Chapter 20

020

Hestia awoke without realizing she’d fallen asleep, roused by the sensation of someone brushing over her body.

“Mmm… mm.”

With a soft whimper, she fluttered her eyes open, only for a large hand to come down over her eyelids.

“Sleep.”

The low, grounding voice swept her back toward her dreams like a tide pulling her in.

Led by that touch, she began to drift off again, lost in a half-conscious thought.

‘There’s no one… who would tell me to sleep like this.’

Then… whose voice is this?

Suddenly.

Her eyes flew open, and she jolted upright. Her gaze locked in midair with Riad’s—he was holding a damp towel in his hand.

“D-Did I…?”

Did I fall asleep? I was trying to wait, but I must have…

But the sentence never reached its end. Before she could finish, Riad pulled her into his arms and collapsed onto the bed, swallowing the rest of her words.

“I didn’t think you’d actually wake up when I told you to sleep.”

He pressed her back down as she kept trying to sit up. When that didn’t work, he simply lifted her up and placed her on top of him.

Flattened against his chest, with her face resting against his shoulder, Hestia finally fell still.

“Sleep.”

The position… was uncomfortable.

Lying on top of him was awkward enough, but even more uncomfortable was…

‘It’s… touching my leg. Constantly.’

Once she noticed, she couldn’t un-notice it. That large thing kept brushing against her, impossible to ignore.

How had she not even known it was there before? It felt ridiculous now that she hadn’t.

“I put medicine on your arm, so don’t move around too much.”

“……”

“Think it’ll heal before we get to the castle?”

Hestia, finally managing to turn her attention away from the contact against her lower body, said nothing.

The pain she’d felt in her arm—or anywhere else—was already faint, barely noticeable. She’d nearly forgotten she’d been injured until he mentioned it again.

But still, it was strange. Why was she lying on top of this man like he was a cushion, instead of resting on the soft bed? Did he have no intention of letting her go?

And yet, part of her worried that if she moved even slightly, something really would happen here. So she stayed still, tucked quietly in his embrace.

“The road’s going to get rougher starting tomorrow. I’ll try to keep things as safe as possible, but make sure you sleep well and eat properly.”

Rougher? She couldn’t even imagine what that meant.

Today alone, the carriage had jolted so much that her face nearly slammed into the floor a few times.

“You’re not answering?”

Riad’s hand touched the back of her head.

It lingered there a moment, then gently swept through her hair.

“…I’ll eat well,” she murmured.

“So that means you’re not going to sleep well?”

There was a time, long ago, when her mother had stroked her hair like this… when she’d still been healthy.

And then there was Heron, whose kindness she’d nearly forgotten—he used to pat her head like this when praising her.

Come to think of it, those days had been filled with happiness. Her father hadn’t yet fallen into gambling, and while he’d always been gruff, he used to hold her in his arms every time they met.

Overwhelmed by the warmth of that familiar touch, Hestia’s voice began to drift off into a sleepy murmur.

“…I can sleep well.”

Riad didn’t respond. He just continued stroking her hair in silence.

How much time passed like that?

One of the candles, nearly burnt out, flickered its last and was extinguished, and darkness gently settled across the tent.

The scent of Riad—deep and heavy—no longer struck her as strange. It simply surrounded her, wrapping her in warmth.

Her eyes slowly drifted shut.

* * *

Hestia woke early again—it was practically a habit by now. She hadn’t had a proper night’s rest in nearly a year, so her body seemed to have mistaken the break of dawn as the time to wake.

The sun had barely risen, and as soon as she opened her eyes, Hestia had to catch her breath.

‘T-too close…’

The first thing she saw upon waking was a man’s face.

Unfamiliar—and unlikely to ever feel familiar. The same man who had teased her the night before.

Her husband, Riad Ingel.

A small mark rested above his peacefully closed eyelid.

His lashes, long and delicate like black feathers, framed his serene face. His brows, thick and relaxed, gave him a composed air.

She carefully lifted her head and nearly brushed his nose in the process.

Panicking at the thought she might’ve woken him, she paused. But the mouth that was always firmly shut in sleep now hung slightly open, letting out steady, rhythmic breaths.

Hestia stiffened, eyes fixed on Riad, fast asleep.

Her heart, which had nearly leapt out of her chest from the shock, finally began to calm. And as it did, she began to see him more clearly.

Her memories of falling asleep were foggy—unclear. She didn’t even remember when she’d drifted off, and the confusion left her head a mess.

