The Villainess Enjoys a Carefree Married Life in a Former Enemy Country in Her Seventh Loop

chapter 122 - Raindrops and Scars



“Are… are you alright?”
Rishe rushed to Arnold’s side, hastily ordering the maids to bring towels. Droplets fell steadily from his black hair, proof of just how fierce the rain had been.
Behind him came Oliver, equally drenched.

“Good grief. This is exactly what happens when you push yourself too far.”
Soaked to the skin, Oliver fixed Arnold with a look of exasperation.
“I told you we should wait out the rain, but no—you insisted on charging through. You’re meticulous about some things, yet strangely reckless about others.”

“Be quiet. You needn’t have followed me.”
“As if we could leave Your Highness alone. Well… I suppose you simply wanted to return to the castle as quickly as possible.”
“I said, enough.”

With that curt dismissal, Arnold ran a rough hand through his wet bangs, brushing them back.
The careless gesture exposed his forehead—usually hidden—and Rishe involuntarily caught her breath.
“…!”
Whether it was the unfamiliar hairstyle, or the water still dripping from him, his appearance carried a dangerous allure that left her flustered and unsure where to look.

“What is it?”
Under his suspicious gaze, she had no choice but to reply.
“…I was merely admiring how even Your Highness’s forehead is artistically beautiful.”

“…What?”
“Ah, here come the towels!”
Snatching one from the maids with profuse thanks, Rishe stretched on tiptoe and draped it over his head, briskly rubbing at his wet hair.

“……”
Everyone around—maids, guards, even Oliver—stared at her in stunned silence.
(…What?)

It wasn’t only the maids. The royal guards, each reaching for their own towels, were also wide-eyed.
Perplexed, she continued to scrub earnestly. After a moment, Arnold, still bowed slightly, spoke in a flat tone.
“…Rishe.”

“Yes?”
“I can dry myself.”
“…Ah.”

Rishe blinked twice before realization dawned.
“—Y-yikes!”
She yanked her hands away from the towel and threw both arms up in a frantic I surrender gesture, shuffling back two awkward steps.
The knights and maids froze; only Oliver trembled with suppressed laughter, though she dared not look at him.

“M-my deepest apologies for overstepping!!”
“…No.”
“Pfft… haha. Thank you, Lady Rishe. Forgive me, but perhaps you might continue tending to His Highness in my place?”

Arnold shot Oliver a sharp glare, but the aide stood unfazed.
“As you see, I’m in no state to do so myself. I must rely on you.”
“V-very well! Your Highness, this way…!!”

Driven by the desperate need to flee prying eyes, Rishe seized Arnold’s arm and practically dragged him toward the fourth floor.
After pushing him into their chamber, she hurried back to mop up the water droplets in the hall.
(Calm down, calm down… steady yourself…)

Checking the bells-on-threads trap helped her regain composure. Once the maids had prepared tea, she carried the tray back and knocked.
“Y-Your Highness, have you finished changing?”
“Yes.”

For some reason her hand trembled slightly as she opened the door.
Inside, Arnold had changed into a white shirt and sat reading on the sofa, damp hair still clinging to his face but no longer dripping.
(Steady. Yes… it’s fine.)

Balancing the tray, she entered quietly.
“Your Highness, some hot tea. It should help warm you.”
“Mn.”

He gave a brief reply, eyes on his documents, yet his right hand patted the seat beside him.
He wanted her to sit there—just as he had the night before.
Then, she had thought nothing of it. Technically she could sit opposite him, but refusing now seemed needless.
So Rishe sat obediently at his side, glancing up at him.

“Have you finished with the exchange offices for today?”
“I’m done for now. Tomorrow I’ll visit a few more, and that will complete it. …On your end?”
“Lady Harriet seems troubled. I’m a little concerned for her.”

“I see.”
His tone was utterly indifferent. One might expect at least polite concern for the princess of an allied kingdom—but Arnold showed none.
(Now that I think of it… when Lady Harriet fell yesterday, he didn’t even move. Even when she wept, he looked as though it meant nothing to him. His kindness is… selective, somehow.)

Watching him turn another page, Rishe spoke softly.
“Your Highness.”
“What is it?”

“Does the scar… pain you?”
Arnold’s eyes widened slightly, then he exhaled and lowered his gaze.
“…On rainy days, at times.”

