IRER 64

Chapter 64 

 A Handshake for the Prosperity of the North

“What a picturesque sight.”

At the edge of the potato field, a tall, slender figure came into view.

Brodie couldn’t immediately recognize who it was, but Aidan could.

From the moment he gained awareness until the recent war, he had lived almost every day alongside this man—it was impossible not to know that face and voice.

The man with tightly bound dark brown hair and snake-like narrow eyes—

The one who had devoted his entire life to the North and who had elevated Brodie into its “goddess.”

It was River Reed, chief of staff to Grand Duke Aidan Icewall.

He strode briskly toward them, muttering as he approached.

“The Grand Duke and his lady, hand in hand in the middle of a potato field at midnight.”

He framed them with his fingers like a painter, enclosing the snowy field and the couple within a square.

A man and a woman, clasping hands under the pale moonlight on a snow-blanketed field—it was a picture straight out of a romance.

“Perfect for a poster,” River murmured. “The people would love it: ‘In the dead of winter, when even sprouts cannot grow, the grand ducal couple inspects the potato fields beneath the moonlight, long after the world has gone to sleep.’”

Hearing his words, Aidan shook his head. Of course. River was never one for aesthetic or poetic sentiment. His mind was always on propaganda—how to best stir the hearts of the people of the North. That was River Reed.

“I thought it only proper to make my presence known before the ‘display of affection’ became any deeper,” River said dryly once he was close. “I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion.”

By then, Brodie also recognized him. Her face lit up, and she even waved.

“Oh my, River! It’s been so long! Chief of Staff!”

The one who froze in surprise wasn’t Aidan, but River himself.

He had expected guilt, perhaps gratitude, or at least shamelessness—but a warm welcome? That hadn’t even crossed his mind.

And what’s more… did she just drop all formality?

River answered with a mocking tone.

“Yes… it has been a while. Should I address you as ‘my lady’ now?”

“Hmm, haha, I suppose you should. As the Grand Duchess, I outrank you, don’t I? Fine then, call me ‘my lady,’ stingy little chief of staff. No, wait—drop the ‘chief of staff’ honorific altogether and just call me ‘staff,’ that’s more fitting.”

…Stingy?

The word had flown by so naturally that River almost wondered if he’d misheard. Stingy… staff? He frowned, trying to make sense of it.

She was nothing like the woman he remembered from the military camp outside the capital. Hadn’t she been quiet, reserved, sparing with her words? Since when did she speak without a filter like this?

River glanced at Aidan, who only shook his head with a weary smile.

Twisting his lips, River muttered, “Truly, both of you are full of surprises. Setting aside the lady, I believe you, Your Grace, have words for me?”

“My apologies. You’ve borne much in my absence.”

“It doesn’t sound sincere.”

River’s criticism was on point.

Aidan did feel both regret and gratitude—regret for having left his responsibilities to River, and gratitude that River had shouldered them well. Yet he could not forgive that River had exploited Brodie for his propaganda campaigns.

River looked at him knowingly, as if seeing straight into his heart.

“Now, now, what is this?”

The rebuke came not from Aidan but from Brodie, whose sudden scolding scattered River’s sharp gaze.

“Chief of Staff, treat His Grace properly, will you!”

“…”

“….”

Both River and Aidan froze, stunned.

“You of all people, who are closest to him, treat him so harshly—no wonder he suffers so much alone.”

Her tone was like a mother gently scolding a child.

“But I’ll admit, the public campaign was brilliant. Very fitting of the famous, competent chief of staff.”

With that, she smiled again, extending her hand toward him.

“Well then, I’ll be counting on you. Let’s work together for the prosperity of the North.”

River stared at her outstretched hand, his expression contorting with a mix of surprise, amusement, and confusion.

“The prosperity… of the North…”

What nonsense. Still, he couldn’t embarrass her. With no choice, he grasped her hand in a firm handshake.

At the same time, he cast a questioning glance at Aidan. The Grand Duke nodded back grimly.

‘Is she drunk?’
‘She is.’

The two men exchanged a silent understanding.

And with that handshake, the three—no, two men and one woman—quietly went their separate ways.

A proper conversation would have to wait until tomorrow.

