"People cannot live alone. I know the most miserable person in the world. Someone who hated to give to others, could not bear even the slightest loss, and treated mercy as a ridiculous word."
Roxana appealed to her, pouring her sincerity into every syllable.
"……."
"They held jewels and gold in both hands, but in the end, they were miserable. They brainwashed themselves into believing they were happy, but the end was wretched. Because no one remained by their side."
Silence settled in. A calmed Frey asked in a low voice.
"Whose story is that?"
"My father's."
"……."
It was an unexpected answer. Frey, left speechless, listened to Roxana for the first time.
"Did he pass away?"
"Yes. Both my mother and father."
It was the same as her own situation. A strange sense of kinship made Frey close her mouth. Encouraged by her silence, Roxana reached out and wrapped her hand around Frey’s.
"My lady. If you suspect, hate, push away, and hurt others, eventually everything will return like a boomerang. Conversely, if you show mercy, that too will return to you."
* * *
Robert returned to the castle late at night. While Curtis was away dealing with a territorial boundary dispute, Robert had a mountain of work to do, leaving him with little time to sleep. The first thing he did was summon Roxana to the steward's office.
"I heard it was a very difficult day today."
"Pardon?"
"It was your first day, but you did well."
Having braced herself for disciplinary action, it was a remark she had never imagined. As Roxana blinked in surprise, Robert smiled calmly.
"Since it was your first day, I knew something was bound to happen. Lady Frey is a difficult person to serve. You wouldn't believe how many maids have been replaced, including your predecessor, Alice."
That was why, when Curtis had expressed his intention to entrust the position of personal maid to Roxana—the daughter of his enemy, no less—Robert had doubted his own ears. Even if the miracle of Frey sleeping in Roxana’s arms had occurred, it could have been a mere coincidence.
If she were to be hated by Frey, Roxana’s life would be over that very day. He had even suspected that Curtis might be creating a pretext to dispose of her. That was, until he saw the backbone she showed when standing up to the senior maid who had been tormenting her. Seeing that, a glimmer of hope had sprouted in his mind, and he realized that Curtis had seen that possibility a step ahead of him.
He did not know what the deciding factor had been, but for Curtis, it had been a massive gamble.
"Actually, I haven't been following the Marquess for long either. You might not believe it, but they say the young lady used to be a bright and lively person. She grew up receiving plenty of love and affection from her parents, and even an excessive amount of adoration from her brother, the Marquess."
"……I see."
Roxana listened intently to the unexpected story.
"Yes. But on the day the family was destroyed…… the shock left her blind. You already know that story, I presume."
"……Yes."
The tragedy that caused the House of Russell to collapse overnight had been orchestrated by her own father, the Marquess of Dalton. Observing Roxana’s pale complexion, Robert continued cautiously.
"Afterward, Curtis worked hard to have the House of Russell reinstated. Even after regaining their rightful place, the young lady had already closed off her heart completely. She refuses to keep anyone by her side and suspects everyone of trying to torment or harm her. She is gripped by paranoia."
That was why he had raided her room before. Roxana recalled Frey, who had been trembling like a wounded bird by her side during their first encounter. It had been so sudden that she hadn't even known who she was, yet she felt pity and a desire to embrace her. Wanting to soothe her, she had sung a lullaby from her memories. The body that had been trembling as if in a seizure had gradually stabilized. As she was smoothing down the back of the girl who had fallen into a deep sleep, the door had burst open, and a bloodshot-eyed Curtis had stormed in with a menacing air. Only then did she learn Frey’s identity.
"Why did the Marquess…… decide to keep me as the young lady’s personal maid? Even if you assigned me, Steward, it would be impossible without his permission."
Curtis hated her. Although he sometimes looked at her with an unreadable gaze, it was clearly contempt.
Robert returned the smile instead of answering.
"Who knows?"
It was an ambiguous answer. It could have meant that she should think for herself. As Roxana kept her lips sealed for a moment, the image of Frey’s frail shoulders and thin frame crossed her mind.
"Is Lady Frey eating her meals properly?"
