Our Make-Believe Ends Here - Chapter 8

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“In the servants’ quarters? With the others?”

“No. Miss Luirene stays in the room next to the small library on the third floor of the main building.”

“Next to the small library… isn’t that practically a storage closet?”

“Yes.”

“Why isn’t she staying in the servants’ quarters?”

“It was the lady’s instruction.”

Mother?

She’d given her a responsible position close to Grandmother to watch over her condition, yet the room was that shabby? It wasn’t like Mother, who was ruthlessly thorough when it came to compensation and expenses. Perhaps it was for convenience, so she could come and go quickly whenever Grandmother called.

“Either way, Grandmother must be pleased.”

As he muttered, the image of rounded hair ends like the tail of a black horse rose and then vanished in Hitaon’s mind.

The next day, and the day after that as well, Hitaon attempted his escape during the sunniest hours. Fortunately, Nanny’s silence seemed to have held, as his parents offered no particular nagging during shared meals.

Today, martial training was in full swing at the practice grounds, so he hadn’t needed to risk leaping from a window. Using a bit of guile, he escaped the grounds, and his steps headed toward Grandmother’s room as if predetermined.

As he moved to sit down, his sword belt at his waist annoyed him, so he unbuckled it carelessly and tossed it aside. The sword’s hilt was elegantly engraved with the Glair Marquisate’s crest: a shield and lilies. Looking at it, his whole body grew flushed, as if the heat from the practice grounds, which had only just cooled, was rising again.

‘I don’t get it.’

With the proliferation of firearms, swords in this era had long since lost their role as practical weapons. Yet nobles still learned swordsmanship. Not for use in actual combat, but to carry on the tradition as a symbol of status and lineage.

‘Just sweating for no reason and getting annoyed.’

Hitaon leaned his back against the mansion’s outer wall and stretched his legs out. As he waited, he heard that voice.

Grandmother’s caretaker and companion was so diligent she never missed a single day. What book would she read today? Recently, he’d been startled when a literary anecdote he’d heard through her voice appeared as an example in his rhetoric and composition lesson.

Content he couldn’t understand at all when reading it himself became clearly lodged in his mind when heard through the companion’s voice. Grandmother was someone who valued recitation so much she even held recitation gatherings at noble social events. Just from listening for a short while, it was clear why she had specifically asked this woman to read to her.

Her enunciation, pace, intonation, and breathing were all steady. She clearly loved books in general, and her skill was the result of reading over and over with such persistence. She’d originally been a worker at a bookstore, so it wasn’t an unreasonable guess.

Hitaon cooled his sweat in the refreshing breeze, enjoying his secret, solitary rest. Just as he was beginning to feel drowsy, the resonant voice stopped. His loosely closed eyes widened as well. There was the sound of a chair being moved, as if she had finished reading.

That’s it for today. It had become an unspoken pattern: when she finished her recitation, he, too, ended his break. Hitaon picked up the discarded sword belt and rose awkwardly to his feet.

She had risen from her chair, but her small figure was still turned away. Perhaps the wind that had brushed past Hitaon’s face moments ago was also blowing on her, because today her untied black hair swayed. Perhaps because he realized they were feeling the same breeze, even with the wall between them, it felt as if he were in the same space as the woman.

“I’ll pour you some tea. Please wait a moment.”

As she turned her body, the companion looked this way. The moment his eyes captured the face of the woman who hadn’t noticed him, Hitaon instantly understood why his mother had stuck her in that truly shabby corner room.

It must have been to preemptively curb any dangerous games the numerous men staying in this mansion, including himself, might play. That’s how much her face was one that inspired ill intentions.

Not just the glossy black hair, but eyes as deep and mysterious as if shrouded in purple mist. Her pale skin was as clear and transparent as a layer of white jade, and he could feel the vitality and texture hidden beneath.

Her roughly brushed, slightly disheveled hair, her clean face devoid of makeup, and the practical, simple dress befitting a commoner only accentuated her vividness. She was nothing like the sculpted puppets of noble families, perfectly crafted only on the outside.

That day, for some reason, Hitaon tossed and turned all night. Only when the new day dawned did he realize that in the deep of night, an unwelcome guest had visited, his body heating involuntarily and dampening his loins. To have a wet dream just from stealing a glance at a face. Something was definitely, seriously wrong with him.