I Take Back What I Said About Not Loving You

Alban let out a small sigh, then moved his body—like a bear waking from hibernation—slowly and heavily as he stepped into the circle around Lucien and the others.

There was a trace of loneliness dwelling in his blue eyes.

“Yumila, that’s enough.”

The first person he addressed was Lady Yumila.

Alban held out his hand to her and helped her stand, then brushed the dust from the hem of her skirt. Yumila allowed it to happen, yet she glared at him with furrowed brows.

“Are you saying this is my fault?”

“It’s not about fault or innocence.”

‘…?’

The brief exchange between husband and wife sounded oddly strange, and Marguerite tilted her head inwardly.

It felt like they were talking about more than just this incident.

“Lady Marguerite, I am truly sorry.”

Alban bowed deeply.

“My wife caused an injury to your arm. Could you find it in your heart to forgive us?”

“W-What?! No, please raise your head. There is nothing to forgive—this was something I did of my own accord.”

There had been many other ways to protect Anna, yet Marguerite’s hand had moved on instinct. That was her own fault.

On top of that, she had frightened Yumila and made her cry.

“For an injury of this extent, if treated properly, it will heal completely without a trace in about two weeks. If I could have some ice later—”
She almost let slip that she was familiar with scars, and quickly fell silent.

“I see. Thank you.”

Alban looked visibly relieved.

“Still, I cannot leave responsibility unaddressed.”

He released another long sigh.

It was not a sigh of disappointment or despair, but one that looked like a deep breath taken in preparation for resolve.

Lucien, too, turned a questioning gaze toward Alban.

As if answering it—

“I intend to pass the position of head of House de Broy to Lucien.”

With a tone carrying tension yet unmistakable determination, Alban made his declaration.

“You…?!”

“What do you mean by that, Father?”

Not only Yumila but Lucien himself cried out in surprise.

“It’s something I’ve been considering for a long time. Lucien has come of age and taken a wife. It’s not too early.”

“A wife, you say… This girl is from House Clavel—”

She nearly said that someone like this could never serve as the mistress of House de Broy, but even Yumila fell silent before finishing the thought.

Only now was she beginning to understand whose capacity was truly greater—hers or Marguerite’s.

“Lucien has acknowledged her as his wife. Isn’t that right?”

Alban’s unwavering gaze rested on Lucien.

“…Yes.”

Lucien glanced at Marguerite, cheeks flushing, and nodded.

Alban narrowed his eyes at the sight.

“I will make Lucien the head of the house and return to the territory as his aide. I want you to come with me as well, Yumila.”

The former heads would retire—more accurately, it was a de facto confinement. By choosing that path, they would show obedience to the royal family.

Alban faced Yumila directly.

Placing his hand against her tear-streaked cheek, he looked into her eyes.

“Shall we start over there?”

Yumila gasped in shock. Her clenched fist trembled slightly.

“…Why say this now…?”

“Yes, now—far too late. I’m sorry. But I am your husband. Watching Lucien and Marguerite reminded me of that.”

Lucien thought it had been a long time since he had seen Alban smile.

Not since long ago, when Alban had praised him. After that, Alban always wore a tired expression and shrank himself in Yumila’s presence, as if erasing his own existence.

“I love you. I always have, from the moment we met—even if you never loved me.”

—How should one describe the look on Yumila’s face at that moment?

Shock gave way to doubt, yet it was wiped away by Alban’s gentle gaze.

As her body wavered, Alban supported her.

Normally she would have shaken off his hand, but now Yumila leaned into him as if clinging.

“You say it… far too late… I thought… I thought I only had Lucien…”

“I’m sorry. I thought you didn’t need my love.”

Holding Yumila by the shoulders, Alban lifted his face and looked at Marguerite.

“I finally said it. It’s thanks to you. Thank you, Lady Marguerite.”

“I did nothing at all… Please, call me Marguerite, Father-in-law.”

“Mm. Marguerite.”

Lucien and Anna could only watch, dumbfounded.

The unexpected side of Alban—who had rarely opposed Yumila despite being the head of the house—and, more than that, Yumila’s equally unexpected reaction as she buried her face against Alban’s chest and began to cry again, left their minds struggling to keep up.

Only Marguerite, as someone who had married in from outside, felt—

‘I don’t really understand, but if their feelings reached each other, that’s a wonderful thing…!’

—and was deeply moved.

Before long, Yumila left the dining room supported by Alban.

Anna and the serving staff, seemingly reading the room, quickly followed them out, leaving only Lucien and Marguerite behind.

“Let me apologize as well. I’m sorry.”

Lucien spoke before the silence could grow heavy.

Marguerite panicked at the sight of Lucien bowing deeply.

“I treated you harshly, along with my mother. I knew I should have stopped it.”

“No, really… I didn’t mind at all. Please don’t trouble yourself over it, Lucien-sama.”

“I’m grateful if you say that. And then…”

“?”

Lucien did not know what had transpired between Alban and Yumila. But he understood one thing—why Alban had said it was thanks to Marguerite.

The feelings that failed to reach Marguerite alone were, in fact, reaching everyone else.

“…I take back what I said about not loving you.”

What Alban had meant was likely that feelings do not get across unless they are spoken.

No matter how long people lived together, no matter how many gifts were given.

Lucien did not know what had happened between his parents, nor had he tried to know. But perhaps that had been a mistake.

Simply rejecting things outright would never change a relationship.

“Yes, I take it back as well.”

Marguerite looked surprised at Lucien’s words, then quickly smiled.

“I will love you… no, I will—”

“Who knows what the two of us will be like twenty years from now!”

“—Wait.”

“Huh?”

Marguerite looked at Lucien in confusion.

Facing her, Lucien realized that the feelings he had been about to confess had been casually postponed by twenty years—

‘She has absolutely no interest in me…’

That truth sank in deeply.

“…It’s nothing.”

Lucien shook his head.

Marguerite still looked puzzled, but soon smiled again, gave a polite bow, and left.

‘I must make sure it doesn’t take twenty years…’

Feeling a profound sense of defeat, Lucien also left the dining room.

‘I’ll give her flowers every day from now on…’

Holding that resolution in his heart.

Meanwhile, walking down the corridor, Marguerite felt so lighthearted she might have skipped.

‘Lucien-sama has acknowledged me as his wife…’

What made her so happy was Lucien nodding in response to Alban’s question.

On top of that, Lucien had taken back his words.

He had acknowledged that he might come to love Marguerite someday.

‘…Huh?’

She stopped abruptly and pressed a hand to her chest.

‘Is it just my imagination? Did my heartbeat just thump really loudly…?’

Now that she thought about it, her breathing felt tight, and her face felt warm.

‘Oh dear, could it be a cold? That’s right—I need ice anyway.’

Touching her cheek and confirming that it did seem warm, Marguerite turned back down the corridor to look for Anna.