Home/I confined you, but I have no ill will/ch 90

90.

Crispy pastries glistened with thin apple slices, accompanied by barbecued apples, apple cookies, and apple juice. Though Ibelin was anxious, Kite didn't push her to the festival; instead, he brought various treats to her.

"We'll shorten our stay and leave tomorrow. So relax today."

He handed her a pie—there were several kinds.

"I bought one from each shop."

Some emphasized sweetness, others tartness. As she ate, her fullness eased her anxiety.

Right—we all worked hard to get here; time to rest.

Her grandfather wasn't someone who'd be easily hurt, either. He'd taught her so much.

"Shall we go to the festival together tonight?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He smiled softly. In the evening, the village square would host a dance party—the festival's highlight.

"Different from noble dances, though."

A bonfire, lively music, people dancing freely—couples and singles alike. They said it was fun.

"I've never been to a festival."

She picked up a cookie.

"Don't you have them in the provinces?"

They did. Her grandfather's territory was known for its trees—one variety as hard as metal, with beautiful patterns when split. There were also sweet-tart raspberries.

"I never went."

After losing her parents, she'd been too sad. Her grandfather mentioned festivals, but she didn't want to go. Instead, he'd give her raspberry candy and tell old stories.

As she grew, she spent time in the mountains with him and never thought of festivals. Once she'd passed by one, but didn't feel like joining.

"You're not a hermit."

"Right—why was that?"

She tilted her head.

"Let's go now, not tonight."

He finished the last bite and offered his hand. She took it eagerly.

Leaving the inn, the lively atmosphere was already apparent. The inn itself sold special foods.

Outside, the streets were crowded with stalls selling mostly apple goods, but also other items.

"Traveling merchants—they follow festivals when purses open easier."

"Some sell local specialties, but most don't."

She stared at a bracelet with a blue gem—matching Kite's eyes. He noticed.

"How much?"

The merchant brightened.

"Five silver for a pair!"

Pricey for such craftsmanship.

"Give me this and this."

One was the blue one she'd eyed; the other was green. He'd had the same thought—her heart fluttered.

He handed her the blue one.

"The engagement ring will be much better."

She put it on and held it to the light—the blue stone sparkled like his eyes.

Full from eating, they tried games—ring toss, wooden dagger throwing. Time flew to evening.

"What do we do with this?"

She held a large plush rabbit, looking troubled—Kite had won first prize.

"Cute."

Watching her hold it, he smiled contentedly—was he calling the rabbit cute, or her? At first, she'd blush, but she'd grown used to it. Everyone at the festival was like that—expressing love freely.

"L-Lord Kite is cute too."

She mustered courage.

"Me? In what way?"

He was big and muscular—yet he'd seemed cute lately. Once someone started looking cute, there was no remedy.

"Secret!"

She pulled his hand.

The dancing at the square was, honestly, clumsy. Kite knew noble dances, and she'd learned them too—but they imitated the locals instead, looking funny.

It wasn't bad—rather, it was good.

Alex, whom they happened to meet, laughed at them—he was dancing well with a lively village girl.

This time, they smiled at each other.

It was a joyful festival. Back at the inn, the feeling lingered.

If Unknown hadn't appeared again in her dreams, the good mood would have lasted.

---

"Hah!"

Ibelin woke with a gasp—Unknown in her dream again. Same place, same scene, same person.

"Ibelin—aren't you curious about your grandfather's past?"

"No."

"Why? He might have been a great villain—killed people, been someone's despair."

He'd been in wars—so yes. But he was still her grandfather. Kind, gentle, teaching her to live right.

"That doesn't matter to me."

He smiled mockingly.

"I see—he was so loved."

She didn't know the exact relationship, but after two dreams, she understood: Unknown hated her grandfather.

Was he from the Nordin? No—his appearance was different; they had darker skin. So it wasn't from the northern war.

"What do you want?"

"I hate him."

That dream ended there. But even as they traveled to the capital, Unknown kept appearing—sometimes venting anger, sometimes telling unrelated stories, sometimes just staring in silence.

She noticed his body growing weaker—entering her dreams took a heavy toll on him.

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