My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 57

Chapter : 113

Lloyd felt a sudden chill, unrelated to the Guild Hall's drafty atmosphere. The Forest of Galla. He knew that name. Not just a forest, but a vast, ancient, and notoriously dangerous expanse of shadowed woods several days' ride east of the capital. Whispers and legends clung to it like the perpetual mist said to shroud its depths. Dangerous beasts, illusions, areas where compasses spun uselessly, and darker things…

"Galla Forest?" Lloyd repeated slowly, the implications sinking in. "Lady Faria, that place has a… reputation. It's not merely difficult terrain; it's considered one of the most hazardous regions in the entire Duchy, perhaps the nation. Travelers go missing. Experienced adventurers turn back. They say…" he lowered his voice slightly, "they say there's a reason the trees grow so thick, why the shadows linger even at noon." He remembered the fragmented lore. "They whisper of a hidden nexus point, a place where the veil between worlds is thin. Some even claim," he met her gaze seriously, "there's a dungeon entrance hidden deep within its heart."

Faria nodded grimly, acknowledging the danger without flinching. "I am aware of the legends, Lord Ferrum. And the documented disappearances." A stubborn resolve hardened her features. "But the flower is vital. Its potential benefit outweighs the risk. My father has provided me with guards," she gestured vaguely towards the Guild Hall entrance, implying they waited outside, "and I possess some small skill in defensive measures myself." She touched a small, intricately carved amulet hanging at her neck. "But the specific location requires navigating the deeper, more treacherous sections. Hence my presence here – seeking reliable guides, local knowledge, perhaps even reinforcing my escort if necessary."

Lloyd processed this. A dangerous quest for a rare flower in a cursed forest rumored to hide a dungeon entrance. Undertaken by a Marquess's daughter known for art, not adventuring. Driven by concern for someone's health (likely her mother's, judging by the subtle emotion). It was noble, reckless, and potentially suicidal. "I see," he said quietly, the words feeling inadequate. "That is indeed… a tough job, Lady Faria. Extremely tough."

"The path of duty often is," Faria replied simply, a flicker of weariness briefly touching her eyes before being masked by determination again. "Needs must."

A moment of silence stretched between them, the earlier tension of the art contest replaced by the heavier weight of her perilous undertaking. Lloyd found himself feeling a grudging respect for her courage, however reckless it might seem.

Then, another connection sparked in his mind, triggered by the mention of duty, choices, and perhaps, difficult decisions made for family. His thoughts flashed back to the confrontation with Rubel, his own impossible knowledge surfacing. He looked at Faria, her fierce independence, her willingness to brave danger for her goal. An impulse, driven by curiosity and perhaps a desire to further gauge her character (and maybe distract from his own artistic inconsistencies), made him ask the question that had lingered since yesterday.

"Speaking of choices, Lady Faria," he began, his tone shifting again, becoming carefully neutral, almost academic, "yesterday, during… certain family discussions… a piece of historical context arose." He watched her closely for any reaction. "Mention was made, purely hypothetically of course, regarding past political maneuvers. Specifically," he paused, dropping the bombshell casually, "rumors of a potential marriage proposal, year ago, between the Altamira royal house and the Kruts Marquisate. For your hand, specifically, offered to the Eldorian Crown Prince."

He saw her stiffen almost imperceptibly. Her eyes widened slightly, not with shock this time, but with sharp, sudden wariness. Her hand instinctively went to the amulet at her neck again. The topic was clearly sensitive, unexpected.

"Such rumors are often baseless court gossip, Lord Ferrum," she deflected coolly, her voice regaining its icy edge, erecting defenses instantly.

"Perhaps," Lloyd conceded mildly, refusing to let her shut down the inquiry. "Yet, the persistence of this particular rumor suggests… significance. And its conclusion – the proposal being definitively rejected by your father, Marquess Kruts – raises questions." He leaned in slightly, pitching his voice lower, for her ears only amidst the Guild Hall buzz. "Forgive my presumption, Lady Faria, but aligning with the powerful Altamira dynasty… it would have offered significant political and strategic advantages to the Southern Marquisate. Why refuse such an alliance? Especially," he added, playing his final card based on pure speculation and a hunch about her character, "when the decision likely rested heavily on your own preference?"

