At that moment, the carriage, unaware of the commotion at the very back of the procession, was silent. There was no room for any noise other than the rustling of turning pages. In a silence so heavy that even the sound of swallowing felt intrusive, Baron Boden scanned the young man sitting across from him.
His master possessed a beauty that looked as if it had been painted—dazzling platinum-blonde hair, lake-like blue eyes, an elegantly curved jawline, and a high-bridged nose. Yet, with his perfectionist nature and fastidiousness, no one could best him.
"Do you have something to say?"
"Ah, no."
"How was the cleanup handled?"
"Pardon?"
As he hesitated, failing to grasp the meaning for a moment, a cold gaze shot toward him. Only then did Baron Boden recall the regent who had been ousted not long ago. The baron swallowed hard and answered cautiously.
"We cut off both his hands and put them on display as an example. To ensure the retainers under the regent would never again engage in usury against the villagers."
"Livestock that does not listen must be disciplined with the rod."
The Duke muttered as if to himself and closed the book he had been reading. While he massaged the back of his neck as if it were stiff, the quick-witted Baron Boden tapped the carriage window a couple of times. The person in charge, who had been riding a horse alongside, approached.
"My Lord. Is there something you need?"
"Slow the carriage. His Highness seems weary."
It was a warning that if the Duke were to open his eyes, their lives would not be spared. Feeling his spine stiffen, the person in charge answered heavily.
"I shall relay the order."
Enoch Ferentz, the other man who had kept his eyes closed without even glancing over, was the only junior duke in this country and the King’s only nephew.
* * *
"Sister. Put this on, right now."
Without the promised signal, the vibration stopped. John climbed down from the driver's seat, hopped onto the wagon, and opened a crate without a word. He then handed his robe to Roxana. It was a robe with a hood that could cover her face. Though she didn't understand why, Roxana did as she was told and donned the robe. John, lowering his voice as much as possible, informed her in a whisper.
"The situation has changed. I’ve told them the horse is sick, so we’ve stopped the carriage for a moment. Our destination isn't far from here, so get off quickly."
"I understand. Thank you."
She heard the sound of someone approaching. John pulled back the curtain covering the inside of the wagon slightly, checked both sides in a hurry, and whispered.
"When I give the signal, run to the right. You should see the city gates before long."
Roxana nodded instead of answering.
"Then..."
Taking a deep breath with his chest heaving, John immediately pulled back the curtain.
"Run!"
Roxana, pulling the robe tight, dashed out immediately. Perhaps because she had been at a slight distance from the group ahead, the surroundings were quiet. Just as she was about to quickly run to the right as instructed:
"...Ack!"
"I knew a rat was hiding."
Someone roughly grabbed her arm.
"Who are you? A bold petty thief?"
It was a familiar voice. The moment she realized who it was, her heart sank. A cold blade touched her neck.
Enoch Ferentz.
Roxana’s body stiffened. Just as Baron Boden was about to step forward, Enoch, having checked Roxana’s attire, gave an order.
"I will give you a chance. Take off the robe yourself and reveal your identity and name."
There was no answer. She could feel her tightly gripped arm trembling as if in a spasm. Sensing something was off, Enoch reached his hand toward the hood. That was when she spoke.
"Do you perhaps suffer from fatigue, unable to fall into a deep sleep every night, and even when you do, you only get shallow rest?"
"What?"
Enoch paused at the sudden question.
"How did you know I suffer from insomnia?"
"I guessed because the skin under your eyes is dark, your complexion is pale, and your lips have no color."
Unlike her arm, which had been shaking, her voice was calm and articulate. Sensing an unusual aura, Enoch exchanged glances with Baron Boden.
The woman then continued with words he hadn't expected.
"I can help you."
"Help?"
"Yes."
"What is the price?"
"That you do not remove my robe. And that you do not punish Mr. John."
Enoch narrowed his eyes. It was an interesting proposal. Insomnia was his long-standing, incurable illness. No matter which doctor he brought or what medicine he took, the insomnia would not be cured.
"You seem to have a keen eye, but you are reckless. I have tried every kind of medicine, but none had any effect."
"You will see results. What I am recommending to you is not medicine, but a scented candle."
"A scented candle?"
It was a word he had heard for the first time. At the unfamiliar term, Enoch gestured for her to continue.
"I cannot reveal my face due to circumstances, but in truth, I am a woman devoted to the faith. I manage the infirmary at the convent, so I handle medicinal herbs often."
"Ah. I see."
