Home/How a Terminally Ill Woman Distances Herself from Death/ch 5

Chapter 5

Astier, who had been gasping for breath, came to an abrupt halt.

She and Lenia knew nothing about the Academy, so rather than wander aimlessly, she decided it would be better to ask for directions.

She brushed off her dark crimson dress a few times to straighten her appearance, then cleared her throat with a small cough.

"Excuse me."

"Yes?"

"Could you tell me where I should go—and how—to meet a currently enrolled student?"

At her calm, measured voice, the students exchanged glances. It was clear she was an outsider, and since she wasn't naming any of the Academy's many departments, they had no way to place her.

After a very brief pause, one of the group stepped forward.

"If you could tell us which year and whom you're looking for—"

"We don't know every student's name, but if we know the year, we can at least point you in the general direction."

Astier nodded and opened her mouth.

"Fourth year. His Highness Larjen Bellester Ronereils, the Grand Duke."

Before her words had even fully faded, a strange silence enveloped them.

It was odd. Astier's eyes narrowed slightly, and Lenia, standing beside her, tilted her head in confusion. Looking more closely, she noticed that the students ahead had all turned their heads to the left.

Following their gaze, Astier shifted her own line of sight. There she met the indifferent eyes of a tall man wearing a robe in a balanced blend of indigo and red.

The hair that had caught Astier's eye just moments before was beautiful. His neatly arched eyebrows, a shade of silver-gray deeper than his hair, were as dense as the feathers of a red bird's wing—she could already imagine what they would feel like without even touching them.

It might not be the usual word used for a man, but he was beautiful.

His striking ruby-red eyes gazed down at her intently.

She looked to be about thirteen or fourteen. A passing breeze lightly tousled her red-gold hair as if caressing it, and between the strands, which resembled the colors of sunset, her violet eyes gleamed briefly.

It was clear from his face that he had no idea who she was, and she couldn't help but smile. His closed lips parted, and a low voice slipped out.

"Not even knowing what the one you seek looks like."

"Pardon?"

Astier frowned in response, and the man smiled softly.

"I don't know who you are, but I am that Grand Duke Darsilium."

---

In the guest reception room within the Academy.

Leaving Lenia outside, Astier sat across from the Grand Duke Darsilium—the very reason she had come to the Academy.

Silver hair reaching his collarbone, ruby-red eyes, deep double eyelids, pale skin contrasting with all of that, and an expressionless face. Larjen was, truly, a man of picture-perfect looks.

The pure white silver hair, almost a symbol of the Ronereils Imperial Family, glistened in the winter sunlight. How could she not have recognized him? Astier inwardly clicked her tongue.

"First, let me greet you properly. I am Astier of House Brunhilt."

"……What brings you here?"

He brushed past her greeting and went straight to the point. Even if he was a Grand Duke and she was from a declining house, this was rudeness she had never encountered before. A small crack appeared in Astier's composure.

"As you can see, I came to see Your Highness."

Her words grew noticeably shorter. Larjen, seated with his chair pulled back from the table, twitched the corner of his mouth. Even seeing that, Astier did not so much as blink.

If the other party won't keep up formalities, neither will I. I'm the one asking a favor, but that doesn't mean I'll grovel from the start.

With that thought, Astier quietly lifted her teacup. The pale green tea had a sweet fragrance, but its finish left a faint bitterness on her tongue.

"What business do you have with me?"

"Your Highness ignored my letter."

"I have not replied to any letters from the nobility in the capital, not just yours."

"Ah. So you're saying that, in the name of fairness, you also ignored my proposal letter."

At her sarcastic tone, Larjen's eyebrow twitched.

Besides, if the proposal she claimed to have sent was even true, it contained not a grain of her family head's opinion. Thus, it wasn't an official submission—meaning Larjen had no obligation to take it seriously.

But seeing Astier's gaunt face, he swallowed those words.

He had once heard rumors that the sole lady of Brunhilt was in poor health. Yet she had come all this way to see him, so at the very least, the proposal was likely no joke.

"Rather than ignored—"

"If that's not the case, surely you have time to share a cup of tea with a visitor who came to see you?"

Left speechless, Larjen's mouth opened and closed before he finally let out a shallow sigh and answered in the affirmative. A hint of resignation colored his tone.

"Since you seemed unable to trust the contents of my letter, I decided to tell you directly."

Astier set down her teacup. The sharp clink resonated through the air, and the atmosphere froze into a chilling silence.

"Please become my betrothed."

"I refuse."

It was a resolute rejection. But even that had been expected. Astier painted a smile on her face, as though she hadn't been affected in the least.

Today, she was determined to secure his acceptance, no matter what. It was only a matter of time. The Grand Duke was fated to accept her proposal.

"Please become my betrothed."

At the same words repeated like a parrot, Larjen furrowed his brow.

"Lady Astier, what is this—"

"I, Astier of House Brunhilt, propose marriage to His Highness Larjen Bellester Ronereils, Grand Duke of Darsilium."

"……"

"The term won't be very long. Either I die or Your Highness disappears—so at the shortest, five years, and at the longest, six."

He had never in his life met someone who spoke of their own death with a smile. And disappearance, at that.

Larjen was dumbfounded. What did she even know about him, to speak with such certainty?

"Very well. Suppose, as you say, that in five years you die, or I disappear—whichever it may be. Even so, why should I marry you?"

"Because if you become engaged to the baron's daughter you're currently considering, you'll certainly face a headache."

At that, Larjen's face—for the first time since meeting Astier—showed visible disturbance.

The fact that he was considering an engagement to a baron's daughter, a fellow Academy student, was known to no one except his closest aide.

Yet this girl, whom he had never once met in his life, knew about it. And she even implied—no, warned—that it would end badly.

Astier Brunhilt. He had never heard that the Duke of Seuss's daughter possessed any foresight. So she must be either out of her mind or playing games.

But strangely, Larjen could not simply dismiss her words.

Setting aside the engagement matter, it was her statement that he would disappear in a few years that stayed with him.

He could have brushed it off—what could a frail lady, who had spent her entire life within large estates or castles, possibly know about him?

If only he didn't have secrets that others didn't know.

"Was I too blunt?"

"……That may be putting it mildly."

Larjen answered with a reluctant expression.

"I know full well that Your Highness doesn't believe me."

"I'm glad you're aware."

"But if you become engaged to that baron's daughter you're deliberating over, you will surely find yourself mired in unpleasant affairs."

Astier's eyes brimmed with conviction.

Just what gave her such confidence? Larjen uncrossed his legs and straightened his posture.

"You may not know this, but that baron's daughter has a lover—one even her parents don't know about. If you marry her, Your Highness will undoubtedly face succession issues because of the child she carries from that secret lover, and on top of that, you'll be saddled with an unsavory reputation in high society."

Astier's words were no mere bluff.

At the time, when it came to light that she was pregnant before marriage, the Grand Duke naturally denied the child was his, and those who had opposed his marriage attacked him mercilessly, accusing him of abandoning his betrothed and the child.

Though the matter was eventually settled when it was revealed that the child born after the broken engagement bore no resemblance to the Grand Duke at all, the ordeal he endured up to that point was all too real.

"You can easily verify whether the lady truly has a lover by digging a little deeper. And in any case—wouldn't it be enough if the match is with someone who benefits Your Highness as you are now? A dying lady from a declining house, a burden no one wants—wouldn't I be a rather suitable choice?"

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