Klein tugged at his collar and went to wash up.
He didn't have many changes of clothes in his satchel, only bringing two sets. He pulled out his gray cotton pajamas, changed into them, and splashed cool water on his face, droplets trickling from his fingers onto the counter. He dried his hands and casually hung the towel back on the rack.
When he returned, Ophelia had already changed into her pajamas.
She was wearing the pale cotton long dress, its neckline neatly tied, her hair falling loose over her shoulders. Under the lamplight, her golden strands shimmered with a soft, warm hue.
The guest room Nelisa had arranged had only one bed—Klein had noticed this when he entered. There was a pillow on each side of the headboard, and the bedding was freshly changed and neatly folded. Though called a guest room, its setup was more akin to a couple's room.
This woman was meticulous; she said nothing, but arranged everything.
Klein sat back on the bed. Just as he was about to pull back the covers, a warmth suddenly pressed against his back.
Ophelia leaned against him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder, her breath, fresh with the taste of mint from rinsing, brushed against his ear.
“...What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” she said, her voice muffled, as she rubbed her chin against his shoulder. Her collarbone pressed exactly against his back.
Klein turned his head to look at her. The lamplight reflected in her golden pupils, like tiny sparks trapped in amber. The tips of her ears were already red, a blush spreading from the helix all the way to her earlobes, a color that completely contrasted with her outwardly calm expression.
Ophelia didn't look at him. Her gaze drifted elsewhere, settling on some non-existent spot in the corner of the wall, and only after a few seconds did she speak.
“I checked, the soundproofing in this room is pretty good. The walls are solid brick and stone, and the wooden panels are thick; it’s hard to hear much from next door.”
She spoke with extreme seriousness, her pace steady, emphasizing “solid brick and stone structure” and “hard to hear much,” as if delivering a mission report.
Klein paused for a moment.
Then he chuckled.
He thought for a moment, then reached for a charcoal pencil by his pillow. Bending down, he drew a few lines on the floor at the foot of the bed. The lines were simple: three nodes, a small sound-field sealing array, connected by mana guiding lines that ran in a semicircle, the ending point neatly interlocking with the starting point.
After drawing it, he snapped his fingers, injecting mana. The array lines glowed for an instant—a pale blue light flowed along the floor's patterns in a circle, then vanished as if seeping into the wood.
“There,” he said, casually placing the charcoal pencil back by his pillow. “A soundproofing array. No matter how much shouting goes on inside, no one outside will hear it.”
Ophelia's chin lifted from his shoulder.
Her hands also released his shoulders.
Klein turned around and saw her staring straight at him.
Her expression wasn't quite right.
It wasn't shyness, nor anticipation; it was more like... an expression of something about to erupt but being held back. Her brow was slightly furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line, and something in her golden eyes was slowly heating up.
“What’s wrong?”
“You—” Ophelia bit her lower lip, held it for a second, then released it, leaving a faint tooth mark on her lip. “You know how to do that?”
“Yeah, it’s a basic magic array, quite simple. Three nodes are enough.”
“You’ve always known?”
Klein finally realized what the problem was.
His gaze darted away, up to the ceiling, then back again.
“...Always have.”
Ophelia’s breathing hitched.
The next second, the mattress abruptly sagged—she flipped over and straddled Klein’s lap, pressing his shoulders back with both hands, leaning forward until her nose almost touched his face. Her right hand gripped him tightly, knuckles white; her left hand was slightly lighter, fingertips pressing into his shoulder through the pajama fabric, the fine, dark scales on that hand faintly visible in the lamplight.
“Then why didn’t you use it when we were at home?”
Klein opened his mouth. From this angle, her loose golden hair hung down on both sides, blocking out the surrounding light, leaving only her golden eyes very close to his.
His heart was beating faster than before, but now was not a good time to admit it.
“That morning,” Ophelia said, her voice low, spitting out each word, her breath hitting his face, “when Margaret heard my voice in the courtyard—why didn’t you use it?”
That was their first attempt in the morning.
Ophelia hadn’t kept her voice down, and Margaret in the courtyard seemed to have heard something, even asking from outside if something was wrong with the two of them.
She still wanted to erase that shameful memory.
“I... I honestly didn’t think of it at the time,” Klein said, his tone as sincere as possible, his gaze as open as he could make it.
“Did you not think of it, or was it intentional?”
Two options.
Klein knew perfectly well that either choice would be his demise.
He wisely raised his hands, fingers spread, adopting a standard surrender pose.
“Either way, it’s my fault.”
Ophelia glared at him for two seconds. In those two seconds, her eyes didn't blink, and her lips were tightly pursed.
Then she slowly released the pressure on his shoulders. Her fingers loosened, and the creases left on his shoulders slowly sprang back.
She didn't get off him.
She merely relaxed her posture slightly, her back no longer so rigid, her weight settling firmly on his lap. Her legs rested on either side of his waist, the hem of her nightgown piled at her knees, revealing a small section of her calves.
She turned her head, shifting her gaze to the half-open window. The night breeze blew in through the gap, carrying the damp herbal scent of the royal capital’s night, stirring a loose strand of hair by her ear.
After a while, she spoke.
Her voice was much softer than before, as if deliberately lowered to a level only the two of them could hear—even though the room now had a soundproofing array.
“This is outside. You... restrain yourself a bit, don’t mess with our routine.”
Klein’s lips twitched.
He really wanted to say—Are you saying that while straddling me?
He really wanted to say—Judging by tonight’s series of actions, you were the one who tapped the walls to check the soundproofing, you were the one who changed into pajamas and leaned in, and you were the one who pressed me onto the bed, and now you’re telling me to restrain myself?
He even wanted to say—Your hand hasn’t even pulled back; it’s still on my shoulder.
But he looked at Ophelia’s slightly reddened ear tips, at her deliberately averted profile, and at the curve of her lips that she couldn't quite suppress, and swallowed all those words.
“Alright,” he said, his voice very soft. “Whatever you say.”
Only then did Ophelia give a satisfied “Mm.”
The “Mm” came from her nose, its trailing sound slightly upward, like a cat finally having its fur stroked.
Klein reached up for the lamp by the bed. The instant his fingertips touched the lamp base, he felt Ophelia’s left hand, resting on his shoulder, tighten slightly—a very light grip, as if subconscious, perhaps even unnoticed by her.
He didn’t point it out.
The lamp went out.
The room plunged into soft darkness. A sliver of moonlight filtered in from outside the window, casting a thin silver layer on the floor, but it wasn't enough to illuminate their expressions.
The soundproofing array silently sealed the room.
The outside world was kept on the other side.
In the darkness, there were sounds of fabric rustling, the faint clicks of clothes unbuttoning, and the warmth of breaths gradually intertwining.
Ophelia’s fingers found his in the dark.
She didn’t seem to be unbuttoning her collar—it was Klein who first took her left hand. As his palm covered the fine scale patterns, her fingertips flinched, then quickly stilled, and she clasped his fingers in return.
“...Don’t let go,” she said, her voice so soft it was as if she feared breaking something.
“Mm.”
Rate on N.U.
