CHAPTER 41: SHOPPING WITH RUMIA!

"You know about your engagement to Count Sevrin’s son, don’t you?" I asked Rumia to be sure.

"And?" Rumia asked.

I couldn’t help but laugh, though there was no humor in it. "And? You’re asking me ’and’? And it means we can’t be together, Rumia. Your father has been planning this marriage for years to restore his Baron status. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had you specifically for this purpose—a beautiful daughter to trade for political advancement."

The words came out harsher than I’d intended, but they needed to be said. Someone had to inject reality into this fantasy she seemed to be living.

"I don’t care," she said, crossing her arms defiantly. "I don’t care about any of that."

"Really?" I gestured toward her expensive gown, her carefully styled hair, the obvious signs of her privileged new life. "Yet here you are in the capital, studying at the most prestigious magical academy in the kingdom, all thanks to the Sevrin family’s wealth and influence. You’re wearing silks that cost more than most people see in a lifetime, Rumia. Don’t tell me you don’t care when you’re already reaping the benefits of this arrangement."

Her face flushed. "My father chose this path, not me! I never asked for any of it. But I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to learn from the most talented mages in the realm just to spite him."

"And that’s exactly my point," I pressed. "You’ve never disobeyed your father, not once in all the years I’ve known you. You won’t start now. Within the next few years, your engagement will become official. When you turn eighteen, maybe nineteen, you’ll marry Count Sevrin’s son. You’ll become a proper noble lady, bear his children, and live the life your father planned for you. Do you understand that? Do you truly comprehend what your future looks like?"

Rumia bit her lower lip. When she looked up at me again, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"You like me, don’t you, Hal?" She asked.

"What kind of question is that?" I laughed.

"Don’t laugh and tell me!" She grasped the front of my shirt with both hands, her fingers trembling. "I need to hear you say it!"

"Rumia..." I sighed. "You know I’ve tried to keep distance between us all these years, don’t you? Your father made it very clear that he disapproves of even our... friendship. He’s threatened, more than once, indirectly to have my family expelled from Millbrook if I continue to ’corrupt’ his daughter with my presence."

Her grip on my shirt tightened. "He said that?"

"He’s the village chief, Rumia. He has every right to exile us, and even if the other villagers objected, my mom would choose to leave rather than cause trouble. She feels too guilty about accepting Aldan’s help, too indebted to risk conflict. We’d be on the streets, homeless, with nowhere to go."

I paused, watching her face as the full weight of our situation settled on her shoulders. "It’s too soon for me to leave the village permanently. I need time to establish myself somewhere else, to find a safe place for my family. Until then, mom and Rosalune need to stay in Millbrook."

And no matter what I felt about Rumia, I won’t sacrifice their safety for a single love. That was the harsh truth.

Rumia lowered her gaze.

"I don’t want to marry him," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don’t want to marry someone I don’t like." She looked up at me then glaring. "It’s you that I love, Hal. It’s always been you!"

In my previous life, I’d heard countless women say those words. Some had meant them, others had been lying, but none of them had moved me the way Rumia’s confession did. Perhaps it was because I was younger now, more open to emotion than I’d been as a jaded adult. Or perhaps it was because her love felt pure in a way I’d never experienced before—untainted by ulterior motives or political machinations.

Whatever the reason, her tears affected me in a way I hadn’t expected. This was supposed to be easier.

Should I really let go of such a girl?

"Three years," I heard myself saying before I could think better of it.

She blinked up at me in confusion, tears still clinging to her lashes. "What?"

"Wait three years," I said, though part of me was screaming that I was making a dangerous gamble. "If you can wait that long, I’ll do something about your engagement."

It was a reckless promise. But by then, I planned to be strong enough to gain admission to the Royal Academy of Lorendia. If I could establish myself there, earn some kind of status or recognition, perhaps I could challenge the engagement. Perhaps I could offer her father something more valuable than Count Sevrin’s political alliance.

