#015 If Asked How You Seduced Him
If someone asked how Catherine had seduced Chezare, the truth was she hadn't. And Chezare had never fallen for her either. The only change was that they'd gone from complete strangers to at least being on greeting terms.
"Just... nothing special. Everyone's romance looks the same, right?"
But Demian had completely misunderstood, assuming they were a passionately sparring couple. If she told him the truth, he might run off. Not wanting to lose her free young gardener, Catherine mumbled some vague excuse.
"No way that's true, miss. That guy's got mercury running through his veins instead of blood."
His suspicious glare pricked at her conscience. Mercury? Ice water, maybe, but mercury seemed too cold a description.
"He's not that cold."
She was just voicing her honest impression, but his suspicious look instantly twisted into one of utter disbelief.
"You're the one who's wrong, miss."
Demian's face was deadly serious.
"He's cold. Really cold. Stand next to him, and your breath fogs up. And scary. Really scary. Stand next to him, and tears well up."
"You're talking about my boyfriend? He must act different around me. You two were so intense. I even heard you arguing in the kitchen."
No, Roze. Don't fan the flames like that. Catherine desperately hoped her telepathic plea reached Roze.
The two went on debating the ferocity of Catherine and Chezare's love for a good ten minutes. Since the premise itself was false, Catherine couldn't chime in at all.
"But miss... that magic circle in the basement..."
But when the contentious topic suddenly popped up, her mouth opened wide on its own—loud and clear.
"Ah, can I call you Demian from now on?"
Not that topic. Roze has no idea, and she's working in my house.
Demian flinched at her bloodshot glare, freezing mid-sentence as if nothing was wrong. Roze tilted her head at him, puzzled.
"Haha! Of course, miss."
"Let's get along for the next ten days, Demian."
And from now on, watch those useless comments. Demian glanced nervously at Roze before awkwardly grasping Catherine's hand.
The noon sky the next day was exceptionally clear. Gazing up at the impossibly blue expanse, Catherine dredged up a memory long buried in her past.
It was a time when blooming flowers scattered in the spring breeze. The moonlight on the river was snow-white, and the Milky Way made the night as bright as midsummer day. Unable to sleep late into the night, she'd open the window, get lost in the acacia scent wafting in, and stare blankly at the ceiling. Then, at some point she became aware of him standing beyond the fluttering white curtains.
Catherine didn't shrink back in anxiety or fear. She knew who this intruder in her bedroom was, without permission.
Percival?
Between the black shadow and the pure white curtains, ruby-red eyes glinted mockingly, slowly curving.
Are you insane? Do you know where you are, sneaking in here?
Am I dreaming? Drawn to the surreal scene, Catherine approached the window and grabbed the flapping curtains. Percival crouched with his chin in his hand, looking down at her.
So the 'maid at Panya Castle' bit was total bullshit. A liar's face spouting nothing but lies.
...You sneak into a lady's room late at night, and that's all you have to say?
He reached out with the long arm gripping the windowsill. A cloying floral scent wafted from the back of his hand brushing her cheek. Her tangled red hair, not properly dried, danced between his fingers.
Don't change the subject—answer me. Does the great marquis family give maids rooms this nice? Huh? Anne.
Catherine silently stared at his face.
Or is 'Anne Orleans' just another fake hick name.
How many times had they met? Not even ten, if she counted them all. From their first meeting, she'd been intrigued by his free-spirited scent of wind.
So what if it's fake?
That's why her eyes kept drifting to him. So what if he was crazy? To Catherine, Percival looked like a hawk soaring freely through the skies.
What if it is? You introduced yourself as a knight's squire, and I said I was a maid at Panya Castle. That's it. Don't talk like there's something special between us...
Percival furrowed his brow.
Hey, if you don't want to piss me off, shut up right there. You know my temper isn't the best, right?
I know.
Catherine had to return to Orleans in three days. Her dreamlike time at Panya would fade into forgotten memory, a mere recollection of reality. So their story had to end here. Memories buried as nostalgia, each returning to their place.
...Nothing between us? I never thought I'd hear such hurtful words from you.