Thus ended a seemingly peaceful reunion.

River’s eyes lingered on Aidan, carrying Brodie—half-conscious—back toward their quarters.

The next morning.

“Ugh, my head…”

Brodie groaned, unable to even open her eyes properly against the sunlight. She managed to haul herself upright in bed.

So this… is a hangover?

In her previous life she had been able to drink anyone under the table, but clearly this body of Brodie’s lacked the same tolerance. She should have known when just a few glasses at the wedding banquet had her tipsy.

Back then I thought maybe it was just because I was unwell.

Last night, however, she had thrown caution to the wind, downing shot after shot with the women at the feast. She tried to remember how many “one-shots” she’d taken, but the effort was in vain. A sudden chill distracted her.

“…!!”

Her eyes flew wide.

The chill came not from the air but from the fact that she was stark naked beneath the sheets.

And beside her lay Aidan, sprawled haphazardly.

“…!!”

His shirt hung open, black hair in a tangled mess. His lower half… mercifully obscured by the blanket.

What? What happened?

She searched her memory but could only recall disjointed fragments—dreams, perhaps, or reality?

Before she could sort herself out, Aidan stirred, sensing her movements. His eyes opened at once.

“You’re awake. Not sleeping any longer…?”

“A-ha, y-yes. Of course I have to get up—ugh.”

The moment she tried to answer, her throbbing headache spiked. She clutched her temples.

“Headache? …Well, that’s only natural,” Aidan murmured, watching her.

He rose, thankfully with his trousers still on.

No, wait. Isn’t that worse? If I’m the only one undressed, then… doesn’t that mean…?

The most humiliating possibility came to mind.

Oh gods, did I throw up all over myself?

Mortified, she buried her burning face into the sheet.

When Aidan returned with a basin of water and a towel, she peeked at him and asked hesitantly:

“Your Grace… um… last night…?”

For once, he sighed deeply.

The weight of that sigh alone silenced her.

“Do you remember anything?” he asked.

She shook her head. No.

“Then that’s for the best.”

Best? She wanted to ask what exactly he meant, but the look of exhaustion on his pale face stopped her.

Accepting the towel, she washed up. Aidan, perhaps worried the sheet would slip, turned his back politely while handing her clothes.

“My clothes…?”

“I’ll call for someone. Though most have gone to work, so it may take a while.”

“They’ve already gone to work?” Brodie blurted. After such a raucous night of feasting and drinking, they were already out working by mid-morning?

“No, no—don’t trouble anyone. I’ll just wear it myself. Just help me tie the back.”

She raised her voice too quickly, and pain lanced through her skull again. Pressing her head, she forced herself to focus.

Everyone’s working hard while I… look at me.

Determined to pull herself together, she accepted the fresh chemise Aidan handed her. Not her old clothes—new ones.

So… it did happen. Something did.

Swallowing her embarrassment, she dressed.

But when she tried to rise from the bed, nausea rolled over her.

Suppressing it with her hand over her mouth, she staggered upright.

Aidan sighed again and supported her. Normally, she would have refused, but now she felt too much like a guilty culprit to protest.

Once she had her bliaut on, she turned her back so Aidan could fasten the ties, then buckled her belt.

“That,” Aidan said, pointing to the table, “you’ll want to take.”

On the table lay her pouch and its contents. Thankfully, it looked clean.

But among the spilled items was the magic stone the princess had given her.

“…!!”

Panicking, she shoved everything back into the pouch. Had Aidan seen? Did he know what kind of stone it was? But he said nothing, and she dared not bring it up herself.

At last she dressed fully, donning her surcoat and cloak.

“You’re going out?” Aidan asked.

“Yes, just to use the kitchen.”

“You still look in pain. Better to rest.”

“I’ll be fine.”

If anything, working would clear her head. She had to brew a headache remedy—soon.

If my head hurts this much, then what about him? He’s lived with migraines every day. How could he endure it all this time? He should have asked for help, for medicine…

Her heart ached as she glanced at him.

But then—

“…?”

Something felt off.

Today, his face looked… serene. Peaceful. Almost as if—

As if he wasn’t in pain at all.

Why… why… why?!

Suddenly, like a lightning flash, fragments of last night surged back into her mind.