A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 117

“Tilia, open the door.”

“Go to your own room.”

“…Why?”

“Why do you think?”

At those words, Ilex stood there pondering for a long time. But this time, his sharp mind couldn’t come up with an answer.

Why? Seriously, why?

We’d had an absolutely amazing time, the doctor said there were no particular issues, and Tilia had even enjoyed the soup I spoon-fed her at lunch today.

Ah. At last realizing the answer, Ilex pressed close to the door and opened his mouth.

“You got mad because I wasn’t there when you woke up from your nap.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“…That’s not it?”

Then what is it?

In response to his genuinely puzzled voice, a sigh tinged with exasperation came from beyond the door. Hearing that harsh, scoffing laugh, Ilex felt his anxiety spike even higher.

He wanted to see Tilia’s face right away. Licking his lips anxiously, he was just about to hastily summon the head maid and order her to bring every key in the house.

“If you open this door on your own…”

Tilia’s composed voice held his feet in place before he could head downstairs.

“I will never sleep with you again.”

Like a shackle, those words rooted Ilex to the spot.

“I mean it. I absolutely won’t.”

Thump—he felt his heart drop. His pale blue-gray eyes, as if hearing his grandfather’s curse at point-blank range, were visibly shaken.

“What do you mean?”

Feeling as though the ground beneath his feet was collapsing, Ilex clutched the doorknob and clung to the door in desperation.

“Tell me, Tilia. What is it, really?”

Driven by panic, he demanded nervously.

“Go. I’m going to sleep.”

The voice that came back was cold.

“Why? You said you liked it too.”

Suddenly feeling wronged, Ilex raised his voice. No matter how many times he recalled last night, all he could remember was how much she enjoyed it, how much she liked it.

“You definitely liked it, Tilia. You even—”

“Say one more word.”

Just as he was about to list off all the evidence, her vicious growl shut him up completely.

Why. Ilex glared at the door with a face full of irritation and frustration.

“Go. I’m going to sleep.”

Regardless of his dissatisfaction, a voice ready for bed came from the other side.

“…I don’t have a room.”

From lips that didn’t want to let go of the happiness he’d finally found, a pitiful sound slipped out.

“I got rid of it before you came.”

“Then sleep in the hallway.”

But even that was pointless. With a small yawn as punctuation, no more sound came from beyond the door.

And yet, Ilex couldn’t accept reality and continued to pace in front of it.

“…Tilia, are you really asleep?”

We only just reunited after three years.

And you’re seriously making me sleep alone?

That night, in front of the firmly shut door, insomnia and deep sleep crossed paths.

Oh my. A passing maid who happened to witness the scene tiptoed back to the servants’ quarters, where quite a lively round of laughter was shared. But that story was an absolute secret from the young master and the one who seemed to be his master.

***

But Tilia’s punishment was far from over—it was only just the beginning.

For the remaining three days before her first day of work, Ilex wasn’t allowed to step foot into Tilia’s bedroom.

Unable to endure even a few days of separation, he once tried sneaking in through the window, only to be caught by Tilia, who had happened to draw back the curtain for some fresh air—and met with a look of pure disgust.

And so, while Ilex was cruelly robbed of his newfound joy, Tilia basked in the sweet return of the sleep she had been deprived of for the past week and steadily recovered her body.

Of course, it helped that she received timely, high-quality meals, all kinds of beneficial herbs, and the devoted touch of a professional masseuse. But if she had to name the greatest factor…

It would undoubtedly be the face of Ilex Davenport.

Unlike Tilia, whose skin grew more radiant with each restful night, Ilex looked like someone robbed of sleep—like a hunting dog tormented by meat it couldn’t eat.

Ironically, the visible signs of his insomnia and desperation only sped up Tilia’s recovery.

Put another way, the rage that had nearly reached her throat was soothed the moment she saw the pitiful state of her assailant.

And so, after a surprisingly short period of punishment for her—though it felt like a lifetime to Ilex—Tilia finally allowed him back into the bedroom filled with her scent on the morning of her first day at work.

In a voice far more subdued than usual, Ilex asked, “You’re leaving already?”

He glanced out the window while neatly laying Tilia’s jacket over his arm.

“It’s still barely dawn.”

“It’s the first day. I want to look around a bit before I start.”

Ilex looked like he had a lot he wanted to say, but under Tilia’s watchful gaze, he bit his tongue and kept quiet.

