Looking for a Husband to Confine Me - Chapter 54.1

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Chapter 54.1

Damian, Bashar Kisha, and Haroon—a strange tension hung in the air between the three men. Damian was the first to move. He plopped down in a chair and held up his hands. “Your Highnesses should speak first.” His action naturally drew their attention. As their eyes met, Damian winked, feigning regret. “No, I’m fine, so you go first.” Haroon glanced at Bashar before shaking his head, but he addressed Damian, not Bashar. It seemed he couldn’t speak directly to Bashar, as they were still in the midst of a silent conflict.

Damian responded calmly to Haroon’s refusal. “I’m also fine. It’s not something to be discussed in a crowded place.”

Intrigued by Damian’s cryptic tone, Haroon’s curiosity was piqued. He cocked an eyebrow. “What is it, then?”

“Unfortunately, Your Highness, it’s a conversation I can only have with Amelia alone.” Damian offered a languid smile. The way his hand slowly trailed across the table seemed strangely suggestive. I opened my mouth to tell him to be careful what he said. Just then…

“Then I’ll excuse myself first, Brother.” Bashar Kisha spoke.

Haroon’s gaze shifted to Bashar a beat later, a deliberate reaction. “You didn’t even show your face when the Crown Prince arrived, but what business do you have with her?”

“I apologize, but I also have something I wish to discuss with Lady Amelia alone.”

“Is that so?” Haroon’s face hardened slightly at Bashar’s firm tone, seemingly unfamiliar with his brother’s coldness.

“But if what you have to say to Lady Amelia is important, Brother…”

“No, it’s fine. It wasn’t that important.”

“I see.” Haroon glanced at me, his gaze lingering as if he still had something to say, but then he looked away. “Alright then. I’ll see you next time.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” I responded instinctively to Haroon’s apparent disinterest in further conversation.

As I looked up, Bashar was staring intently at me, silently urging me to join him.

…Wait a minute. No one asked for my opinion. I grumbled inwardly, but unconsciously moved towards Bashar. A sudden thought made me turn back to Haroon. “Your Highness.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you happen to remember my younger sister, the maid who came with me last time?” I had asked. It was the most I could do for Rettie Hazel.

Haroon furrowed his brow, seemingly trying to recall. “Well, it’s not that I don’t remember her, but…” He seemed to consider it unimportant, as he countered with a question of his own. “Is it important that I remember her?”

“No, I was just curious.” Seeing Haroon’s lack of interest, I offered a silent apology to Rettie. I’m sorry, but it seems the foreign prince isn’t interested in you. He doesn’t even remember the maid who fainted at the sight of the beast.

“Come along, Amelia.”

As I turned to follow Bashar after bidding Haroon farewell once more, I heard Damian’s whispered voice. Come along? Anyone would think we were together.

***

Bashar strode away from the drawing-room, and I trailed behind him. I followed, unaware of our destination or how long we would walk. He can’t possibly be planning to give me a tour of the mansion this way. The thought was absurd.

Unlike Bashar, who walked with long, quick strides, I practically ran, clutching my skirt. I could feel my breath growing ragged.

“Why are you so breathless…?” Bashar stopped and turned to me. I nearly collided with his chest.

“Oh…!”

Bashar, also unable to finish his sentence, stared at me, his eyes slightly widened. “…Was I walking too fast?”

“A little.”

“…Tsk.” I finally caught my breath and answered. Bashar ran a hand through his hair in frustration and clicked his tongue. Then, noticing something, he grabbed my wrist. “Let’s go this way.”

He led me to a spacious balcony at the end of the hallway, a place designed to offer a view of the mansion grounds. It was furnished with chairs and a table, and curtains could be drawn to conceal it from the hallway.

“Sit.”

I obediently sat in the chair he indicated. Bashar, however, paced around the balcony.

“Your Highness?”

“…Tsk.” He clicked his tongue again at my question.

Why does he keep clicking his tongue? It would be much better if he just voiced his complaints. This way, I have to keep guessing.

Bashar Kisha sat down in a chair with a thud. He surely didn’t bring me here just to admire the scenery. He sat with his arms crossed, frowning. What is going on?

As I waited for him to speak, a cool breeze swept through the balcony, easing my tension. I tidied my slightly windblown hair and looked out at the view below.