Home/I confined you, but I have no ill will/ch 12

12.

"Is this your taste?"

At the question, Mary blinked slowly.

"Excuse me?"

"I asked if this is your taste."

"If you mean this—"

"Erotica."

Mary's eyes went round. With trembling hands, she picked up the fallen book and flipped it open.

"Oh?"

A deflated sound escaped her lips, and her face flushed tomato-red.

"N-no! It's a misunderstanding! I didn't know it was that kind of book!"

"Liar."

At the accusatory tone, Mary shook her head vehemently.

"I really, truly didn't know! The bookstore owner just said it was a book men would like!"

Listening to her flustered excuses, Kite felt he finally understood why everything had seemed so strange.

"Hahaha."

Kite laughed. Ah—now I understand why I was locked up. Judging by how the maid acted, she didn't seem to have any intention of harming him. If she had, she wouldn't have lined the shackles with that embarrassing pink fur. She wouldn't have cared whether he got hurt or not.

"I thought there were no more obsessive madmen left."

It was different from the days of Saraen. Having wandered battlefields, Kite had blossomed his talents, and now there were very few stronger than him. And with his mad behavior, anyone foolish enough to cling to him with perverse intentions had all vanished. Or so he had thought.

"You like me, don't you."

Whether Mary's master actually existed or not was uncertain. But one thing was clear—either Mary or her master liked Kite enough to confine him.

Then wouldn't they have tried to express that all this time?

They would have. But Kite's mansion had tight security, and all letters from strangers were discarded. Visitors were treated the same. No one could enter except those truly close to him—and since Kite acted like a madman, there were very few of those.

So the conclusion was confinement.

Kite suspected that the woman named Mary was the one who had been tailing him all this time. In truth, if he had seriously wanted to catch her, he could have done so somehow—but he hadn't. Because this was the first time anyone had clung to him so persistently.

And yet, caught off guard by such a clumsy method, he had been easily abducted. It was absurd and baffling.

Still, he thought he understood Mary's feelings. Even a man like him had good looks, after all. Kite stated flatly.

"So you locked me up because of that, right?"

As if anyone would imprison a Swordmaster out of love.

Kite didn't trust human beings. Most were ordinary—but some would sacrifice even their lives to get what they wanted. She must be one of those.

"A stalker. You're a stalker."

Kite looked at Ibelin with intrigued eyes. Among all who had ever shown interest in him, this was the first time someone was so uniquely insane. How had she even thought to imprison the Empire's greatest sword? He smiled, rounding his eyes.

"So, Stalker—what do you plan to do now?"

Whatever she did, it would be a new experience. The Empire was busy with the Emperor's birthday, but Kite didn't have much to do. A few days of amusement wouldn't hurt.

He had always turned every crisis around and escaped. This time would be no different.

---

Stalker?

Ibelin gaped at the word she was hearing for the first time in her life.

Stalker—a stalker!

She had lived with her head held high, never ashamed—and now she had to hear such an outrageous accusation! And for some reason, Kite seemed convinced that Ibelin liked him.

That's not it!

Ibelin's ideal type was not a scoundrel with a handsome face.

I like upright people like Grandfather.

Appearance could be average. But she wanted a good personality—like her grandfather, who had patiently comforted his grieving granddaughter after she lost her parents. She wanted someone kind.

"I don't have a taste for someone like Your Grace, the Archduke."

The words slipped out, spurred by irritation. No matter how frightening the opponent, there were things that had to be said.

"Oh, really?"

He answered calmly, but showed no sign of believing her.

"It's true! I value character over looks!"

"My character isn't bad, is it?"

"Excuse me? Are you serious?"

At her blunt question, one of Kite's brows lifted.

"Then let me ask you this—what exactly is wrong with my character?"

"You can tell just by reading the newspapers."

"Ah, the newspapers. Half of what's printed in them is lies. It's the media's conspiracy to make me look bad."

A lie. The incidents Ibelin had uncovered while secretly investigating Kite were far more numerous than what was known. This time, it was Ibelin who wore an incredulous expression.

"Besides, you kidnapped me. It's laughable that a kidnapper's ideal type is a virtuous person."

"Th-that's different!"

All of this was to save Kite. But would he believe her if she told him that? Besides, her family had said not to let outsiders know about her prophetic abilities.

Even though the age of magic had passed, some who inherited that bloodline still possessed abilities. And there were many who coveted such people—especially seers, for their ability was truly rare and extraordinary.

Ibelin clamped her mouth shut. After a long pause, she muttered in a small voice.

"Still—I like kind people."

"Everyone says they value heart over looks. But the moment they stand before me, they all change their tune."

Kite was confident in his appearance. It was true—he was stunning enough to bewitch anyone. But Ibelin would never fall for him.

Frustrated, Ibelin let out a sigh. Then she placed her hand on her chest and recited the gods' names. If she didn't do something, she felt she'd burst and die. She tried to calm down.

"So, Stalker."

"I told you, I'm not."

"Anyone who kidnaps and confines a person is either a kidnapper—or a stalker."

Grandfather, do I really have to help this man?

Ibelin took a slow breath and gripped the tray. She lifted the tea she had intended to give Kite and drank it herself. Perhaps because it was lavender tea, which helped calm the mind, she felt a little better.

"What about my tea?"

Ibelin answered coldly.

"There isn't any."

"You said you were bringing tea? You lock me up and won't even give me tea?"

He didn't even drink tea that often. Grinding her teeth, Ibelin dragged the tray back out.

"Stalker."

It seemed that had become her permanent title. With a weary expression, Ibelin recalled what she had thought to herself hundreds of times.

Still—he's my benefactor. My benefactor.

Displaying superhuman patience, Ibelin smiled.

"I'll brew you another cup."

There were tools in the basement to heat water. Using them, she boiled more water and brought tea again shortly after—and Kite promptly poured it onto the floor.

"Oh dear. I spilled it by accident."

Let's not forget. This man saved Grandfather's life on the battlefield.

"Oh my. Shall I bring you another?"

"Go ahead."

Watching Kite's arrogant reply, Ibelin went back out. But even when she brought freshly brewed tea, the result was the same.

"I don't like this teacup."

What did that have to do with spilling tea on the floor?

"And why would I trust tea brewed by a stalker?"

At his mocking tone, Ibelin unconsciously clenched her fist. Benefactor or not, I want to punch him. Her grandfather had said to treasure food—but this man wouldn't even observe that basic courtesy.

He's doing this on purpose.

He was trying to provoke her, the kidnapper. If she got emotional and left an opening, he would escape. At that thought, her hot head cooled.

She had nearly forgotten what her grandfather had taught her.

"For dinner, I want steak with garnish, mushroom soup, and don't forget salad."

"Yes, I'll do my best to accommodate."

Ibelin smiled again. She would suppress her emotions for now. Even if he was a scoundrel, he was still a Swordmaster. To keep him safely confined, she had to match his level.

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