It was a long shot, bordering on fantasy, but it was the only hope I could give her.

"Three years," she repeated slowly, as if testing the words. Her tears had stopped falling, replaced by something that looked almost like determination.

Maybe I should have asked for more time. She had that dangerous serious look as if I had just made a pact with the devil.

"Yes," I nodded anyway, sealing my fate. "Three years."

"Then I’ll wait." Her smile was radiant despite the tear stains on her cheeks. "I’ll wait for you, Hal."

Before I could say anything else—before I could warn her about the impossibility of what I was promising—she grabbed my hand and began pulling me back toward the main thoroughfare of the market.

"Since you’re here, I want to show you everything," she said, her earlier melancholy replaced by an almost manic enthusiasm. "The capital has things you’ve never seen before, things you can’t even imagine."

"Rumia, let go of my hand," I said, glancing around at the crowd. "It would be problematic if anyone from the Count’s household saw us like this."

Her face fell slightly, but she released my hand with obvious reluctance. "You’re right, of course. I wasn’t thinking."

We rejoined Noah, Lucy, and Regina, who had been waiting with varying degrees of patience. Noah looked ready to drag me back to the hotel by force, while Lucy and Regina seemed torn between curiosity about our private conversation and polite pretense that nothing unusual had happened.

"Is everything alright, Rumia?" Lucy asked carefully.

"Everything’s perfect," Rumia replied with a brightness that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Harold will be accompanying us through the market—I hope that doesn’t trouble you?"

"Not at all!" Lucy said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

"It doesn’t bother me in the least," Regina added, though her blush suggested otherwise.

"I need to buy gifts for my family and friends back home," I explained. "I was hoping you might know where to find quality items that won’t bankrupt me."

"Of course," Regina’s face lit up with genuine enthusiasm. "We know all the best shops. Lucy’s practically an expert on jewelry, and I know where to find the most exquisite fabrics and perfumes."

"And I," Rumia said with a smile that held secrets, "know where to find the things that will make your loved ones feel truly special."

"I’d like to buy some dresses first," I said, patting the coin purse in my pocket. "Nothing too extravagant—I have a budget of ten gold coins."

The reaction to that was quite unique. Rumia stopped mid-step, her mouth falling open in a most unladylike manner. Lucy gasped audibly, while Regina’s carefully composed expression cracked entirely.

"Ten gold coins?" Rumia’s voice pitched higher than usual. "Harold, where in the world did you get that much money?"

"I worked for it," I said simply, ignoring Noah’s warning stare.

Rumia’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. Village boys didn’t just ’work’ their way into small fortunes, especially not boys who’d been nothing more than a blacksmith’s assistant the last time she’d seen me.

"And why," she said slowly, her gaze shifting to Noah, "is a knight following you around, Hal? That’s not exactly normal for village folk."

I felt Noah tense behind me. This was exactly the kind of attention we’d been hoping to avoid.

"He’s my bodyguard," I said.

"I’m not a bodyguard," Noah interjected quickly. "I’ve simply been assigned to accompany Harold during his visit to the capital. Please don’t mind my presence."

The explanation satisfied no one, least of all Rumia, whose suspicious expression only deepened. She studied my face for a long moment, clearly debating whether to press the issue. Finally, she seemed to decide that direct confrontation wouldn’t yield results.

"Fine," she said with obvious reluctance. "Keep your secrets, Hal. But ten gold coins should be more than enough for quality gifts." Her expression brightened with genuine enthusiasm. "I know exactly the place—Madame Leclair’s boutique. She caters to minor nobility and wealthy merchants’ families. You’ll find beautiful pieces without paying duchess prices."

As we walked, Lucy and Regina flanked Rumia, their heads bent together in animated whispered conversation. I didn’t need enhanced hearing to know I was the primary topic of discussion. The way they kept glancing back at me with mixtures of curiosity, admiration, and barely concealed romantic interest was telling enough.

