Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 363: The Hidden Widow (1) Clarisse

Chapter 363: The Hidden Widow (1) Clarisse

The sun had just begun to rise over the rooftops of Grafen, casting a warm, golden light that filled the city streets with a quiet peace. Clarisse adjusted the weight of her sleeping son on her hip as she stepped out of the high-end inn where they had been staying. Her long blonde hair, tied back in a loose braid, shimmered in the sunlight, and she looked every bit the beautiful noblewoman, though her circumstances were anything but luxurious.

Grafen had become her home after everything fell apart. After the war, after Lucan’s death, and after her father-in-law Hektor’s betrayal. She hadn’t chosen this life, but she was determined to make it bearable, if only for her son. The little boy, barely ten months old, snuggled against her chest, his soft breaths warm against her neck. He was all she had left, and everything she did now was for him.

The market was already bustling by the time she arrived. The sounds of merchants calling out their wares, the clatter of carts, and the chatter of townspeople filled the air. Clarisse made her way through the crowd, her sharp eyes scanning the stalls for the best produce. She had learned to live simply since everything changed, and though she was still living in a nice inn, she liked to do things herself. No more maids, no more servants running around to do her bidding. It was a strange adjustment, but one she was slowly growing used to.

"Fresh bread! Still warm from the oven!" called a baker, a broad smile on his face as he waved a loaf in her direction.

Clarisse gave him a polite nod, adjusting her grip on her son as she made her way to the stall. "Two loaves, please."

The baker, an older man with a kindly face, wrapped the bread in cloth and handed it over. "A fine choice, my lady. That’ll keep you and the little one fed for a good while."

She smiled, though it felt tight on her face. She wasn’t used to people calling her "my lady" anymore. It reminded her too much of her old life, the life that was now just a distant memory. After paying the baker, she moved on to the vegetable stall, picking out some fresh carrots and a few potatoes for the simple stew she had been planning to make later.

As she moved through the market, Clarisse kept her son close, her mind wandering. This was her new reality—quiet mornings in Grafen, shopping in the market like any other commoner, trying to make ends meet. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was peaceful. At least, until she remembered why she was here in the first place. Her chest tightened at the thought of Lucan, her husband. He had sworn he would win, that he would protect her and their child. He had failed.

A flicker of anger sparked in her chest, a familiar feeling these days. It wasn’t just Lucan she was angry at. No, there was another. The man who had killed him. Lyan. The man who seemed to always be nearby, checking in on her and her son like it was his duty. She couldn’t decide whether to be grateful or furious every time she saw him. He was responsible for Lucan’s death, after all. But there was something else... something she didn’t want to admit to herself. Something that made her feel conflicted whenever he was around.

As she finished her shopping and headed back toward the inn, her thoughts were already churning with the memories of their last conversation. He had been so calm, so composed, and infuriatingly understanding. And those eyes of his—sharp, calculating, but with a warmth behind them that made her stomach twist in knots. She hated it.

By the time she reached the inn, her son had woken up, his tiny hands clutching at her dress as he blinked sleepily up at her. She smiled down at him, her anger momentarily forgotten as she kissed his forehead. "Let’s get you inside, darling," she murmured softly.

She pushed open the door to the inn and stepped inside, and the first thing she saw was him.

Lyan.

Sitting casually in one of the chairs in the common area, his black cloak draped over the back of the seat, his piercing gaze scanning the room until it landed on her. His presence was commanding, as always, and Clarisse felt her chest tighten. Why was he always here? She could feel her cheeks flush with frustration as she met his eyes.

"You’re here again," she muttered, not bothering to hide her irritation.

Lyan rose from his seat, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he approached her. "Just checking in, making sure everything’s alright."

"Checking in," she repeated, her voice laced with bitterness. "Is that what you call it?"

He raised an eyebrow at her tone, though his expression remained calm. "Your son... he’s well?"

Clarisse’s eyes flicked down to her son, who was happily babbling in her arms, completely unaware of the tension between his mother and the man standing before them. She sighed, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "He’s fine. He doesn’t need you hovering."

Lyan’s eyes softened as he glanced at the baby, a faint smile crossing his face. "I just want to make sure you’re both safe."

Safe. That word echoed in her mind, and it only fueled the anger simmering beneath her surface. Safe. Her son would have been safe if Lucan hadn’t gotten involved in that stupid war. If Hektor hadn’t filled his head with lies about glory and victory. If Lyan hadn’t... killed him.

"Safe," she repeated, her voice quieter now, her gaze hardening as she looked at Lyan. "Safe from what? My son’s father is dead. And his grandfather. We’re living in an inn, and we have nothing. Do you know how that feels? To lose everything?"

Her words were sharp, cutting through the air between them, but Lyan didn’t flinch. Instead, he held her gaze, his face unreadable. For a moment, she thought he might say something comforting, something that would make her feel less alone. But he didn’t. He just stood there, watching her, his eyes flicking briefly—too briefly—down to her chest.

Clarisse’s brow furrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest, feeling the familiar weight of his gaze. "Really?" she said, her tone incredulous. "Even now?"

Lyan cleared his throat, his face betraying just the slightest hint of embarrassment. "I wasn’t—"

"Yes, you were," she shot back, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice now, despite her anger. "I’m not blind, Lyan. I know where your eyes are."

He held up his hands in mock surrender, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "Caught me. But can you blame me? You’re... distracting."

Clarisse rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t deny the slight warmth that spread through her at his words. "Pervert."

"Guilty as charged," he replied, his grin widening just a bit. But then his expression softened, and he met her gaze again, his voice quieter now. "But honestly, Clarisse. I’m just trying to help. For your son’s sake."

For your son’s sake. Those words hit her harder than she expected. It was true, Lyan had never once treated her or her son with anything less than care. He always made sure they had what they needed, always checked in to make sure they were safe. But it was complicated. She couldn’t forget that he was the one who had killed Lucan. The man she had married, the father of her child.

But there was something else, too. Something she didn’t want to admit. Something that made her heart race whenever Lyan was around. He was strong, confident, with a sense of humor that disarmed her, even when she wanted to hate him. And yes, he was handsome—infuriatingly so. His presence was magnetic, and despite herself, she found it hard to look away from him.

"I just..." she began, her voice faltering as she looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I don’t know how to feel about you."

Lyan stepped closer, his voice low and soft. "You don’t have to know. I understand."

She looked up at him then, her anger and confusion swirling in her chest. "Do you?" she asked, her voice trembling just slightly. "Do you really understand what it’s like to lose everything? To be left with nothing but a child and no future?"

Lyan’s face grew serious, the lightness gone from his eyes. "Yes," he said quietly. "I do."

The weight of his words hung between them, and for the first time, Clarisse saw something in Lyan that she hadn’t noticed before. A sadness, a burden that he carried, hidden behind his confident exterior. He wasn’t just some ruthless killer or perverted flirt. He was a man who had been through his own struggles, his own losses. And somehow, that made it harder for her to hate him.

She sighed, shifting her son in her arms as he began to fuss. "I don’t know what to do," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m angry, and I’m... confused. I don’t know how to move forward."

Lyan watched her for a moment before stepping closer, gently reaching out to touch her son’s tiny hand. The baby giggled, his little fingers wrapping around Lyan’s as he smiled up at him.

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now,"