Third-Rate Villain Of Fantasy Novel-Chapter 41: Reed In The Wind [1]

The heart was like a reed in the wind.

It swayed to one side when he did this, and to the other when he did that, bending so easily that it frightened her. She had never been like this before.

The Elena she remembered—the old her—had been calmer, steadier, someone who could weigh her emotions instead of being carried away by them.

Why am I like this now?

Even though she already knew the answer, she kept asking herself the same gentle, foolish question, as if repetition might soften it.

When she looked at him—at the way guilt still lingered on his face, unmoving and sincere—something unfamiliar stirred inside her chest. It wasn’t unpleasant. If anything, it felt light, almost ticklish, as though her heart was testing the waters of a feeling it had never allowed itself before.

Before she could think better of it, she shifted her seat and moved closer, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. Then she lifted her hand and tugged lightly at his cheek.

At the sudden touch, he stiffened.

"Elena?"

The way he said her name—hesitant, careful, as though he were afraid of doing something wrong—made something snap.

"Hahaha."

She burst into laughter, unable to hold it back. His lingering pronunciation echoed in her ears, far more amusing than she expected.

So this is what it feels like, she thought.

Was this the feeling he had when he teased her before? She had always wondered what he found so entertaining. Now, she understood—just a little.

She released his cheek and, without ceremony, leaned her head against his shoulder. Her weight was light, tentative, giving him all the time in the world to pull away.

He didn’t.

"Damian," she said softly, her voice calmer than the storm in her chest. "I really am fine."

She lifted her head just enough to look at him.

"Am I not also part of your family?"

She had said those words many times since coming to the castle—to servants, to distant relatives, to people who only knew her by title. But she had never said them to him.

For a moment, he simply stared at her.

His eyes widened, surprise plain and unguarded, as if he hadn’t expected the question—or perhaps as if he had never allowed himself to consider the answer.

Yet, just like before, he didn’t deny it.

He lowered his gaze briefly, then nodded, slow and careful, as though the motion itself carried weight.

"That’s right, Elena," he said. His voice was quiet, but firm. "You are my fiancé."

She watched his expression as he said it, searching for hesitation, for obligation.

There was none.

They hadn’t shared a proper meal as an engaged couple. There was no ring resting on her finger, no grand ceremony to bind them in the eyes of others. Yet somehow, his words alone felt heavier than all of that.

She smiled, small and sincere.

"Then..." she murmured, settling back against his shoulder once more, "stop looking at me like you’re about to apologize for existing."

He let out a quiet breath—almost a laugh.

"I can’t help it," he admitted. "When it comes to you, I always feel like I’m one step behind."

She tilted her head, considering him.

"That’s strange," she said. "Because I feel like I’m the one losing my balance."

For the first time that evening, his shoulders relaxed.

"Then," he replied, after a pause, "maybe we can be unsteady together."

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing beneath her ear.

The reed bent once more—but this time, it didn’t feel like it would break.

---

The carriage rolled to a stop in the very heart of Sarham, where the streets converged and voices overlapped into a constant, living hum.

Elena felt it immediately—the weight of people’s gazes brushing against her skin.

She was used to being looked at. She had endured stares filled with awe, fear, envy, and resentment more times than she could count. Yet now, with someone walking beside her, the attention carried a subtly different texture. It no longer felt sharp or isolating. It simply existed, like background noise she didn’t have to respond to.

They moved through the city center together, neither of them bothering to acknowledge the watching eyes.

They wandered without urgency, stopping at street vendors to buy skewers still sizzling with spice, sweet pastries dusted in sugar, and drinks that cooled the throat. Elena laughed softly when syrup clung to her fingers, and he wordlessly handed her a handkerchief, already expecting it.

They lingered to watch wandering musicians—one playing a fiddle with a cracked body, another tapping a drum worn thin with age. Coins clinked into open cases, and applause followed naturally, without prompting.

’If I think about it...’

Elena slowed her steps, her gaze drifting across the familiar streets.

’I’ve never really enjoyed Sarham like this. Not once. Not in all three of my lives.’

The first time, she had been confined to the lord’s castle year-round because of Demian. The second time, she left Sarham on her own, without looking back. And when she returned again, Sarham had no longer been a city—it was either a desolate ruin or a raging battlefield.

But now—

Now, nothing like that would happen.

The smiles on the streets felt real. The laughter felt warm. And the time she spent walking beside him felt steady, unchanging, as though it could stretch on forever.

She wanted to believe it would.

While she was still lost in thought, they came to a stop before a building she didn’t recognize.

Only then did she realize they had arrived at a workshop.

It was he who had led her there.

Elena tilted her head, glancing at the wooden sign before looking back at him.

"Damian here?"

He shook his head lightly.

"No. But since you’re moving rooms, you’ll probably need new furniture."

"...Furniture?"

"You should choose it yourself. According to your taste."

"Yes?"

Her confusion must have shown plainly, because he smiled, the corners of his eyes softening.

"Krause has a tradition," he explained. "When the hostess of a residence leaves, we organize what remains in her house. Most items are either distributed or stored, except for a few personal belongings."

He paused briefly, then added, more quietly,

"Originally, we should have done that when my mother left. But my father didn’t touch anything."

"...Because of you?"

He nodded.

"He said the house should remain as it was, in case I ever wanted to return."

Elena hesitated, then gestured vaguely toward the workshop.

"But why am I the one choosing furniture?"

He looked genuinely puzzled by the question.

"Didn’t you hear Hailey?"

"...Hear what, exactly?"

"From now on, you’re the owner of that place."

"—What?"

Her mind went blank.