The boutique, when we reached it, was everything Rumia had promised. The building itself was an impressive three-story structure of white stone and polished wood, with large windows that allowed natural light to illuminate the displayed garments within. Elegant script across the storefront proclaimed "Madame Leclair’s—Fine Attire for the Discerning Lady and Gentlemen."

As we approached the entrance, I couldn’t help but be reminded of high-end fashion stores from my previous life. The same attention to presentation, the same careful cultivation of atmosphere designed to make customers feel sophisticated and special. The main difference was the magical lighting—softly glowing crystals that cast a warm, flattering radiance throughout the interior.

A gentleman in an impeccably tailored white shirt and embroidered waistcoat approached us the moment we stepped inside. His smile was professional but warm, and his eyes quickly assessed our small group with the practiced gaze of an experienced salesman.

"Welcome to Madame Leclair’s," he said with a slight bow. "I am Maurice, and I would be delighted to assist you today. How may I serve you, ladies and gentlemen?"

"We’re looking for dresses," Rumia said, taking charge of the conversation. "Gowns, preferably, in styles suitable for young ladies."

Maurice’s smile widened. "Excellent choice. And will the gentleman be needing to visit our men’s section as well?"

"No, thank you," I replied. "I’m shopping for my mother and sister."

"How wonderful!" Maurice’s expression grew genuinely pleased. "They’re fortunate indeed to have such a thoughtful son and brother. Please, follow me to our ladies’ collection on the second floor."

The women’s section was a wonderland of fabric and color. Gowns, day dresses, riding habits, and evening wear filled the space in carefully organized displays. The styles were definitely medieval in inspiration, but with touches of fantasy that spoke to this world’s unique nature—fabric that seemed to shimmer with its own inner light, embroidery that appeared to shift and dance in the magical illumination, cuts and silhouettes that somehow managed to be both elegant and practical.

As I took in the sheer variety of options, I found myself wondering again about the nature of this world. Was it truly a parallel to Earth, or something else entirely? The blend of familiar and fantastical elements never ceased to impress me.

"Harold," Rumia called, drawing my attention to a section dedicated to younger women’s wear. "I think you’ll find suitable options for Rosaluna here, but for your mother, you might want to browse the mature ladies’ collection on the other side."

"Thank you, but I should be fine on my own," I said, not wanting to monopolize her time. "You should enjoy shopping with your friends."

"Alright, but don’t hesitate to ask if you need help," she said.

Once she’d rejoined Lucy and Regina, I turned to Noah, who had been doing his best to blend into the background.

"Since we’re here, are you sure you don’t want to pick up something for someone special?" I asked casually. "A sweetheart, perhaps?"

Noah stared at me. "I don’t have a sweetheart."

"My apologies," I said, though I couldn’t help but grin at his obvious discomfort.

"I don’t need one!" He protested, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself and glanced around nervously. "I’m completely focused on my duties."

"You know, Noah, if you maintain that attitude much longer, you might find yourself a virgin for life," I observed mildly.

His eyes widened in horror. "Aren’t you still...? I mean, don’t tell me you’ve already...?"

I realized I’d perhaps revealed too much of my mental maturity. "I’m still young for such things," I replied carefully, and Noah visibly relaxed.

With that awkward conversation concluded, I turned my attention to the task at hand. Shopping for the women in my life was more challenging than I’d anticipated, requiring me to consider not just what looked beautiful, but what would suit each person’s personality and circumstances.

"First, something for Rosaluna," I murmured, scanning the displays with a critical eye.

My sister rarely wore formal gowns—village life didn’t provide many opportunities for such finery—but I wanted to give her something special, something that would make her feel beautiful for whatever occasions might arise in the future.

