Chapter 161
As Rikanan’s lips drew closer to Hessena’s hand, an inexplicable tension stiffened Jaha’s entire body. Before she realized it, she had clenched her fists.
His lips, tracing a graceful arc, finally met the back of Hessena’s hand.
The moment a tingling sensation, as if from static, shot up from her fingertips and made her flinch slightly—Jaha’s eyes met Rikanan’s. With his lips still pressed against another woman’s hand, he quietly shifted only his gaze to look at her.
Those blue eyes, which had always reminded her of jewels or forget-me-nots, now somehow seemed like a demon’s.
His stare remained fixed on Jaha until he withdrew his lips from Hessena’s hand.
In truth, it was such a brief moment—barely long enough to blink—that calling it a “stare” might have been an overstatement. It could have been dismissed as an accidental glance while turning away, so fleeting it would seem natural. Even if, to Jaha, it felt as though someone had deliberately stretched the moment.
Straightening up, Rikanan escorted Hessena to the carriage. Jaha stared blankly at the scene before a sudden doubt struck her.
Why do I feel so uneasy? Is this normal?
It wasn’t outright fury or irritation, just a faint, lingering displeasure.
Trying to rationalize her emotions, Jaha scrambled for a plausible excuse.
He didn’t even ask for my consent before escorting another woman—despite being part of my entourage. That’s bad manners, isn’t it? It’s only natural to feel annoyed. Though it’d be petty to make a fuss over something so trivial…
‘At my age, throwing a tantrum over being left alone would be… Unless I were some preschooler who needed a guardian.’
She also worried she might come across as overly sensitive, as if driven by jealousy. She didn’t want that kind of misunderstanding.
‘Jealousy? Why would I be?’
It’s just a few exchanged words and a fleeting kiss on the hand for courtesy’s sake.
For a moment, she had been unsettled—but only because it was the first time she’d seen Rikanan escort another woman. Having lived secluded in the estate with little interaction with others, she had unconsciously assumed his kindness was reserved solely for Yoo Jaha. That was why she’d felt a flicker of displeasure. Nothing more.
Having steadied herself, Jaha curved her lips into a smile as Rikanan returned from escorting Hessena.
“Let’s go to the dressmaker’s.”
The man’s sharp, predatory eyes narrowed slightly.
“…Very well.”
He took Jaha’s hand. By now, she had fully regained her composure. The turmoil in her chest had settled as if it had never existed—as though her earlier unease had been nothing but a lie.
The dressmaker welcomed them with excessive deference. As if catering to VIPs, the shop was empty of other customers.
I had a feeling… It seemed Hessena had been unceremoniously ushered out because of Rikanan’s visit.
Once again, Jaha found herself curious about Rikanan’s status. Before being bewitched by his impossibly handsome face, Hessena had trembled violently, nearly hysterical. Was it even appropriate to describe human relationships this way? It wasn’t like a frog before a snake—more like a mouse before a tiger.
Was it because this was a class-based society? Did people react that way to anyone even slightly above them in rank? Or was Rikanan’s status truly that exalted?
From a modern perspective, she couldn’t even begin to gauge the distance between them.
‘What if he turns out to be something like a Grand Duke of the North?’
But since this was the East, he’d technically be the Grand Duke of the East. Still, Grand Dukes were usually titles reserved for ruling monarchs’ blood relatives—equivalent to an imperial prince in Eastern terms, meant for the emperor’s sons or direct descendants.
It was clear Rikanan wasn’t royalty. Imperial family members inherited the first Abrixa’s magic and possessed violet eyes, while Rikanan’s were blue.
‘Maybe his ancestors performed some extraordinary feat and were granted the title as an exception?’
This was a fantasy world with magic, after all. Perhaps they had slain a demon king. Or maybe titles weren’t even the sole measure of power—he could still be influential without being a Grand Duke…
“Ah—”
Lost in thought, Jaha flinched as the measuring tape coiled around her waist. The tailor silently stepped back after taking her measurements.
She was suddenly grateful that this world’s beauty standards didn’t mirror 16th–19th century Europe’s obsession with abnormally thin waists. The thought of what might have happened otherwise made her shudder—European noblewomen averaged 13-inch waists back then.
Especially in France, every noblewoman was forced to maintain a waist of 10 to 13 inches, and women with waists exceeding 13 inches were even banned from entering the royal palace.
Organs compressed by corsets to the point of internal bleeding, fainting from lack of oxygen as a daily routine—compared to premodern Europe, where manors had fainting rooms and fainting couches, landing in a premodern European-inspired fantasy world was nothing short of luck.
“……I’ll show you. If you have any particular preferences—or dislikes—regarding designs or textures, feel free to……”
Listening to the tailor’s explanation, Jaha glanced at the sofa where Rikanan sat.
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