Percival's large, rough hand yanked her nape harshly. His handsome features filled her vision, freezing her body in place.
Then we should make something before it's too late. What do you think, Anne? ...Will you allow it?
His soft dark brown hair invaded her sight. Her head spun from the acacia scent overflowing the room.
Catherine stared blankly out the window with a dazed face. Revisiting that memory from years ago felt strangely fresh. There had been such times. Even for her, who'd thrown everything away and left—younger, more passionate days than now.
Lowering her gaze slightly, the scene outside came into view. Led by Security Captain Mel, holy knights in gleaming white armor stood at her door. About thirty paces behind them, a man with a shady gait strolled casually—unmistakably Percival.
...I never imagined we'd get tangled up again like this.
Truly, you never knew what life would bring. She herself had never dreamed she'd escape Orleans and settle in Christopher.
"Damn leeches!"
Demian, midway through weeding, climbed to the second floor with an irritated growl. His voice boomed when he was this pissed.
"Miss, did you see? Those holy knight bastards slithered in again. Narrow-minded pricks won't die off."
"I'm seeing them right now."
"How about we give 'em a proper thrashing this time? Might keep 'em from bothering us."
Catherine answered absently, staring out the window.
"How do you plan to take responsibility?"
"You think I'd stoop lower than weeding here?"
He had a point. But for Catherine, who wanted to live as quietly as possible, it wasn't ideal. Better to allow the mansion inspection, with assurance the basement stayed hidden.
She fiddled with Chezare's key in her inner pocket. If her guess was right, this key could resolve the worst-case scenario. Sure, it'd annoy Chezare a bit... but he was the one who treasured that magic circle, not her. He'd understand.
Stepping out, she smiled softly at Captain Mel as she opened the door.
"Captain Mel."
"Ah, Miss Panya. Good morning."
She was grateful anew that Panya was one of countless surnames in the empire.
"...But what's that on your head?"
She couldn't say it was her precious bread bag guaranteeing safety from Percival, so Catherine offered a suitable excuse.
"Got a huge boil on my cheek—too embarrassed to show anyone. Sorry to greet you like this."
Captain Mel, the gentlest gentleman she knew, clucked his tongue sympathetically.
"Oh dear. Doesn't bother me, but if it eases your mind... Ah, these are the holy knights returning from a subjugation. The temple sensed ominous energy around here and ordered purification. They asked to inspect your mansion."
So that's what "notify the temple and await orders" meant. Clever bastards. Carlos stood arrogantly, looking more infuriating than ever.
"We don't want to make a big fuss, miss."
The one holy knight with manners offered an apology that wasn't quite one, looking troubled. Among them, Percival—the only one in casual clothes—watched her with hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
"...Come in."
Right—just keep them out of the basement. If they discovered that bizarre magic circle, the temple would seize the mansion a hundred times over. Unless Duke Chezare, the land's lord, objected... but using the key was surer.
Finally entering the garden, Carlos ground his teeth.
"You'll regret letting us in."
After whining to be let in, now regrets? Catherine secretly flipped him off behind his back.
"Where do you want to start? I've only been here a month, so it's pretty messy inside."
"Don't think of running, devil worshipper. We'll search every inch, no room spared!"
"My bedroom has half-sorted unde..."
Lots of underwear. Catherine clamped her mouth shut mid-sentence. The prickling gaze from behind was too intense. For some reason, Percival was staring at her now.
Why? Is it the bread bag on my head?
She had no choice but to watch her words and actions. No flashy moves—stay quiet.
"Hold on, that cat."
Then it happened. Carlos halted at the mansion entrance, pointing to the overgrown garden.
A kitten rolled in the warm sunlight. By its markings, it was the one Catherine had faithfully fed since moving in.
But why had it suddenly shrunk so small?
"I sense a foul, acrid aura from that cat. Must be a devil's minion!"
Hm. Catherine sidled up to Captain Mel and whispered.
"You didn't bring cultists into my house, did you?"
He looked flustered too, opening his mouth with a somewhat panicked expression.