room, never to see the Sun again.
Still, completely ignoring their advice — read, commands — wasn’t an option, especially when they all gang up on me like that. In the end, it’s decided that I would make the minimum effort at our next date by putting on makeup. I say it’s been decided, when in truth, it would be more accurate to say that it’s been mandated by Benjamine, Maris and Cambell, who debated back and forth, without taking into account any input from me, until they came to the unanimous consensus that applying makeup is the bare minimum requirement they expect from me. They just wouldn’t leave me alone or give it a rest until I give in and give them my word that I would do it. Not even Nikeh, who shows up much later, is willing to back me up.
I contemplate going ahead without makeup, anyway — because it’s just too embarrassing to be getting all dolled up for Rockmann, of all people — but I had given my word, and I really hate lying. It would be one thing if I had genuinely forgotten, but the matter of makeup, coupled with my anxiety that Rockmann might already be fed up with me, has been so persistently bothering me that, come morning two days later, there’s no chance it could conveniently slip my mind. So, reluctantly — hesitantly — I take out my makeup kit.
I have another lunch date with Rockmann scheduled for that afternoon. But first, I have work in the morning. And since Rockmann is always punctual, I won’t have the time to apply my makeup right before going out for lunch. On top of that, I don’t wear much makeup on any regular basis, so I’m a bit slow.
Anyway, it is for those reasons that I show up to work that day with makeup that is far more sophisticated than what I’m used to. This doesn’t escape the notice of my colleagues at the Sorcerer’s Guild, and I’m being teased mercilessly by Zozo and the others from the moment I walk in. Even the Director compliments me and jokes that I’m allowed to take as long as I want during the lunch break. Everyone seems to think it’s a particularly special day, since I’m going out of my way with the makeup. It gets so embarrassing that I seriously consider wiping it all off — except, knowing Zozo, she’d make some kind of teasing remark in front of Rockmann, and that would make it all the more awkward.
By the time it’s almost noon, I’ve worked myself up to a full on panic. Come on, Nanalie, it’s only makeup! Even Benjamine and the others called it the bare minimum, which means it has to be no big deal, right? And, uh, any chance he might have forgotten about today? Because if he doesn’t turn up, I can honestly tell my friends that I’ve attempted the bare minimum, but that it wasn’t my fault and all that. Maybe there was an emergency at work, so he has no choice but to cancel?
No, no, no! What am I thinking?! I slap myself hard on the forehead. He’s a Knight of the Royal Order, and a Captain at that! Any emergency he gets involved in has the very real and high probability of being dangerous — possibly even fatal. Of course I don’t want him to be dragged into anything like that! No. Never again. I can still vividly remember him wrapped up in bandages, lying there looking exactly like me, but with his left arm missing, bleeding profusely within an inch of his life. Then, during the great battle against Stadal, he had frozen solid upon spending all of his magical power to save me, and I had thought he had died. No, I never want him to be in any situation like those ever again!
“If you’re trying to forget that we’re supposed to go out for lunch, hitting yourself in the face is not a very effective way to dislodge the memory, you know?”
Oh. Oh dear … I know that voice. He must have walked in while I was lost in thought, and witnessed me smacking myself for no apparent reason. Damn him and his perfectionist punctuality! He’s even a bit early today!
“Uh, um …”
What do I say to such a peculiar greeting? Great. What a brilliant way to start a date.
“Hel?”
Rockmann leans down to peer at my face. Up close, his features are even more dazzling than usual — with his honey golden hair falling to his shoulders, his crimson eyes framed by those impossibly long lashes, the sharp and refined angles of his face, and that pale white pearlescent skin …
“D-don’t worry about it. I just … had a lot to think about.” I hate how I’m stuttering when he looks so calm and collected. It feels like I just lost in the acting cool department. “J-just give me one moment!”
He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment further while I shuffle around putting away the papers and files I’ve been working on.
“Shall we?”
He holds out a hand to me, as I step out from behind my desk.
It’s strange. Once, I had gone around the Flower Festival with Yakkurin, a fellow Guild employee, and we had grabbed onto each other’s hands to make sure neither one of us got lost in the crowd. That didn’t last the whole Festival, as we had quickly found our hands full with all sorts of flowers and purchases. Anyhow, I didn’t think much of the hand-holding; in fact, Yakkurin was much more hesitant about it. But when Rockmann does it with me, I get flustered all over. What’s the deal with that, I wonder …
Today, though, I’m a bit too preoccupied to worry about it and just take the hand he offers. I don’t even notice the customary stares we usually get from the female onlookers as we leave Harré.
Rockmann isn’t saying anything. Not that he’s the chatty type. But neither is he the silent type. He would typically have some remark or other to make by this point.
