Chapter 127 : Whispers Beneath the Crimson Sky
❖ Chapter 127 ❖
Whispers Beneath the Crimson Sky
The deep, ocean-dark eyes of Johannes locked onto mine, their stillness concealing tides of unspoken emotion. A soft, distinct scent—clean and warm—lingered in the air as he took a step forward, his long legs moving with slow certainty.
He leaned casually against the railing, then inclined toward me. Reflexively, I stepped back—only to be halted by the cold touch of the iron rail behind me.
While my expression crumbled into disarray, his held a relaxed amusement—gentle, knowing, and devastating.
Was this your plan? To fluster me? If so… you’ve succeeded.
Without a trace of shame, he repeated his earlier words—teasing, almost childlike. “I never said I was returning to the Duke’s residence.”
I averted my gaze, my fingers playing with a loose strand of hair as if to ground myself. “I don’t think you said that exactly.”
A whisper brushed past my ear—his voice low and velvety.
“I see. I didn’t tell you.”
“…It’s late now. We should go back.”
“I apologize for the late notice… but we won’t be returning tonight.”
“…What?”
“Isn’t this what ordinary couples do during the festival? Stay out together? Fret mentioned it.”
I groaned softly, my palm rising to meet my forehead.
So Lord Fret had planted this ludicrous idea. True, there were such couples, but this wasn’t the social norm—especially not for nobles. Our world was bound by chains of propriety, and Johannes knew that well.
Still, he met my gaze unflinchingly, waiting.
“…And the escorts? Where are they supposed to be?”
His response was simple—and unsettling.
“There are none.”
“…Excuse me?”
A slow blink escaped me. His brow furrowed ever so slightly before he spoke with faint pride.
“You don’t believe I can protect you?”
“Of course not… That’s not what I meant.”
He was a decorated naval officer of Docilia. Doubting him was unthinkable.
“I just wanted today… to feel normal. Like we’re just lovers.”
He laughed. It was soft, free, beautiful.
Yes… I had wished for that too. But staying out all night? With Johannes, who could never truly blend into ordinary life?
Still, I decided not to ruin the moment with logic.
“So, how was it? Living like an ordinary couple?”
His head tilted as he asked. The sea breeze tugged at my hair as I smiled faintly and answered:
“…It was good.”
It was more than good. For a fleeting moment, the ghosts of Mussen, of Edward Windsor, had faded into silence.
We had played games at the Spring Festival, won darts—him gracefully, me clumsily. But we laughed. We touched. We made memories.
“Really good,” I added. “So good, that I’ll think of this day when things get hard. And I’ll remember that it wasn’t all pain.”
His eyes darkened.
“Was it perfect?” he asked, voice low.
I hesitated, caught off guard. “Was something… missing?”
Johannes reached into his pocket and pulled out a small hairpin—the one from the dart stall. His hand fumbled gently in my hair until it settled, awkward but endearing.
He took a step back and smiled.
“It’s pretty.”
I blinked.
“…Huh?”
My face flushed a bright crimson.
That’s what he meant by lacking? I had assumed he was referring to not going for coffee or walking in a park, not… this.
“You look especially beautiful today,” he added.
A storm stirred inside me.
The words, so sweet, so disarming, brought forth something buried. A shadow. A truth.
This happiness—it wouldn’t last.
The thought curled around me like smoke.
“…Why that look?” he asked gently, his voice brushing the rim of my thoughts.
I smiled, quick and brittle. “It’s just… I haven’t heard words like that in a long time. It’s awkward.”
“I say it all the time. I’m sorry if you didn’t hear me.”
His earnestness struck deep, and I laughed—softly, a little brokenly.
Maybe he was trying to soothe my fear. Maybe it was working.
I met his gaze again, feeling the tension crackle.
I reached up, looping my arms around his neck.
“Still… something’s missing.”
And as I stared into his eyes, a reflection of myself stared back—hopeful, unsure.
Then it shattered.
“…Do you really think I look beautiful… like this?”
I broke free, turned away, and buried my face in my hands. My skin burned.
The sea breeze had tangled my hair beyond repair. Salt clung to my skin. I must look awful.
Had I truly smiled at him all evening… looking like this?
He reached for my wrist and gently turned me around. His eyes softened.
“You’re beautiful.”
I covered my face again. “But I’m—messy.”
“I’ve already seen it,” he chuckled.
“Still! I didn’t know—!”
“I’ve seen all your faces.”
I bit back a retort. My throat closed with a thousand words unsaid.
And then his voice, quieter now, reached me again.
“…Where are you going?”
His question stunned me. There was no sarcasm. No jest.
My breath caught.
“There was never a moment you weren’t beautiful,” he whispered.
Once, I thought that if I ever heard such words from someone I loved, I’d tremble.
And I did.
But the trembling was sweet.
I bit my lip.
As I stood still—face hidden in my palms—he took my hand again.
“Every moment with you is beautiful.”
His tone was reverent. As if he were confessing something sacred.
“I want to treat you gently… but I don’t know how. I never did this before.”
I looked up, finding courage in the softness of his gaze.
We stood there in silence—long, unhurried, undisturbed. A silence that was more tender than any words.
And then, he broke it—softly, meaningfully.
“So even if I’m clumsy…”
His arms wrapped around my waist with a steady gentleness.
He leaned in, his eyes dark and endless.
“I hope you’ll understand.”
Before I could answer, before I could breathe, his lips met mine—deep, earnest, aching.
And time, for a moment, dissolved.
