Home/I confined you, but I have no ill will/ch 42

42.

"I'm moving your quarters."

Kite came to Ibelin's room and said this without preamble.

"Excuse me? My quarters?"

"This is a guest room for palace visitors—it could be dangerous."

"But being a guest room, shouldn't it be safer?"

Any incident involving a guest would be the Empire's responsibility—so palace knights were always patrolling nearby.

"Just listen to me."

If Kite had become Emperor, he would have been a tyrant.

"Yes."

She had to do as he said—what power did she have? Ibelin moved herself first, as Kite directed.

The new lodging he arranged was a small palace west of the central one. Though it looked old, it was well-maintained and tidy.

"Oh—welcome."

At the entrance stood Hery, whom she had met before.

"Hello?"

She greeted her while trying to assess the situation—Hery kindly explained.

"Lord Kite stays here whenever he's at the palace. So I maintain the West Palace regularly. It was originally his residence as a prince—His Majesty allows him to use it still."

"I see."

"He was so adorable when he was young."

"Me?"

Kite grumbled but didn't stop her—a sign of how close they were.

"Please come in."

Following Hery inside, they entered a small hall. Though called a prince's palace, it was larger than the baronial hall—capable of hosting parties.

Beyond the hall, a long corridor stretched out, lined with portraits of a blond child.

"How adorable!"

Ibelin exclaimed in admiration. Round blue eyes, shoulder-length hair—he looked like a cherub. That was when she realized—

This was Kite's childhood residence. So who else could the portrait be?

"Lord Kite was really cute, wasn't he?"

"...Yes."

That was undeniable.

"So cute."

She said that, glancing at Kite beside her. He had turned away, so she couldn't see his face—but she could tell he was embarrassed.

She had thought him shameless, but he did feel shame. Perhaps this was payback for all she'd endured.

"Like a little angel descending to earth."

At the continuing praise, Kite flinched.

"I've never seen such a pretty child!"

"Oh my?"

Hery nodded contentedly, then gradually slipped away until she was gone. But Ibelin, showering praise on Kite's portraits, didn't notice.

The portraits, painted each year, showed his growth—from small child to a youth whose features refined with time.

...Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.

The portraits stopped there.

"No portraits after that?"

"No—I had to go north."

The late Emperor had sent young Kite to the battlefield—a fact that struck her anew, making her resent him. How could anyone send such a child so far away?

As her thoughts lingered, Kite continued. Rubbing his slightly flushed face, he recalled the past.

"I couldn't bring a painter there—though Baron Frillie offered to draw my portrait. But he was terrible at it."

"He was a bit like that."

Baron Frillie, talented in so many things, was hopeless at drawing—flowers he thought were lions, limbs he thought were caterpillars. Yet he was always enthusiastic, drawing many things for Ibelin.

"...Are you the same?"

"Me? I'm not as bad as Grandfather."

She answered firmly—at least she could distinguish objects. Comparing her skills to her beloved grandfather's was an insult.

"Really?"

"Really."

"I doubt it."

"I'll show you later!"

"When?"

"Anytime!"

As she declared boldly, she realized her mistake—she shouldn't make such promises. She planned to leave the capital after this was over.

Looking up in panic, she saw his blue eyes gleaming between his fingers. The portraits showed beautiful eyes, but these, full of life, were far better.

"A promise?"

Kite suddenly extended his pinky finger toward her.

She knew what it meant—her grandfather had done the same when making promises.

"A Northern custom—they hook fingers to seal a promise."

She should refuse—but she couldn't resist his gaze. Trembling, she hooked her finger with his.

"Break it and you die."

"Wait—you seal promises with death?"

"That's how it is."

He answered casually, but her unease grew.

"Then I'll have you draw it when I want."

"...When would that be?"

"I already had my portrait painted this year, thanks to Seren's urging. How about next year?"

"Next year? We're not even halfway through this year!"

"Portraits are once a year—I won't do more."

"No—wait! I only said I'd draw, I never said I'd paint a portrait!"

At her protest, Kite smiled brightly.

"Just now."

"This is invalid!"

She tried to pull her finger away, but he held tight—no matter how she shook, it wouldn't budge.

"A promise!"

After several attempts, she gave up and went limp.

"Why do you do this to me?"

"I wonder."

His smiling face looked so pleased that she had no energy to argue. Perhaps she could return to the provinces and come back only to paint the portrait—that might be better. Traveling back and forth wouldn't be easy, but she couldn't stay by his side pretending to be his fiancée forever.

"Fine—I'll paint your portrait."

"You'd better do it well."

"What if I can't?"

"Then you'll stay by my side until you can."

She reconsidered her drawing skills. She was better than her grandfather—but suddenly, her confidence waned. Those portraits were painted by famous artists—she couldn't match them.

"On second thought—my drawing skills might be similar to Grandfather's."

So she decided to give up her confidence boldly. At her belated confession, Kite laughed out loud.

"It's too late!"

"Ugh."

"Since it's too late, just give up and let me show you your room."

Instead of the vanished Hery, Kite guided her.

The room was larger than her previous guest room, filled with many things—all looking brand new. The palace was old, but the furniture gleamed.

"Did you buy new furniture?"

She had enough sense to ask.

"No—it's the original furniture."

But it's all things suitable for an adult woman. Ibelin narrowed her eyes at Kite.

"More importantly—let me show you the most important thing."

"What is it?"

He led her to one of the doors in the room.

"Open it."

Why open this? Already suspicious, Ibelin kept glancing at Kite as she opened the door.

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