I’m curious, or rather, anxious to know what he’s thinking, as we stroll into town. Did he not notice the makeup I have on? Not that I particularly want him to. But he did get quite the close look-up of my face when he was leaning over at my desk earlier. Hard to believe he hasn’t notice — he’s usually far too sharp and observant for comfort. Wait — he isn’t wearing his glasses today — I mean, he only rarely wears them — but maybe he actually has poor eyesight…?
Or maybe—maybe he really has lost patience with me, and is thinking this is a waste of time? Could he be thinking of walking around with another woman, hand-in-hand, leaning against each other, a-and then k-k-ki-kissing—?!
Ugh — there it is again — the thought that has been constantly tormenting me ever since that conversation at Benjamine’s house. The more I think about it, the more upset I get. And the overwhelming anxiety makes me feel physically ill, so much so that I think I might die.
I don’t like this side of me. It feels so out of character for me to be thinking all this stuff, not to mention the horrible feelings that come with them.
So lost am I in my own thoughts that I don’t even realise we’ve arrived at the restaurant, until Rockmann pulls out a chair and push down on my shoulders to sit me down.
Once we have placed our orders, Rockmann lifts a finger, pointing it upwards and twirling it in circles a few times.
I blink. A soundproof barrier? Is he going to talk about something that he doesn’t want overheard? Oh, no — is this where he tells me he’s fed up with the dilly-dallying mess that I am? And Rockmann, being the aristocratic ladykiller gentleman that he is, would care to make sure these sorts of stuff are not overheard, right?
I can feel myself going pale, as I brace myself for what he’s about to say.
“So,” he begins calmly, “what’s with the makeup?”
“Huh?”
That’s not what I thought what he was going to say. Or maybe this is just small talk, leading up to th-that—?
“I’ve only ever seen you in makeup at balls and such events,” he continues, leaning forwards. “It’s not like you to put in so much effort into your looks for a regular work day, is it?”
He’s not wrong. But why did he have to phrase it like that?! It feels like there was an insult somewhere in there. In spite of my doom and gloom, I feel a little of my old competitive fire flare inside me, and got ready to give him a piece of my mind. But then I remember the reason why I’m even wearing makeup, and deflate right back.
“Oh, um, I just thought I’d try something new …” I mumble. “Benjamine and Maris and Cambell … they, uh, um, thought I should try it … or something …”
Not good. Not good at all, Nanalie! That feels almost too close to a lie. But if I want to tell him the truth …
“That so?” He cuts through my inner-musings. “Well, it doesn’t make a difference.”
“H-huh?!”
I put in so much effort to apply the complicated makeup techniques Nikeh had done for me for our graduation party. I even went through the trouble of waking up extra early this morning to make sure I get it right — though I haven’t been sleeping much these last couple of nights, worrying, so that’s not saying much. Even if I’m not very good at it, it stings my pride that all that effort doesn’t make any difference.
What, is he blind? I almost ask him just that. But then it occurs to me that maybe what he’s really saying is that my efforts won’t make a difference — and not that it doesn’t make me look different. Makes sense. Slapping on makeup does not change the fact that I’m still a complete mess who doesn’t have a clue about romance, and has no idea what I want from our unexpected relationship.
“Hel.”
Suddenly, my gaze is jerked upwards. Rockmann lifts my chin by the tips of his long and elegant fingers, forcing me to meet his flaming crimson eyes.
“You’re not yourself today. You’ve hardly spoken at all and you haven’t looked at me once this whole time. Is something wrong?”
He’s got a complicated expression as he says that, pursing his lips as he waits for an anser.
He’s right. I’m not being myself. Maybe I should just outright tell him what’s been bothering me. It would be embarrassing as hell, but, at the rate things are going, I’d take embarrassment over whatever the hell this is that I’m feeling.
I take a deep breath —
“It’s just—just something my friends said — you know, Maris and Cambell and Benjamine — and I wasn’t even thinking about it to begin with — but then I was — and now I can’t stop thinking about it — and it’s really stupid — I mean, it’s not something that even makes sense — so forget I said anything!”
— and completely chickened out at the last minute.
I wince internally. Coward, Nanalie, coward. So much for being forthright with him.
Opposite me, Rockmann has let go of my chin, and is massaging his furrowed eyebrows with his eyes closed, as if fighting off a headache.
“I see,” he says finally in a low voice. He opens his crimson eyes again and pins me with an intense stare. “And does this something that they said have anything to do with trying to impress me? Or, perhaps, with doubting how I might make my choice?”
Ugh, how does he always get so close to the mark? It’s infuriating — like he’s prying straight into the mess of my head without even asking permission. He’s too sharp. Far, far too observant for my liking. Can’t he just not notice things once in a while?!
