My Ruin to You - Chapter 106

The elderly count bowed his head to a lady far younger and of lower rank. Following their lord’s lead, the countess and the rest of the household also lowered their heads in apology.

“There’s no need for this. I truly don’t mind.”

Roseline shook Valen’s arm gently again, silently urging him to end this uncomfortable situation. He obliged without resistance. The count, finally lifting his head, offered another apology to both Valen and Roseline.

“Your journey must have been arduous. Please, come inside, Your Highness.”

The countess stepped forward next. A forcibly softened smile hung on her lips, but the resentment beneath it remained unconcealed.

Roseline’s discomfort grew unbearable. She tucked herself behind Valen, hiding as she carefully matched his steps.

“Acting cute now, are we?”

Valen chuckled softly, as if amused by how Roseline had shrunk into herself. Though his voice wasn’t loud, Roseline—who was hyperaware of every little thing—pushed his back lightly, a silent plea for him to stop talking. Fortunately, Valen didn’t press further. He simply slowed his pace, seemingly conscious of Roseline clinging close behind him.

The knights and cavalry were guided by the steward to their assigned quarters—the knights to the annex, the cavalry to the servants’ lodgings. Meanwhile, the count and countess led Valen and Roseline to the drawing room, explaining that preparations for the Grand Duke’s bedchamber were still underway.

“Do you have a healer among your manifested?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

The count, quick to grasp the intent behind the question, rang a bell without hesitation and instructed a servant to fetch someone immediately. Roseline, perched awkwardly at the edge of the sofa, fidgeted with her hands, enduring the uncomfortable atmosphere.

“Just hold it. Warm your hands.”

Valen pressed a teacup into Roseline’s hands. It was almost too hot for her half-frozen fingers. If no one were watching, she would’ve set it down immediately—but now, even a small refusal felt impossible, afraid it might seem like she was being fussy.

As Roseline barely managed to grip the handle, Valen, watching from beside her, silently laughed and took the cup back. He poured out some of the tea from his own cup into hers before handing it to her again.

“Your hood?”

He was asking if it was stifling.

“Ah—!”

With so much on her mind, she had completely forgotten she was still wearing it. It was terribly improper. Flustered, Roseline hurriedly pulled it down.

“My apologies…”

“Nothing for you to apologize over. I was the one who put it on you.”

Valen cut off her apology. Unlike the countess, who had seen Roseline at banquets before, the count—who had missed her for various reasons and was only now meeting the Grand Duke’s rumored lover—stared wide-eyed.

She was stunning. If Valen’s striking beauty was accompanied by an intimidating aura that made others shrink, Roseline, in contrast, drew the eye.

Ruthless? Hardly.

Her wavy rose-pink hair spilled freely, her fingers restless, her gaze frequently shifting. There was no arrogance in her—just wariness and awkwardness, which somehow made her even more noticeable.

“Eyes.”

Valen’s clipped remark followed the count’s lingering stare. Once again, the count understood immediately—he’d bet his entire fortune that the unspoken threat was, Keep staring, and I’ll pluck them out.

“Ah, forgive me! Seeing you both up close, I was so struck by how well-matched you are that I forgot myself.”

It was nothing more than a flimsy excuse, but surprisingly, it worked.

“What do you think?”

Valen tilted his head, meeting Roseline’s eyes.

“…I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You heard him. That we suit each other well.”

Suit each other? She wasn’t sure about that—but she did want to escape the stares now fixed on her. Roseline dipped her head slightly and muttered a stiff “Thank you.” The count, sensing he’d narrowly avoided disaster, quickly filled the silence with forced cheer.

“In any case, I’ve never seen a plague this horrifying in all my years.”

The moment the count clicked his tongue in disgust, the briefly eased atmosphere plummeted again. Roseline’s grip on her teacup tightened. Her lowered gaze, the lip she habitually chewed, the whitened knuckles—Valen took in every detail before turning back to the count.

“Have you seen the infected?”

“Not in person, but I’ve heard they tear at the living, craving flesh and blood. Ah, for Your Highness to have walked through such horrors personally—I can’t begin to imagine the toll it must have taken. How could such a terrible plague even spread in the first place? Honestly— Ow! Why do you keep pinching me?”

Midway through his grave recounting, the count suddenly turned to his wife, who had been jabbing and pinching his thick side in warning. The countess shot a sharp glance at Roseline, but the moment their eyes met, she averted hers—though not before Roseline caught the unmistakable emotion in them: disgust.