After the morning commotion, Frey had seemed drained and did not throw any more tantrums. She had barely touched her lunch, taking only a few bites before sending it away. For dinner, she claimed she couldn't digest anything and had only a thin oatmeal porridge. Roxana had urged her to eat even a little more, but she had been firmly refused.
Blinking a few times at Roxana’s sudden question, Robert sighed.
"I have changed the chef three times, but it remains the same."
The food Frey rejected was, by anyone’s standards, a delicious and luxurious meal that would make one’s mouth water. From mutton stew with basil, melted butter, hard-to-find salt and pepper, beef broth, and cubed turnips, to roasted pheasant finished with honey, olive oil, and red wine.
"She rejects some, saying they are too greasy, and sends others back, claiming the seasoning is off."
Curtis had spared no money, effort, or sincerity to fix his sister’s picky eating habits, but it was to no avail. Even when they called in physicians, no specific cause was found other than the diagnosis of a sickness of the heart.
"……Perhaps…… maybe."
Roxana, who had been listening quietly to Robert, lifted her head, a sudden thought occurring to her.
"Steward. Would it be possible for me to prepare the young lady’s breakfast tomorrow? If possible, I would like to have Alice’s help as well."
"Breakfast, you say?"
Robert tilted his head at the unexpected request. Roxana, her eyes sparkling, clasped her hands together in plea.
"Yes. It doesn't require many ingredients or much manpower. Is it not possible?"
"……If Alice is helping you."
She wouldn't be able to put anything harmful into Lady Frey’s food, in any case. Hiding the suspicion that had crept up, Robert nodded.
"Very well. There is no harm in trying."
* * *
"Marquess of Russell! What do you think you are doing?"
At the same time, Viscount Derek Otis, his neck veins bulging, glared fiercely. His knights also shifted into a combat stance.
"Wait."
Curtis, who stopped Greg with one hand, asked back with a nonchalant face.
"What are you referring to, Viscount Otis?"
"Are you playing dumb? You are trespassing on my territory and cutting down trees right before my eyes!"
"Surely, I must clear the forest to secure farmland so my people can make a living."
Curtis, yawning as if bored, calmed his black horse, which was agitated in front of the weapons. At that sight, Derek Otis’s breathing became even rougher. As soon as he heard that trees on the border were being cut down, he had rushed over fully armed with a dozen or so knights, as if he had been waiting for this.
On the other hand, Curtis Russell was dressed as if he were merely out for a patrol, and he had brought only three knights with him. It infuriated Derek that Curtis was clearly there to provoke him, yet he was dressed so casually and wore such a bored expression.
No matter how low his rank was, he was five years older than Curtis Russell. And above all, he was the king’s illegitimate son.
"Have you forgotten that this is my land?"
Curtis scoffed at the voice that ground out the words, pretending to pick his ear with his pinky finger. A sharp, heavy sword looked ready to strike at any moment, but Curtis seemed to find it ridiculous. Feeling slighted and stung, Derek pulled the reins back violently. The startled horse reared up, neighing threateningly.
"If you leave immediately, I will let it slide this time."
"What to do? That would be a bit difficult."
"Are you saying you want to see blood?"
With that, the knights who received the signal exchanged glances. In the critical situation, Greg also gripped the sword at his waist tightly. Just then, Curtis took something out from his coat and threw it onto the dirt floor. A wide-eyed Derek ordered his squire to pick it up.
"This is……."
"You can see for yourself, can't you?"
"……I grant 20 acres of the forest bordering the southern Blecker River to the Marquess of Russell, Curtis. I recognize the clearing of the land and the residence of the people, and entrust all rights, including hunting rights and all other authorities, to him."
It was the King’s royal decree. Gritting his teeth, Derek glared.
"This is my land."
"It is my land now."
"Even that castle where you play king!"
Derek, letting out a roar, continued his words with resentment, as if casting a curse.
"It was originally mine."
"No."
Curtis, frowning, retorted.
"It was the Russell Marquessate from the beginning. It was merely entrusted to you for a while."
After the Marquessate was massacred along with the knightly houses that followed them on false charges of treason, the King had granted all the land to the illegitimate Viscount Otis, whose territory was adjacent.
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