We're Married, After All - Chapter 38
Of course, Danel didn’t claim to know everything about his wife. But at the very least, he knew that Laurea had never truly bonded with her family or their household.
And the daughter of a personal physician, no less. For Laurea, who didn’t even bring a maid from Lafecia Castle, it was hard to imagine her being close with the child of a household servant. Even at their wedding, there hadn’t been anyone who seemed especially close to her among the guests.
Knowing Laurea as well as he did—or rather, knowing that she lived her life with little regard for anyone outside of herself—Danel immediately sensed something was off.
He glanced out the window again. Laurea’s slightly flushed face caught his eye. Her expression, usually composed and impassive, had softened in an unfamiliar way.
The lieutenant, noting where Danel’s gaze lingered, asked, “Shall I send a maid to assist her?”
He was implying whether they should send someone to listen in on the conversation between the two women.
Danel chuckled dryly.
Laurea might seem indifferent to most things, but that didn’t mean she was oblivious. In fact, she was surprisingly perceptive. The moment a maid appeared under the guise of offering help during teatime, Laurea would realize that Danel had sent someone to spy on her. Naturally, she would feel disappointed in him.
Of course, Danel knew that disappointment wouldn’t last long. Disappointment was proportional to the expectations one had of another.
And Laurea expected little of the world around her—Danel included.
“No, it’s fine. Let it be.”
Truthfully, Danel was enjoying watching Laurea at this moment.
Laurea was not someone who warmed easily to others. There were few people she felt comfortable enough with to welcome their presence.
Seeing her with someone she seemed to share genuine familiarity with, someone she felt the closeness of a friend toward, was a first for Danel. And he liked it.
He found himself wanting the two of them to keep talking.
Danel observed Laurea’s faintly flushed face again and again. He wondered what on earth they were talking about, what tone of voice she used with someone she could call a friend, and what manner of speaking she adopted. He was curious about all of it.
This was a side of Laurea he rarely had access to and couldn’t possibly uncover.
There had been a time when the thought of never fully knowing parts of Laurea tormented him. The idea of her forming connections with someone else, allowing that person to grow attached to her, had been unbearable. Those were excruciatingly painful days.
But Danel no longer felt jealousy toward others. It was something he had endured countless times throughout his life, and eventually, it dulled. Even when new gaps appeared—spaces he couldn’t fit into—he no longer grew angry.
Of course, the pain that he could never fully acclimate to lingered here, transformed into something else: hatred.
Before heading to the infirmary, Danel glanced toward the orphanage. The tree under which Laurea had been sitting earlier was now empty. The two women were walking along the pathway that ran alongside the castle walls.
Danel’s eyes slowly traced the path Laurea had taken. The distance felt familiar. Unless he was spending entire days hidden in the bushes—enough for even the birds to grow accustomed to his presence—this was the usual range from which he observed Laurea.
At this distance, he couldn’t see Laurea’s expressions. But he could tell where she had come from and where she was going. In its own way, he appreciated this level of distance. After all, even on the days he watched her closely, he still couldn’t discern what she was truly thinking.
But today, Laurea turned and looked in his direction.
Her brown hair, tousled by the wind, swept across her face as she turned.
Her round forehead became visible as her wind-tossed hair shifted, likely revealing her vivid green eyes sparkling beneath.
Danel narrowed his gaze, watching Laurea. He tried, but he couldn’t make out her expression. Perhaps she wasn’t even looking in his direction.
He remained under the canopy, waiting. As always, he expected Laurea to eventually turn her back, to continue her walk as if unaware of his presence, just like before.
But this time, Laurea didn’t leave immediately.
Instead, she raised her hand and waved toward him.
Danel stood frozen, watching her for a long moment before slowly lifting his hand to return the gesture.
Only then did Laurea turn away and continue on her path.
Danel stayed rooted in place until she disappeared from view completely. A dull, pounding noise echoed in his mind. His heart was beating so hard that he couldn’t bring himself to move even a single step.
It was a long while before he finally moved, walking briskly. He was happy. In moments like this, it almost felt like Laurea loved him, and that thought filled him with joy.
He knew such delusions only deepened his misery, but Danel didn’t bother shaking himself free from them. He was too accustomed to clinging to scraps of hope, even if it meant sinking further into the mire.
As he stepped into the infirmary, the acrid smell of burning herbs filled the air. It was the scent of medicinal smoke used to purify the air. The smoke likely reached deep into his lungs, but Danel was certain it wouldn’t purify him.
It wasn’t just the smoke. The infirmary was lined with dozens of windows, large and small, as if to suggest that sunlight could cleanse the ailing mind. But the sun had done nothing to cure his illness. If anything, it had festered and worsened, leading him to this moment.
He followed a familiar route deeper into the infirmary. To the untrained eye, it appeared to be an ordinary corridor, but there were cleverly hidden paths. Opening double doors and descending staircases led to concealed rooms that most people couldn’t reach. These hidden wards were officially for isolating patients with contagious diseases.
The room Danel was seeking was the farthest one inside. It had no windows, not even a sliver of light penetrating its interior.
