“…I heard that you haven’t been eating much lately. Your cheeks look sunken… Are you not feeling well?”
“What?!” she squeaked.
Sara had steeled herself for the eventuality that she’d have to answer questions about the tea, so his line of inquiry had taken her entirely off guard.
Richard’s eyebrows furrowed together as if he were enduring physical pain. His eyes were full of anxiety as they raked over her body.
“Your skin has gotten pale, too… I’m entirely clueless about how women feel, so if I’m the reason you haven’t been eating much…please tell me. I’ll do everything I can to make things better, and I’ll try to stop whatever it is that’s making you unwell.”
Sara sat frozen in stunned silence.
“If you’re just sick of me, I’ll try to accept that as something out of my control. But if I’m the reason you’re unwell, I’ll write to the king of Saleilles and— H-Hey! What’s— What’s wrong? Are you crying?!” Richard asked, panicked.
It was only then that Sara realized tears had been silently sliding down her face. She must have been so exhausted that she didn’t even notice she was crying.
Large, hot tears fell off her face and splattered against the backs of her hands. Overcome with shock, Richard gazed in a stupor, but eventually he pulled out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and walked over to Sara.
“U-Um… If it’s all right with you, may I wipe away your tears?” he asked.
“I-I’m sorry… I’m all right.”
“Clearly not… Hey, don’t rub at your eyes. They’ll get swollen that way. Hold still…”
Sara had been rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands. Richard’s words had at first come out like a parent scolding a child, but by the end his voice had softened with concern. Sara pursed her lips tightly and let Richard wipe away her tears with his handkerchief.
After drying her cheeks, Richard, clearly relieved, pardoned himself briefly for the imposition before taking a seat beside her.
The sofa sank slightly at his weight, making Sara’s body lean toward him. The soft, gentle scent from his sachet made her heart ache.
“I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I want you to say, ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ or just shake your head in reply,” Richard began.
“Okay.”
“Do you hate me?”
It was a remarkably straightforward question.
Sara didn’t even have to think about her response—she just shook her head. Richard let out a breath of relief, which tickled Sara’s hair.
“I see. I’m glad… So then, three days ago… The reason you didn’t drink your tea wasn’t because you hated me?”
Sara nodded.
The questions had been easy to answer so far, but when Richard asked the next one, Sara couldn’t decide on a response.
“Then… Are you scared of me?”
Was she scared of Richard?
I don’t know…
She didn’t know, but when she thought about poison being slipped into her tea…she couldn’t help feeling scared of Richard’s hands, even as they held his handkerchief.
“Your Highness…”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry for how rude I’ve been. I… I want to trust you, Your Highness.”
Sara felt him quietly suck in his breath. She lifted her head and boldly met his clear green eyes.
“Your Highness… I know it’s rude, but…could I ask you just one question?”
“Yes, of course you can.”
“…If I died, would you be sad?”
Instead of directly asking “Did you poison me?” or “Did you try to kill me?” Sara had taken an indirect approach.
But Richard seemed to have guessed something. His eyes widened. He looked surprised, but not upset.
Sara could almost sense his feelings from the way his eyes wavered, and the tension that had been coiled around her heart loosened slightly.
“Of course I would be sad!”
“Your Highness…”
“I have no way of knowing what you’re going through,” Richard began, his voice immeasurably kind, “and I won’t force you to tell me. But I know you’re worried about something… Thank you for asking me your question.”
Her question had been strange enough that a barked “Don’t be ridiculous!” would have been warranted. But never did Sara imagine he’d thank her for it.
She blinked, and another tear fell from her eye. Richard gently put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her toward him.
She only smelled his gentle, sweet scent.
Her tears were soaked up by the collar of Richard’s coat.
“…Do you love me, even if only a little bit?” he asked.
She replied without any hesitation.
“Yes. I love you. I… I love you so much.”
Richard huffed out a few relieved chuckles.
“Thank you… I love you, too.”
His words melted sweetly and gently against Sara’s heart like cotton candy snowflakes.
She had no idea that telling Richard she loved him and hearing that sentiment returned would feel so amazing. But neither had she expected that she would feel pain, misery, and vexation in equal measure.
How wonderful would it be if she could tell him, “I’m not Hermine, I’m her maid, Sara.”
How wonderful would it be if she had the courage to tell him, “My tea was poisoned the other day, but I have faith it wasn’t you.”
She couldn’t tell him the truth, but he didn’t hold this against her—he just quietly accepted her.
He wiped her tears, held her close, and stroked her hair affectionately.
“I promise you… One day I will get rid of whatever is gnawing at your heart.”
“……”
“So for now, please eat. Let me hear your cheerful voice—just once a day will do. Show me that you’re alive.”
“I will.”
He didn’t want her dead.
Just knowing that was enough to set Sara’s mind at ease.