I found myself drawn to a particular gown that seemed perfect for her: a sweetheart neckline design in the softest rose pink, with short, puffed sleeves and delicate pearl buttons down the back. The skirt was full but not overwhelming, elegant without being ostentatious. It was exactly the sort of dress that would make Rosaluna look like the gentle, lovely young woman she was becoming.

When I checked the price tag, however, I nearly choked. One gold coin—equivalent to roughly one hundred silver pieces. It was more than most families in Millbrook spent on clothing in an entire year, and this was supposedly from the "affordable" section of the boutique.

Still, this was the first formal dress I’d ever been able to buy for my sister. I selected it in what I estimated to be her size, trusting my memory of her measurements.

Next came the challenge of choosing something for Lisa. The huntress was notoriously practical in her dress, favoring dark colors and functional cuts that wouldn’t impede her movement through the forest. I’d never seen her in anything remotely feminine, which made selecting a gown for her particularly difficult.

After considerable deliberation, I settled on a deep sapphire blue dress with clean, elegant lines. It was beautiful without being fussy, sophisticated without sacrificing practicality. The color would complement her dark hair beautifully, and the style was formal enough for special occasions while remaining true to her no-nonsense personality. Another gold coin, but Lisa deserved something special too.

Finally, I needed to find something for lovely mother. This required moving to the mature ladies’ section, which offered an even more overwhelming array of choices.

Isabella’s beauty was beyond compare—so much so that even Queen Emma, with all her regal elegance, could not outshine her. The thought alone sent a thrill through me. And so, when it came to choosing something worthy of her, nothing less than perfection would do.

Then, I saw it.

A gown, draped over a poised mannequin as if awaiting its true mistress. Deep pink, like the blush of twilight. The neckline plunged daringly, designed to frame and accentuate the wearer’s curves, while the open back promised a tantalizing glimpse of skin.

Just imagining Isabella in that.

The vision seized me—her ivory shoulders bare, the silk clinging to her waist before cascading in elegant folds, the way the color would deepen against her flawless complexion. My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard. She would be devastating. A goddess draped in temptation.

Two Gold Coins.

A steep price, but irrelevant. Even if it cost every coin in my possession, the mere chance of seeing her adorned in such splendor was worth it. My fingers twitched with the urge to claim it.

I checked the size without hesitation. I knew Isabella’s measurements better than my own—every curve, every line, every breath of space her body would command. The gown would fit her like a second skin.

Satisfied, I turned to leave—until my gaze snagged on another section of the shop.

Oh.

A display of delicate fabrics, ribbons, and lace—the intimate corner where undergarments were sold. My pulse spiked.

Holy hell.

Sending Noah to the men’s section, I glanced furtively toward Rumia, and after ensuring they were distracted, then slipped inside. The moment I crossed into that forbidden space, the women browsing the racks froze. Their eyes—wide with shock, amusement, and faint disapproval—locked onto me: a thirteen-year-old boy, standing red-faced amidst silken bras and scandalously thin panties.

I ignored them.

There was no turning back now. If I left without something for Isabella, I’d regret it forever.

My fingers trailed over the options before settling on a set—black lace threaded with pink, delicate yet daring. The bra was crafted to cradle, to accentuate, its design both elegant and sinful. It would pair flawlessly with the gown, a secret allure beneath the finery.

I snatched it up, then hesitated. Isabella’s proportions were... generous. A G-cup, at least. My face burned as I selected the correct size, my mind betraying me with vivid imaginings—the lace straining slightly over her full curves, the contrast of black against her milky skin.

Damn it.

I grabbed the matching panties before my thoughts could spiral further and hurried to the counter.

The shopkeeper—a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes—studied my purchases, then me. Her lips pursed in silent judgment. But then, I blinked up at her, summoning every ounce of youthful innocence I could muster.

Her stern expression faltered. With a resigned sigh, she folded the garments into crisp paper, tied the package with a ribbon, and handed it over.

I smirked taking it.

No matter how much time it takes, I am definitely going to make her wear this one day and fuck her in that gown.