Chapter 66
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There was something strangely, almost unnervingly cheerful about him, and Fiona’s suspicion kindled. Now that she considered it, that wretch Jayden had worn precisely such a grin—laughing, positively splitting his cheeks—when he had announced he would send Caligo to her chamber the previous evening.
In an instant, a terrible realization flashed through her mind.
‘He knew. The bastard knew Caligo bore a grudge against me.’
The understanding of it made yesterday’s events, and indeed his behaviour until this very moment, burn with a fresh, searing humiliation.
She could not begin to imagine how heartily he must have laughed at her. How foolish, how utterly dim-witted must she have appeared, fawning over a husband she had even taken it upon herself to name, as though he were a pet to be tamed?
The thought of it made her pride curdle into something cold and shaking.
Her every instinct screamed at her to turn on her heel and flee to some place unseen, but circumstances forbade such a luxury.
Instead of causing a scene, Fiona swallowed her pride and, with reluctant steps, approached Jayden’s side to offer her greetings to the imperial entourage. They were returning to the capital, and the prospect seemed to please them greatly; their expressions were far brighter than they had been in the conference room not long ago.
Yet the way they looked at her—like a hen set for breeding—had not altered. Nor did they omit the usual offensive pleasantries. Beneath her long sleeves, Fiona clenched her fists and bore the rising tide of her fury.
“Well, then, we shall await only the news of the Grand Duchess’s confinement. See that the Commander exerts himself properly.”
“But of course. Before she is the Grand Duchess, she is my sister. I shall manage her well and ensure she presents His Majesty with the heir to the Grand Duchy he so desires.”
“His Majesty places great hopes in you siblings. Well then, we leave the north to the House of Troyes and take our leave.”
The conversation, conducted as though she were chattel to be discussed and delivered, turned her stomach. After a short while, seizing an opportune moment, she finally extricated herself from the scene.
Among the servants bustling about with their luggage, she spotted a few familiar faces. The maids from the count’s estate who had accompanied her were evidently preparing to return to the capital with the rest.
Watching the maids pack their belongings and straighten their attire in small, cheerful groups, she was naturally reminded of Marie’s anxious demeanor that morning.
‘……So she is leaving too.’
That must have been why she had dithered so awkwardly—reluctant to bid farewell.
Even so, she had been the maid who had helped Fiona most since her arrival in this place.
Deciding to seek out Marie and take her leave properly instead of going to the library, Fiona spotted her lingering near the staircase. She approached slowly.
“Marie.”
At the sound of her name, the maid started and looked up, startled.
Once she was gone, Fiona mused, would she have to manage meals and errands herself? Of course, such things were well within her capacity, yet somehow the thought sank her spirits considerably.
Unwilling to admit that the feeling might be one of regret, Fiona addressed her with a deliberately gruff expression.
“Have you finished packing?”
But to her surprise, Marie shook her head, looking somewhat troubled.
“You haven’t packed? Why?”
Had she been too busy seeing to Fiona’s meals to find the time? If so, why was she lingering here instead of hurrying to prepare? So convinced was Fiona that Marie must be leaving that it never occurred to her the maid might be hesitating for any other reason. Thus, when the answer came, she was more startled than the occasion warranted.
“I do not intend to return, my lady.”
“What do you mean?”
At her blank-faced query, Marie simply repeated herself in different words.
“I am thinking of staying here.”
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