In the Nest of the Fallen Serpent - Chapter 75

Schedule: Thurs and Sun

“He’s always been one to prioritize security. Don’t take it to heart.”

“I suppose so.” Nodding with a wry smile, she spoke again, as if remembering something. “Actually, I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?”

Greta retrieved a note from her desk drawer and handed it to Alois. It contained a list of items. The old butler’s eyes widened slightly as he reviewed the list. He had served his masters for many years, across generations. He knew the purpose of those items.

“Will this be possible? I don’t mind about the others, but I would particularly appreciate it if you could procure the fine negligee.”

Her uncharacteristic urgency prompted him to nod. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I would be grateful if you could do so as soon as possible.”

After Alois left, Greta broke the seal of the pink envelope and read its contents.

“How can someone be so consistent?” After all, a sudden change in character is a sign of impending demise, she mused silently as she calmly set the letter ablaze with a candle. “This clueless leech keeps trying to latch on and suck blood, so I have no choice but to drive her away.” The burning letter flared brightly, then crumbled into black ash, scattering across her desk.

***

“His Grace is going to Crozeta…?” Hilde was bewildered upon hearing the news of Benedict’s departure. The war was over. The Holy Nation had fallen… Could he be going on a dangerous mission? Fearful of her words becoming reality, she anxiously clasped her hands together, unable to voice her concerns.

“I couldn’t even bid him farewell and wish him a safe journey… He left at dawn without a word…” Hilde murmured, gazing wistfully out the window.

Observing her forlorn demeanor, Greta spoke. “In the Empire, it’s customary to give a handkerchief as a gift to someone embarking on a war, a hunt, or a long journey, as a wish for their safe return.”

Hilde turned to her. “A handkerchief?”

“Yes. You embroider it yourself. With the initials of their name, a flower or animal symbolizing their family, their crest, things like that.”

Strictly speaking, it was a custom practiced between family members, or lovers and spouses, but Greta chose not to elaborate. It was only a matter of time before Hilde became the Grand Duke’s official mistress. The staff of the Grand Duchy already regarded her not as a slave, but as the unofficial mistress.

“If you wish, I can teach you how to embroider.”

“R-really?” Hilde’s eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected offer.

“Yes, but if you’re careless or give up because it’s difficult, I’ll stop immediately.”

“I’ll work hard. I promise.”

From that day on, Hilde diligently learned embroidery from Greta at the appointed time each day. Knowing nothing, she began with the basics of holding a needle and threading it.

A few days later, Greta examined the embroidery Hilde had worked on the previous night and was genuinely impressed. “…Astonishing.”

The clumsy, amateurish stitches had improved remarkably. Greta’s gaze naturally fell to Hilde’s hands. As expected, her fingertips were covered in tiny wounds from needle pricks, a testament to her dedicated practice.

‘I didn’t mean for her to punish her hands like this.’ Greta clicked her tongue lightly, just as Hilde hesitantly asked, “Do you think I can finish a simple embroidery before His Grace returns?”

Under normal circumstances, Greta would have dismissed the idea as impossible, but she had changed her mind. “If you work hard, it might be possible.”

Hilde’s face brightened at her response. “Don’t forget to apply ointment to your fingers before you go to bed. If they get infected and your movements become clumsy, your embroidery will suffer.”

“Yes, Head Maid.” Hilde, her face brighter than before, returned her attention to her needlework. Greta sighed softly as she watched her.

‘It’s so obvious.’

Hilde was clearly oblivious. She probably still believed her master to be the terrifying, fearsome figure he had initially seemed to be. Greta observed the contradictory image of the slave meticulously embroidering for the man she feared most in the world, then asked abruptly, “How is your shoulder healing?”