Chapter 68: Leisure Life
Back at Ignivar House.
Azael was stretched out comfortably with his head resting in Isabel’s lap, showing absolutely no intention of moving anytime soon.
"Young master, you are behaving like a baby," she said, a quiet laugh escaping her as she looked down at him.
He didn’t answer.
Instead he turned his face, wrapped one arm loosely around her waist, and pressed his cheek against her stomach. Then he started to rub his face against her.
"Kyaah!" A cute scream left her mouth. She flinched. Her cheeks immediately turned pink. "Young master, what are you doing?"
She tried to act composed. She always tried. But the truth was that she hadn’t quite forgotten what had happened between them that time in his room.
So whenever he touched her like this, without warning and without any apparent awareness of what it did to her, she simply could not help the heat that rose to her face.
She should hate what happen at that day. But for some reason she doesn’t hate that. But felt shameful about it.
Azael eventually stopped and pushed himself upright.
He slid closer to her. Close enough that his face was level with hers, near enough to see the flush still sitting on her cheeks.
"Hehe." He smiled. "I just really like spending time with you."
He pulled her into a gentle hug.
She felt her breath catch slightly.
"Y-young master," she said carefully. "I know you enjoy spending time with me. But you have been getting very clingy lately."
He pulled back and looked at her directly.
"So you hate it when I hug you?"
"No." She shook her head quickly. "That’s not what I meant. It’s just... embarrassing."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he scratched the side of his head with one finger and looked at her with a genuinely apologetic expression.
"I like you, Isabel. I feel warm when I’m with you. Better, somehow. So I can’t help wanting to be close to you." A pause. "Sorry for that."
That expression.
That particular soft and sorry expression that he sometimes wore without even trying. It was deeply unfair. She had no reliable defense against it.
And when he said he liked her, her heart did something she chose not to examine too closely.
She shook her head. Her cheeks were still warm.
"Okay," she said quietly. "I’m glad you feel that way."
He chuckled.
’Just like this,’ he thought to himself, watching her expression. ’I need to close the distance more.’
He was already leaning in to hug her again when a voice cut through the moment cleanly.
"Young master Azael!"
He stopped.
Kept the smile on his face. Turned toward the source.
A young attendant named Ellire stood a short distance away, looking slightly nervous.
"Ellire. What brings you here? Is there something you need from me?"
Ellire nodded. "The Duchess has returned. She would like to see you. You’ve been summoned to her office."
Azael raised an eyebrow.
’She’s calling for me? What for?’
"Alright," he said easily. "I’ll head over now. Thank you for letting me know. You can go."
Ellire bowed and left.
Isabel, who had gone quiet the moment the attendant appeared, folded her hands in her lap. "It seems you need to go."
"Looks like it." He glanced at her. Then, unhurried, he wrapped his arms around her one more time in a brief hug.
"I’ll come find you later."
He pulled back.
Chu~
He pressed a light kiss to her cheek and stood up.
"Bye~"
He turned and walked away.
Behind him, Isabel sat completely still.
The color on her face had gone from pink to a deeper shade of red entirely.
---
"Haah..." Azael exhaled as he walked down the corridor.
’All I keep doing is kissing women on the cheek,’ he thought, with the particular patience of someone who had made peace with his circumstances for now. ’When will I get to do more interesting things.’
He shook his head slightly.
Still. He was happy.
Genuinely happy, in a way that surprised him sometimes when he stopped to think about it.
In this world he had time to train. He had Arista, whose strength pushed him to grow every single day. He had people around him who were warm and easy to be with. And more than anything, he had something he hadn’t expected.
Arista was the heir. The future Duchess. Every expectation this house carried, every weight of legacy and responsibility, sat squarely on her shoulders.
Not his. No one was watching Azael and waiting for him to become something specific. No one was expecting him to become something amazing.
He could simply live a leisure life.
He was simply free. He walked through the hall and arrived at the Duchess’s office. Knocked twice.
"It’s me. Azael." He paused. "May I come in?"
"Yes."
The voice from the other side was even and unhurried. He opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.
Aeliana was seated on the sofa in the corner of the room. She was wearing an emerald gown that fell to the floor, elegant and composed, covering everything and somehow making no effort less striking for it.
Still the dress couldn’t hide her sinful curves.
Azael made a deliberate decision not to ogle her and walked toward her.
He stopped in front of her and met her eyes.
"You called for me, mother. Is there something you wanted to discuss?"
She looked at him for a moment. Studying him the way she sometimes did, quietly and without rush.
Then she nodded.
"Yes. But first." A brief pause. "Congratulations on your breakthrough."
Azael blinked. Then a small, genuine smile crossed his face.
"Oh. Thank you, mother. But you didn’t have to say anything. It’s not that significant."
"It is," she said simply. "It is a good thing. I am happy for you."
She patted the seat beside her.
Azael sat down without hesitation. The sofa was small enough that only a few inches separated them. Her crimson eyes moved to his face, and there was something sitting quietly behind their usual coldness. Something that softened the edges of her expression without quite breaking through it.
Warmth, perhaps.
The kind she didn’t often show to anyone.