Maceira treated me like I was invisible, and the staff in the residence were all pretty cold.
Eugene gave me a frog that had been hibernating through the winter, and when I lit up with joy, he panicked and ran away.
Everyone was cold to me, sure that was understandable, but honestly, just being able to eat my fill and sleep in a warm room was more than enough to make me happy.
If I had to choose between ;getting warm support while working’ and “cold treatment with cozy rest,” I’d choose the latter every time.
“This… this is life!”
I was sprawled out on the bed, enjoying my leisure time, when a knock sounded and the door opened.
“I brought the cocoa you requested.”
Dahlia entered with a cup of hot cocoa.
I immediately sat up and took a sip, only to be met with what tasted like plain water a piece of chocolate had briefly dipped its toes into.
Dahlia had a tendency to make these kinds of mistakes. At first, I honestly wondered if she was doing it on purpose to mess with me.
But after seeing the pile of laundry she’d folded into a crumpled disaster, I’d long since concluded that housework just wasn’t her calling.
“Thank you, Dahlia.”
““And, um… I’m terribly sorry about this. While I was ironing…”
She apologized and showed me a dress with a perfectly round hole, scorched clean through.
“Ironing is pretty hard, right? It’s not an easy job.”
I remembered I had a headache the first time I had to use those old-school irons and frying pans stuffed with burning charcoal.
“I really am sorry. I’ll try to fix it right away.”
After repeatedly apologizing, she took out a sewing kit and started threading a needle. It looked like she was planning to patch it with fabric.
“Hmm, hmm.”
With a very serious face, Dahlia struggled to thread the needle.
I gave her some advice.
“Try wetting the end of the thread and making it sharp.”
“I’ll give it a try.”
As I watched her fumble and strain, I noticed something off about her right hand, her movements were unnatural.
If she left the military at a young age… then it was probably a medical discharge.
Most likely nerve damage from an injury.
Many of the residence staff bore marks of war; like the gardener with a limp, the butler with a massive scar, and the coachman who couldn’t speak.
They’d all served to protect the country, only to be left behind with their trauma afterward. Yet here they were.
I guess Maceira had a decent side after all.
“Take your time.”
I stayed quiet and waited patiently until she managed to get the thread through.
By the time I’d finished my chocolate-scented but flavorless cocoa and the snow had stopped falling outside, Dahlia was done mending the dress.
Dahlia handed me the one-piece while wiping the sweat from her forehead.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help but laugh!”
I burst into laughter at the sight of the dress, my pink dress now had a crudely stitched-on patch of checkered fabric. It reminded me of the jeans my grandmother had sewn up with colorful fabric.
Dahlia looked completely mortified.
“If you could wait until payday, I’ll reimburse you for the damage.”
“No need! I was getting bored of this dress anyway. Let’s just say it got remodeled.”
Truthfully, I’d never even worn it once, but I smiled like it was no big deal.
“In exchange, come shopping with me on your day off. We’ll grab some parfaits while we’re at it.”
“…Understood.”
With an awkward smile, Dahlia rubbed the back of her neck.
“Thank you for your consideration, my Lady.”
* * *
The servants’ break room in the military residence.
The maids, enjoying a short break, were busy gossiping about Cynthia.
“She really thinks she’s royalty or something. Can you believe she took a parasol just to step outside for a minute?”
“What on earth are those attendants of hers even doing? They act like they’re noble-born handmaids, never lifting a single finger.”
Dahlia kept her mouth shut, silently folding towels.
“It’s ridiculous. The royal family was executed for plunging the people into hell, and now she gets to waltz around being called ‘the last princess’ like it means something.”
“But isn’t she marrying Brigadier General Vicente? He’s known for absolutely despising royalty. Isn’t that a shame?”
Just as Cynthia had guessed, most of the people in the residence resented her for her royal blood.
“Hey, Dahlia, when you burned that dress, did she yell at you or slap you or anything?”
Someone asked with concern, but Dahlia shook her head.
“She didn’t seem like the type to get angry.”
“No way. She acts all nice, but I heard she once ordered a count’s servant to beat up a young maid behind the scenes. She’s so vile.”
Dahlia tilted her head slightly.
The same woman who just smiled pleasantly even when her dress got ruined, was that really someone who’d do something that cruel in secret?
“Once the wedding’s over, she’ll show her true colors. Just wait.”