Her brow furrowed. He seemed to move normally, yet if one looked closely, he favored his left side just a little. If she hadn’t known about the scar on his neck, she might never have noticed.
But she could feel it.
“…How did you know?”

“…I’ve grown able to sense when Your Highness is in the slightest discomfort.”
After all, Arnold often worried about her health. She could do the same. She also knew from her healer’s life that old wounds ached in the rain.
Yet there was no clear medicine for such a thing. Her worry deepened.

“Shall I bring hot water? If you warm the scar with a towel, it might ease the ache.”
“No need.”
“But—”

His voice softened.
“It’s already lighter now. I don’t need anything more.”
“…?”

She had done nothing—so what did he mean, already lighter?
If she fussed too much, others ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ might learn of the scar. And that scar was the one true weakness of Arnold Hein, master of near-divine swordsmanship.
(Raul once mentioned this… in my hunter life.)

Five years in the future, Sigwell would go to war with Galkhein. After Harriet’s execution for bankrupting her treasury, Sigwell joined Fabrania’s side.
The hunters, including Rishe, were deployed to sabotage and gather intelligence in the border forests.
One day, while peering through a monocular, Raul muttered:

“…Arnold Hein may be wounded.”
The hunters were stunned.
They had only just managed to confirm Arnold’s figure after days of careful observation. Yet Raul declared it immediately.

“Raul, wounded? Truly?”
“Yes. Likely his left side… upper body. Someone must have managed to strike him.”
Now Rishe knew that injury had been the scar at his neck. Back then, she hadn’t understood. Even in her life as a knight, she had never perceived it. Only now, in this life, had she pieced it together.

And Raul had spoken with absolute conviction:
“Aim for the left. Arnold Hein could fall. Everyone—poison arrows ready. On the battlefield, he deflected every shot, but now he may be off guard.”
At his order, bows had been drawn.

But when Rishe raised her monocular again, she froze.
“…!”
Those blue eyes looked directly at her.

Not a trick of the light. He was aware of them.
“Stop! Don’t shoot—he knows we’re here!”
She whispered urgently. The tension in the group spiked. If Arnold moved, they would be surrounded.

He narrowed his eyes, then smiled faintly—coldly. And with his thumb, he tapped his own left chest.
Here’s my heart. Try to pierce it.
It was a taunt.

For whatever reason, he hadn’t struck back, and so they managed to retreat.
Now, sitting beside him, Rishe thought vaguely:
(If I had loosed the arrow then… if I had pierced this man’s heart… what would have become of me?)

Perhaps she would have lived on in her fifth life, reaching her twenty-first birthday. Yet she could not truly imagine it.
(No use dwelling on a future that never came. More important is this—were the shadows Elsie saw yesterday truly the hunters?)
They had the skills—slipping through windows, leaving no sound, erasing their presence. If so, her traps would be meaningless. Raul himself had already spotted them.

Still, the maids swore they had heard a window close. Could Raul’s people be that careless? Or was it something else…?
The more she thought, the more the possibility of a ghost crept back into mind.
Then Arnold reached out, brushing her left hand.

“Your Highness?”
He said nothing, only traced the edge of the sapphire ring with his fingertip.
(Yesterday too, he touched my ring like this.)

It wasn’t to tease her, but the intent was unclear. She didn’t dislike it—but it unsettled her.
She remembered his words from before.
“Goldwork of Koyol make, is it? Such fine detail, yet well maintained.”

(Could it be that Arnold Hein…)
At that moment, he spoke.
“Rishe.”

“Yes?”
She forced composure into her voice, looking up at him.
“The rain has stopped.”

“Ah. So it has.”
The storm had vanished as if it had never been. Sunlight streamed in, clearer than morning.
“Will you resume your duties this afternoon? Or diplomatic meetings with Prince Curtis?”

“No. If possible, I’d like to take you somewhere.”
“…Me?”
Arnold rose, extending his hand.

“Can you come?”
Startled by the unexpected invitation, Rishe nonetheless nodded and took his hand.
 

****
“Wow…!”
Dressed now in a light summer dress with a white sun hat, basket of drinks in hand, Rishe gave a cry of delight.

“Hey, don’t run on the sand. You’ll fall.”
“Sorry, but—”
She couldn’t help it. Her heart raced.

“The sea…!!”
Before her stretched the endless, glittering ocean.


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