Enoch muttered at Roxana’s response. There were often young women who became nuns due to stories they couldn't tell others. They were those who had become widows at an early age, were born as illegitimate children of nobles, or had given birth to a child out of wedlock. Such people usually preferred not to reveal their identities to the outside world. Her desire to hide her face must have been due to such a story. Furthermore, it was common for a nun to be well-versed in medicinal herbs.
While Enoch was convinced, the story continued.
"One day, a pregnant woman came to me, distressed by the scent of a candle burning animal fat. At that time, I tried making a candle with eucalyptus, peppermint, and lemon. It wasn't as large or long-burning as existing candles, but the odor was certainly reduced. Moreover, an unexpected effect appeared. She said that when she lit that candle to sleep, her husband, who suffered from insomnia, also slept soundly."
"Slept soundly..."
"Yes. Before you sleep, please light a candle containing the ingredients I just mentioned and keep your hands and feet warm. As if relaxing every muscle in your body, release the tension starting from your fingertips and try counting sheep in your head."
Having finished her explanation, Roxana waited for his judgment. It was too articulate and detailed to have been made up on the spot. She was a woman who wouldn't even show her face, yet strangely, she felt trustworthy. From her soft voice to her attitude—neither arrogant nor servile.
After an eternity of silence, Enoch reached a conclusion.
"That is all well and good. However, I cannot accept help from someone whose identity I do not know."
He knew from his personality that he wouldn't let it slide easily, but it was as expected. At his firm answer, Roxana’s vision went dark. It was the moment she thought this was the end.
"I will vouch for her!"
John, who had been watching the situation nervously, intervened and knelt before Enoch.
"I will guarantee it. This sister is actually a long-time acquaintance of my wife."
"A long-time acquaintance, you say."
"Your Highness."
Amidst the flowing tension, Baron Boden, having received a report from the caretaker, spoke up quietly.
"I have confirmed that the tribute in the carriage is intact. It is late, and perhaps you could let this matter pass..."
Enoch, who had been silent, slowly scanned the woman in front of him from head to toe.
Roxana swallowed hard under his probing gaze. He wouldn't know it was her. They had never even exchanged many words during their long engagement. He wouldn't recognize her.
An eternal silence passed between the two. Just when her trembling breath had stopped and she felt dizzy, Roxana was released.
"Fine. I will let it pass this time. If there is no effect, you had better be prepared."
Roxana, her tension finally draining from her body, let out a sigh of relief. Just as she bowed politely and turned to leave:
"Your voice sounds somewhat familiar. What is your name?"
Roxana gave the first name that popped into her head.
"...Melanie. It is Melanie."
It was the name of the heroine from a novel she had once loved.
* * *
Roxana did not let her guard down until she reached the castle. She hitched rides on passing wagons a few times and walked and walked where there were no wagons.
She arrived at the Marquess of Russell’s castle around sunset. Taking a deep breath, she approached the castle gate in front of her. The outer gatekeeper, with a fierce expression, scanned the late stranger from head to toe.
"Please open the gate."
"Who are you? At this hour."
"I am a novice nun from the Angela Convent. I have come on urgent business."
"Take off your hood."
Following the instruction, Roxana removed the hood of her robe. It was the face of Sister Roxana of the Angela Convent, no longer 'Roxana Dalton.' Because that was all she had left.
"A convent...?"
The gatekeeper, scanning her shabby nun's habit, wore a suspicious expression.
"Yes."
"A nun all by herself from that far away at this hour? I haven't heard any news that someone was coming."
"It is a matter of the utmost urgency."
"Right. I heard that much. But still, my job is..."
The gatekeeper, cutting off her desperate words, hardened his expression. Then, with a face full of wariness, he suddenly interrogated her.
"Still, it’s suspicious no matter how I look at it. How can I trust you?"
"Pardon...?"
"Spies are rampant these days, and they say they use all sorts of methods."
Roxana was at a loss for words. Having lived a life isolated from the secular world for two years, she was dull regarding political strife or power struggles among nobles. However, the longer the silence lasted, the deeper his suspicion would grow. Regaining her composure, Roxana shook her head immediately.
"Please believe me. I am not like that."
"What reason do I have to believe you? And, in the case of nuns, don't they usually cut their hair short? I heard that even novice nuns do."
"That is..."
She had lived a life of devotion for two years, but she was not a full nun as she had not yet taken her Perpetual Vows. She had tried to cut her hair several times, but the Mother Superior had stopped her each time. Roxana, clutching her hands tightly in anxiety, rummaged through her robes and pulled something out.
The next moment, the startled gatekeeper’s eyes widened.
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