He held her gaze, watching the play of emotions behind her suddenly guarded amethyst eyes. Surprise at his knowledge. Annoyance at his prying. And perhaps… something else?

Chapter : 114

Faria stared back at him for a long moment, the silence stretching, charged with unspoken political history. He had cornered her again, not with art this time, but with knowledge he shouldn't possess. Finally, a small, almost imperceptible, wry smile touched her lips, devoid of warmth but carrying a hint of defiant pride. She tilted her chin up fractionally.

"Why?" she repeated his question softly, her voice regaining its cool confidence, laced now with a dismissive elegance. She met his gaze squarely, offering no political justification, no strategic rationale. Just a simple, absolute statement of personal preference. "He's not my type."

-----

The familiar, lumpy contours of the sofa molded themselves around Lloyd Ferrum, a constant, unwelcome reminder of his current domestic reality. The heavy tome propped open on his lap – 'Advanced Principles of Guild Taxation and Tariff Loopholes', a thrilling page-turner guaranteed to induce narcolepsy in lesser mortals – remained stubbornly unread. Sunlight, now softened by the approach of late afternoon, streamed through the tall windows of the suite, illuminating dust motes dancing in the shafts of light, like tiny, indifferent diamonds. They seemed freer than he felt, trapped in this gilded cage of silk sheets he couldn't use and potpourri he actively despised.

Lloyd stared unseeingly at the dense script, his mind miles away, replaying the bizarre, unexpected encounter in the Guild Hall earlier that day. The art competition – a challenge born of Faria Kruts’s indignation and his own mortifying memory lapse. His gamble with the battle suit drawing, a desperate pivot from artistic pretense to technical precision. The crowd's stunned silence, a reaction far more satisfying than predictable applause would have been. Faria's subsequent bewildered fascination, her barrage of technical questions he’d barely managed to deflect… it had been a whirlwind, a tightrope walk over a chasm of public humiliation. He’d survived, even thrived in the confusion, but the end of their conversation kept looping, persistently, annoyingly, in his thoughts, like a catchy tavern tune you couldn't shake.

He's not my type. Faria's cool dismissal of the Altamira Crown Prince echoed, clear as a struck bell. Simple. Absolute. Unexpectedly personal for such a politically charged question. He remembered the follow-up question tumbling out of his own mouth, fueled by a curiosity that momentarily overrode caution. If a Crown Prince isn't your type... what is?

And her answer, delivered with that unwavering amethyst gaze, that almost clinical seriousness: "Someone like you, Lord Ferrum."

Me? The internal echo still felt jarring. Flattering? Insulting? Some elaborate form of sarcasm he was too dense to grasp? He replayed her clarification: A man whose soul isn't also stirred by beauty... by creation... cannot be a truly ideal partner. So, not him, Lloyd Ferrum, the awkward nineteen-year-old with the eighty-year-old brain and the inconvenient wife. But the idea of him she’d perceived through the drawing. The idea of someone possessing hidden depths, an appreciation for artistry and engineering, lurking beneath a seemingly unremarkable surface.

It was still... unexpected. And strangely validating. After a lifetime (or three) of feeling inadequate by Ferrum standards, of being the 'drab duckling', having someone like Faria – sharp, talented, fiercely independent – implicitly acknowledge a potential for depth, even based on a misunderstanding of a technical drawing… it was a novel sensation. Pleasant, almost.

A slow, involuntary smile touched Lloyd’s own lips as he sat there on the sofa, the dusty tome forgotten. The sheer absurdity of it all – impressing a Marquess's daughter with a schematic, being lauded for artistic depth based on engineering precision, the memory lapse that started the whole chaotic exchange… it was objectively funny, in a deeply strange, only-in-my-reincarnated-life kind of way. He chuckled softly to himself, a low rumble of amusement in the quiet room, picturing the look on his old engineering professor's face if he knew his technical drawing lectures had accidentally paved the way for being considered an 'ideal man' archetype in a pseudo-medieval magical world.

"Is something amusing, Lloyd?"

The voice, cool and crisp as arctic air, shattered his pleasant reverie instantly. Lloyd jumped slightly, startled, the book sliding unnoticed from his lap onto the unforgiving velvet cushion. He hadn't realized – again – where his gaze had drifted while lost in memory. Not towards the ceiling, not out the window, but inadvertently, unconsciously, towards the other occupant of the room. Towards Rosa.