‘I need to get up…!’

One of his arms was under her body, the other draped over her. She felt pinned down, almost restrained.

‘Ngh!’

She tried nudging his arm, but it didn’t budge.

She considered pushing harder—maybe she could wriggle free—but feared that might wake him.

Aren’t animals at their most vulnerable while sleeping?

Scholars considered humans animals, too, but maybe Riad didn’t fall under that category. How could he be this strong, even while asleep?

“……”

She shifted her body again, more carefully this time.

Instead of lifting his arm, she opted for slipping out from underneath him. Thankfully, it wasn’t too difficult when she moved slowly.

Once she was fully free, she let out a quiet sigh of relief, her chest swelling and then deflating.

She worried he might wake up from noticing the absence of her warmth, but Riad remained asleep in the same position.

Hestia tiptoed to the edge of the bed and looked around for her shoes.

The only pair in sight were the dirtied heels she’d worn yesterday—soiled from stepping on mountain trails every time she got out of the carriage. There were no slippers in sight.

Going barefoot across the floor was out of the question. Resigned, she sat neatly at the edge of the bed and glanced around the room.

As she turned her head, a tangle of pink caught her eye.

It wasn’t anything else—it was her own hair.

It was a disaster. Not just messy—completely disheveled, like a puffed-up cat.

Her usually straight, silky strands were now curled and knotted, and she instinctively grabbed a handful.

There was no mirror to confirm it, but she could imagine the horror.

Come to think of it—she hadn’t even washed up before bed. How could I let that happen?

No matter how terrible the day, Hestia always insisted on washing up and changing into clean clothes before sleeping—even if she had to limp her way through it.

At least it seemed she had changed clothes, but what good was that if she hadn’t bathed—

“Wait… my clothes…”

The words slipped out aloud.

‘Why… am I wearing different clothes?’

She felt a chill shoot through her limbs, as if all the blood in her body rushed to her feet.

She had no memory of changing—no idea when she’d fallen asleep.

Which meant someone else had changed her.

But there was no one here to assist her…

Then who?

The unfamiliar knights? No—that didn’t feel right.

That left only one person.

Riad. He must’ve changed her clothes and put her to bed.

Like turning the joints of an old porcelain doll, Hestia slowly turned her head toward him.

From the foot sticking out from the covers, to the thick quilt over his lower half, the loosely buttoned shirt revealing his torso, his strong neck, sharp jawline, and then—

“You done?”

“…Hhk!”

Golden eyes.

Hestia shot to her feet.

“Wh—when did you wake up?”

Riad sat up, brushing his hand through his hair.

“From the start.”

“The start… as in… when?”

“Since you opened your eyes. Did you really think I wouldn’t wake up with you fidgeting around like that?”

Just like she had done to him earlier, Riad’s gaze slowly moved from her toes upward.

His eyes finally stopped at her hair.

She was hit with a wave of shame so strong, she wanted to throw on a bonnet and flee the room.

Who would’ve guessed her notoriously smooth, hard-to-tangle hair could end up like this?

In the social circles, people often called her hair silk-like. Even when she tried braiding it, it would slip right out, unable to hold a shape.

“D-Don’t look.”

Hestia finally hid her face behind her tangled locks. She couldn’t bear to show him the mess her expression must’ve become.

Especially not to Riad, who looked just as composed as he had the night before.

“I just didn’t brush it…”

She offered a half-hearted excuse.

Riad didn’t respond. He simply stood up. Instinctively, Hestia stepped back.

He hopped down from the bed and slipped on his shoes, then motioned toward her bare feet.

“You like walking barefoot on dirt floors or something?”

She quickly shook her head, but all that did was make her hair tangle even more.

Riad crossed his arms, then brushed her hair back with the back of his hand.

Hestia, avoiding his gaze with all her might, finally glanced up when she felt his eyes boring into her face.

Her pale face was flushed red with shame.

“……”

“Is it… that bad?”

“…No.”

He paused before answering—but that silence spoke volumes.

‘Is it really that awful?’

She barely registered his denial.

Riad lowered his hand and gently loosened her grip on the locks she’d been clutching like a lifeline.

He rolled the ends of her hair softly between his fingers and narrowed his eyes.

Hestia, unsure what he was thinking, just stood there, unable to look away.

Finally, after a long silence, Riad let go and said,

“Where’s your brush? I’ll do it for you.”