“Wh-what’s that supposed to mean? Y-you don’t have to say it like that!” I shoot back, glaring at him over the rim of my glass. “You make it sound like I sit around plotting how to—to impress you or something. As if I’ve got nothing better to do!”
…Which, fine, maybe I did go through the whole cursed ordeal of makeup this morning because of him — but he doesn’t need to know that!
He exhales slowly, then leans back, folding his arms across his chest, that stubborn determination plain on his face. Typical Rockmann.
“Then allow me to put it differently,” he says, voice calm but edged with weight. “His Majesty granted me the freedom to decide my own future. That sort of freedom isn’t something I treat lightly… and it won’t be swayed by a touch of makeup.” He sighs, unfold his arms, and pokes me in between my eyebrows with his index finger. “Makeup or no, you’re no different from usual to me.”
What… what was that supposed to mean? Talking to him is making me feel like I’m losing my brain functions!
The King granted him freedom — yes, I know that — but why bring it up now? And in that infuriatingly calm, low voice of his. Won’t be swayed by a touch of makeup. Ugh! He makes it sound like I’ve painted myself up for some shallow reason! I wasn’t even— well, maybe I was, but not like that! No different from usual to him? What even is ‘usual’?! And what was with that sharp look in his eyes earlier? Was that annoyance? At me? Argh, now I’m overthinking everything again!
Still… if he’s really saying makeup doesn’t matter, then… does that mean…?
Stop it, Nanalie. Don’t go imagining things he didn’t say.
“Hmph… you make it sound so simple,” I mutter, reaching for my water glass a bit too quickly. The rim nearly clinks against my teeth as I take a sip — anything to busy my hands, anything to avoid his eyes.
From across the table, Rockmann watches my awkward fumbling with the glass, crimson eyes cool, one brow lifting with infuriating ease.
“Careful. At this rate you’ll end up drowning yourself in a glass of water before I’ve even touched my meal. Tragic, really — for Harré’s receptionist lady to be defeated by tableware of all things.”
“Ugh. Shut up!” I bristle instinctively to the word ‘defeat’.
He pauses just long enough for me to think he’s finished — then adds, with a faint curl of his lips, “Mmm, I should warn you, I’m off duty during lunch. Nowhere in my schedule does it say ‘rescue drowning victims’, and I don’t make a habit of it when I’m off duty.”
“As if I’d need you to save me from anything!” I huff, setting the glass down with a little more force than necessary. My cheeks burn hotter when I catch the faint smirk on his lips, as if he’s already claimed victory just by getting a rise out of me. “Honestly, Rockmann, you’re insufferable!”
“Mmm …”
Silence follows, heavy as stone. I jab at the hem of my napkin with my fingertip, jaw tight, refusing to look at him. The clink of dishes signals our food’s arrival, and fragrant steam curls up from the plate in front of me. Normally, I’d be delighted — I always look forwards to a good dish of bunny-bird. But today? I bring the meat to my mouth, and chew without tasting, every bite flat and dull. Ugh, why does he always twist things so I end up sounding like the idiot? And that look on his face — calm, smug, as if I’m nothing more than another one of his victories. Infuriating!
What’s worse, his words from earlier won’t stop circling in my head. Freedom to choose …. Not swayed by makeup…. No different from usual…. What does any of that even mean? No different? If he can choose his future freely, then what if… what if that future doesn’t have me in it? I’m just a commoner, after all; and he’s this polished nobleman — son of a Duke, nephew of the King, and Marquess in his own right.
I stab another slice of bunny-bird and chew, but it’s no good. Still tasteless. Still flat. Every bite feels wasted, and that, more than anything, finally tips me over the edge. Enough already! I’m not going to let Rockmann — or my own ridiculous fretting — ruin my delicious bunny-bird any further.
Fine. If he insists on talking in riddles, then I’ll ask outright. No more roundabout words. I’ll just say it directly.
I lift my eyes from the plate and stare at him across the table. His posture is maddeningly composed, his crimson eyes steady, as if nothing in the world could shake him. My chest feels tight, my throat dry, and the fork in my hand suddenly feels like it weighs a ton. Great. Now what? I’ve decided to ask, but how in the world do I even start?
His brow arches, faint amusement flickering across his lips.
“You’re staring rather intently. What is it? Planning your next move, or simply hoping I’ll be defeated by cutlery as well?”
I ignore his words and continue to psych myself up while staring closely at his face.
“Um, can you stop looking at me like that? Feels gross.”
“Don’t call me gross!”
I clench and unclench my fists on the table a few times, take a deep breath, and stare straight into his eyes.
“You got any plans to kiss other women sometime soon?”
There! I’ve said it. Now, what’s he going to say? Bet he didn’t see that coming.