Another maid crossed her arms and ominously predicted a miserable marriage for Cynthia.
Feeling uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going, Dahlia stepped outside. She couldn’t explain why exactly, but something just didn’t sit right.
That’s when one of the Queensguard family’s servants approached her, a sly smile tugging at his lips.
“You’re her personal maid, aren’t you? Since this place is crawling with male soldiers, it’s your job to keep the young lady in check, you wouldn’t want any strange rumors starting, you know. Especially with how… freely she behaves.”
As he spoke, he tapped his own head mockingly, clearly implying Cynthia wasn’t the brightest.
Dahlia kept her face expressionless and asked, “You said your name is Charles, right? re you saying this out of concern for your lady?”
“Of course. She’s always smiling and fluttering around. There were even rumors about her and her brothers being a little too close, if you know what I mean.”
Incestuous rumors were social death in any circle.
Dahlia instantly realized what the man was trying to do, he wanted this to reach the Brigadier General’s ears. Gossip always grew uglier the more mouths it passed through.
“Don’t kick me out, okay? I’m all alone.”
Dahlia turned around without answering, recalling Cynthia’s lonely voice.
The more time Dahlia spent with her, the more she couldn’t shake the feeling that Cynthia’s warm smile was hiding a sadness no one else could see.
“Report everything. No matter how small.”
The Brigadier General’s words echoed in her ears; report what she eats, what she says, every last detail.
Did that include false rumors too?
Dahlia let out a deep sigh.
* * *
The Queensguard Estate.
From the day Cynthia left for the capital, Edford had been drowning in a storm of loss and rage.
The moment he saw the invitation to her engagement ceremony, he stormed over to Helene and unleashed his fury.
“Helene, you said you’d convince Cynthia to run away with me!”
“I tried my best to persuade her. But if the engagement’s already official, what can we do? It’s too late now.”
Helene, who had recently finished her marriage talks with the Duke and was preparing to head to the capital herself, responded calmly.
She scanned her brother; his pug nose, beady little eyes, and squat frame, then added with slight hesitation,
“You should, uh… try meeting someone else.”
“I don’t see anyone but her.”
‘Neither does anyone else see you that way,’ Helene muttered to herself.
“Cynthia looked like she actually liked that man.”
At that, Edford scowled, recalling Maceira’s annoyingly handsome face.
“She’s clearly been fooled by that pretty face. She doesn’t realize he’s a monster in disguise.”
Coating his jealousy with righteous indignation, Edford began pestering Helene again.
“Come on, think of something! Go to the engagement and make a scene! Break them up somehow!”
Helene’s expression didn’t budge. Disinterested.
Feeling ignored, Edford raised his voice.
“Oh, I see how it is. You’ve secured your engagement to a duke, so you don’t care anymore? If you don’t help me, I’ll expose everything! That Cynthia isn’t who she says she is! That the whole marriage is based on fraud! Once that’s out, your marriage will be over too!”
Helene had always been a gifted talker.
Edford, well aware of this, had used her persuasion skills as leverage. If she didn’t talk Cynthia into breaking off the engagement, he’d ruin her carefully arranged future.
“Ed.”
Helene smiled sweetly, but there was something off about the way her lips twisted.
“Cut it out.”
“What?”
“Why is it that you never say a word to Carlos or Father, but always come whining to me?”
She stood from her seat and shot her brother a chilling look.
“Let me spell it out for you. The only way I can climb the ladder is through marriage, by using my bloodline. And you’re trying to use that to threaten me? How noble.”
Helene thought back to the years she’d spent tucked away in their countryside estate, trained to be the perfect bride.
She knew exactly why the duke had chosen her as his fiancée.
‘He’s betting on the restoration of the monarchy,’ she thought grimly.
Then she gave her brother a warning, sharp as glass.
“Father’s the kind of man who doesn’t bluff. You know that, don’t you?”
Edford remembered it well, how their father had once calmly threatened to kill him if he ever got in the way.
Helene’s voice dropped, eerie and cold.
“And I’m my father’s daughter. Try interfering, and I’ll show you something worse than hell. So think carefully.”
“…Ugh.”
For once, Edford had no retort. He was stunned into silence by the icy threat from his usually composed sister.
‘Is she really going to marry that guy? And just forget about me?’
Even up to the day he left for the capital to attend the engagement, Edford couldn’t stop his foolishness.
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