When she finished packing the necessary documents, she approached him—and Ilex, having barged in with the excuse of helping her dress, clumsily helped her into her coat. His awkward fingers betrayed how unaccustomed he was to such service.

“This isn’t mine.”

In contrast to him, who was a bit more eager, Tilia, calmly letting him assist her, checked the sleeve as she felt the touch of silk at her neck.

“It is yours.”

The man stepped in front of Tilia and answered while fastening the remaining buttons.

“I had it tailored because I wanted to give it to you. So yes, it’s yours.”

After spending a night with Ilex Davenport, small things like this had started to change.

Unlike the past, when he would feign indifference or claim things weren’t for her, Ilex now sometimes embarrassed Tilia with his frank honesty, showing her his feelings without reserve.

And while she was left speechless, lips sealed, he would subtly steer the situation to unfold exactly as he wanted.

“Here.”

Now was no different. Having buttoned up the jacket with meticulous care, he brushed off a speck of dust from the sleeve and met her gaze.

“Shall we go?”

Looking at the man who smiled at her, Tilia couldn’t bring herself to say she wanted to wear her own clothes, and instead, placed her hand on the arm he offered.

It was hard to say such a thing when the sleeves, tailored to precise measurements, and the fit—neither too tight nor too loose—were far too comfortable.

“…Don’t come to pick me up.”

And so, instead of pushing away the man who had stepped yet another stride into her territory, she offered just one request with a composed expression.

“Following me to work would be a bit much.”

***

The carriage carrying Tilia departed, receiving a rather overwhelming send-off from the Duke of Davenport and his staff.

She couldn’t help but let out a hollow laugh at the treatment—far too excessive for a mere junior officer at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

‘They’re still standing there.’

Glancing briefly out the carriage window, she saw the servants still lined up in the distance. She gave a small wave, signaling them to go back in, and right on cue, the group all waved back together.

Seeing Ilex standing at the very front, Tilia couldn’t help but burst into a clear, genuine laugh—not hollow, not bitter.

‘Anyone would think I was going somewhere far away.’

Maybe it was because of their charming gestures. The quiet tension that had lingered in her body since morning began to ease slightly, and Tilia let her gaze wander around the luxurious interior of the carriage.

To appreciate the good, one must first know the bad.

Having spent the past three years riding cramped stagecoaches packed with people, it was immediately obvious how generously the Davenport family had provided for her.

‘I really shouldn’t get used to this kind of thing…’

Catching herself thinking this absentmindedly, Tilia realized she was already recoiling in fear and forced herself to straighten her shoulders.

‘Oh, come on. It’s nice. Just enjoy it.’

She firmly pressed down the creeping anxiety that she might one day be abandoned, and tried to distract herself by looking back out the window.

It was the cusp of dawn and morning. The bustle that had hidden in the darkness of night was now unfolding beneath the noisy sunlight.

Throwing the curtains wide open and breathing in the crisp air—still untouched by dust—Tilia gazed far off at the grand building of her new workplace.

Unlike Ontaroa, where the royal palace, administrative, and judicial branches were clustered together, Arkansis had its major institutions scattered throughout the city. Originally, like other kingdoms, Arkansis too had these institutions close to the palace. But Queen Fidelia had separated all three upon her ascension, or so Tilia had learned.

She had pushed through fierce opposition to relocate the Central Supreme Court to District 5, once known as the red-light district, and the central administration to District 7, a dilapidated area where the poor had gathered.

The backlash had been so intense that some even claimed the disgraced First Prince—removed from succession after a scandal—should reclaim power.

But now, decades later, no one could deny the queen’s foresight had been correct.

Those lawless zones that had consumed massive government funds to maintain were naturally cleaned up once strong institutions had taken root.

Looking around at the streets, where no traces of the past filth could be found, Tilia slowly took a deep breath.

What Alma Martin, the division head in Ontaroa, had said—that going to Arkansis was an opportunity, not a misfortune—had proven right.

Returning to the home country’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs as a third secretary usually came with more opportunities. For an ambitious junior officer, it was a golden chance one would never want to miss.

‘But…’

Recalling the various things she had experienced in Ontaroa, Tilia looked at the towering administrative building with a somewhat stiff expression.

Was it just her imagination?

She suddenly felt something like a sharp gaze—like the glint of light reflected off glass—flicker toward her through the window, only to vanish as quickly as curtains being drawn shut.