“No, ma’am,” he replies, completely serious. “None whatsoever.”
I blink. That was … fast. Like he hadn’t even needed to think about it.
Taken aback by how he answered without missing a beat, I stare at him and study his expression closely. He looks utterly confident and composed, like his response is the most obvious thing in the world.
Wait, what’s with that calm face? As if my question from out of the blue didn’t rattle him in the least. Ugh, infuriating! Am I supposed to feel relieved? Embarrassed? Both?!
Wait wait wait! Am I losing at something I’m not even aware of here?!
“You look relieved,” he notes casually, without even pausing his meal.
“Tch! Who’d be relieved over something like that?! Don’t be ridiculous!” My voice comes out sharper than intended. I sink into my chair, glaring daggers at him.
Rockmann, of course, doesn’t even twitch. He sets down his glass with aristocratic care, as though we were talking about the weather. Then, as casually as if he were asking whether I wanted dessert, he says—
“And what about you? Any plans to kiss other men?”
I nearly do a spit take, but thankfully manage to choke it back instead. It would have been a disaster if I had spat all over that stupidly handsome face. Wait, since when do I think like that?! Back in school, I think I would have happily taken the chance to do so without hesitation!
“WHAT?! As if! I’m not a lousy player like you, Rockmann! I don’t have men lining up begging for my attention!”
His brow arches, a hint of dark amusement creeping into his eyes.
“Prince Maiteiah,” he drawls. “He was pretty insistent on making you his mate.”
“Eurghh, that’s gross! You know he was only going on and on about because I somehow remind him of the missing Sea Princess, remember? Never mind that the Sea Princess is actually my Mother!”
“Yakkurin,” he continues smoothly, as though I haven’t said a word. “You went on a date at the Flower Festival with him before, didn’t you?”
“That wasn’t a date! It just so happened that neither one of us had anyone to go with.”
“How about Sarenja Borizurie? Practically hitting on you the very first time you met at the Wall Helenus registration. He asked you out to dinner, didn’t he?”
“That was just dinner. And you were there. You know I turned him down.”
“A whole host of boys back in the Academy. Shall I go on?”
“Ugh, now you’re just making things up!” I shake my fist in his direction, cheeks blazing. “You’re the one with ladies fawning all over you! Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it!”
He exhales slowly, crimson eyes narrowing by the smallest fraction. The faint curl at his lips disappears.
“Whatever I say here is just going to be a waste of breath,” he murmurs flatly, as though to himself. “As if you’d ever believe me.”
Of course not. You’re too much of a flirt.
… is what I want to say. But something in his voice stops me in my tracks. Instead, I simply give him a long, searching look.
Silence falls. He puts down his cutlery, and folds his arms across his chest, gaze fixed on me, unyielding. The air feels heavy, as though the chatter and clinking plates of the restaurant have dimmed away, leaving only the two of us. Finally, in a hollow voice, he says—
“The way I treat them is politics and etiquette. Appear too cold, and you invite trouble. Appear too warm, and you invite worse. A balance had to be struck. It was a necessary shield.”
He presses his palms hard on the table, and leans forwards just slightly to meet my eyes with his burning gaze.
“You’ve seen me refuse women before. Do you think I’d waste time pretending otherwise? Is your memory really that poor? Or do you just choose to forget the parts that don’t fit your opinions of me?”
I gulp. Because, if I stop to think about it, he’s right.
Back in our fourth year at the Academy, hadn’t he rejected Maris, who has always been one of his most ardent and long-standing admirers? I should know this, as, if it hadn’t been for his rejection of her, Maris and I might never have been friends. As a member of the nobility, Maris wasn’t someone I was likely to get close to. That is, until that day when I found her dejected and broken-hearted. I had given her a little gift, crafted from my magic, to cheer her up. And that was how we became friends.
Then, of course, there was Princess Carolla from the Kingdom of Sheera. I had front seat audience to that rejection — if you could call having my face pressed into Rockmann’s chest the front seat, that is. The Princess had literally said that she liked him enough to spend the rest of her life with him, or something, but he had responded with some sentimental nonsense like wanting to marry the love of his life … I think …. I’m a bit curious about that, but that was so long ago, I don’t know if there’s any point in asking.
I look up at him, and his eyes soften as our gaze meet.
Ugh! What is with him?
Why can’t I just brush it off like usual?
I stab another piece of bunny-bird and chew, barely tasting it, but it’s different from before. My chest feels too tight, my heart pounding like it’s about to leap right out of me. And yet… somehow, it isn’t the same suffocating knot it was before. It’s different. Warmer.
I don’t get it. I don’t get it at all. But for some reason, it feels a little easier to breathe than it did a moment ago.