The Elf Who Wants a Relationship (2)
“Dremes.” Contempt flickered in Theorad's eyes. No matter that the woman before him was a witch unbound by social hierarchies, and that they'd mutually agreed to a horizontal relationship—even so, her words had crossed the line. First suspecting him of being homosexual, and now asking if he'd injured his head? He didn't want to hear such remarks, which even friends should avoid, from someone he'd met only twice.
“Watch your words.” His low baritone filled the drawing room. There was an undeniable dignity in his sharply narrowed light brown eyes that made refusal impossible. Though kind-hearted by nature, Theorad was a noble raised in the prestigious Deharm Viscount family and its current head. Moreover, he enjoyed immense trust from Count Leoberg Pelgaroin. That lineage, passed down seven generations, lent his warning enough weight to make Dremes falter.
“Ah... that is...” Her heart pounded fiercely. It wasn't fear of losing a potential regular customer. Rather, Theorad's aura dominated the space around her, making her feel as uncomfortable as if she were wearing ill-fitting clothes. After fumbling awkwardly, Dremes finally admitted her fault.
“Sorry... I didn't mean to insult you.”
“You didn't?”
“I didn't...” Sweating profusely while gauging his reaction, she looked utterly ridiculous. Theorad eyed her with displeasure before sighing.
“I'm not asking you to use formal speech.”
“...Then what?”
“Regardless of your intent, you should refrain from words or actions that could offend the other party. We've both passed the age of youthful folly, so basic courtesy is expected, especially in a business setting like this.”
He wasn't wrong. Her years dealing with rude nobles had twisted her personality, leading her to speak casually to him. Dremes nodded vigorously in agreement.
“Yeah. You're right. I'll be careful.”
“Good to hear you catch on quickly. Now, back to the matter at hand—I'd like to purchase that aphrodisiac you mentioned.”
“Ah, sure. Got it. One moment.” Dremes pulled two vials from the bag slung over her shoulder. The liquid inside sloshed lightly. One was pink—obviously the aphrodisiac. The other...
“What's the blue vial?”
As if she had more to retrieve, Dremes rummaged in her bag while answering. “It's heartfall potion. Amplifies the evil tendencies lurking in one's heart. You said you used it on a date with Esilly, right? Thought you might need it, so I'll throw it in. I have plenty anyway... Ah, here it is.”
Dremes placed a portable quill and a name tag on the table. The square tag was blank on one side, with a sharp pin affixed to the back. Why a name tag all of a sudden? As Theorad looked puzzled, Dremes flashed a mischievous smile and explained.
“It's been selling like hotcakes lately, so as a freebie. It subtly satisfies that sense of depravity. Easy to use—just clip it onto your slave's nipple.”
“Nip... what?” Theorad flustered. He couldn't fathom why such a perverse item existed, nor was he certain the Elf would like it.
Seeming to read his mind, Dremes casually pushed the vials and tag toward him. “Don't worry. No blood, no wounds. It's a magic tool—no injury at all. It'll affix harmlessly to your slave's nipple. I guarantee it.”
“...I know magic engineering has advanced, but something that precise?”
“That's why it sells well, isn't it? If you don't believe me, I can demonstrate personally.” A slender smile curved Dremes's lips. Toying with the ribbon at her open robe's neckline, she thrust out her chest in a disconcerting display. Despite his warning against rudeness, she was now teasing while toeing the line. The line from some book—“Witches are a race untamable by money or honor”—suddenly made perfect sense. Unlike others, Theorad had zero desire to pin a name tag to a witch's nipple in the drawing room, so he could only frown.
Finally straightening her posture, Dremes cleared her throat awkwardly. “Just kidding, kidding. Why glare like that? Anyway, no defects with the items, so no worries. Payment...”
“I'll pay in goods right away. Double the price.”
“...Huh? For real? Why?”
“Baynen mentioned your finances are tight. And my family's coffers have swelled beyond expectation lately, causing disposal issues. No need for you to refuse my help. I've informed the head butler—head out and he'll guide you.”
“Ah, yeah! Thanks!” Dremes beamed, rising from her seat and heading for the drawing room door. Knowing she'd get double made her steps slyly buoyant.
Huh. Seems like a good guy. Compared to nobles who haggled endlessly, he was angelic. Kind yet principled—almost gentlemanly.
Might even make a friend. If Baynen truly served him loyally, he couldn't be bad. She'd been skeptical, but now she was somewhat convinced.
Baynen's a bit rough around the edges, but he has a good eye for people. Dremes knew Baynen from his mercenary days. Though he'd vanished to become a retainer knight for House Deharm, back then even she—a witch who despised humans—had seen his greatness.
If he ever needs help later, I should... Lost in idle thoughts, Dremes paused in the mansion's corridor. A young woman sitting by the sunlit window caught her eye. Her half-lidded eyes, heavy with worry and nodding off, felt strangely familiar.
Rinea? Instinctively thinking of the Black Flame Witch, Dremes dismissed it. The pointed ears and radiant silver hair didn't match her memory at all. Different races couldn't be the same person.
But the vibe is kinda similar... Tilting her head, she heard calm footsteps from behind. Turning, she saw an elderly gentleman with slicked-back hair and a refined mustache smiling amiably.
“Are you Witch Dremes?”
“Huh? Ah, yeah. That's me.”
“I am Habid, the family head's head butler. The master informed me—please follow me. We'll handle payment.”
“Ah, um, that is...” Hesitating, Dremes glanced at the window. She wanted to ask about the Elf's identity. But in that brief exchange, the Elf had vanished. Only lazy sunlight bathed the corridor.
“Witch Dremes? Is there something you'd like to say?”
Standing awkwardly, Dremes shook her head. “Nah, nothing.”
Rumors of the Black Flame Witch's return had spread wildly in witch circles lately—she'd probably imagined it. No way the Black Flame Witch would serve in a human mansion.
*
“Ahh... You've come at last, my daughter.” In the study, Count Leoberg Pelgaroin closed his book with a deep sigh from his chair. The fine wrinkles around his eyes seemed more numerous in just days.
Esilly, gazing sympathetically at her father's face, offered comfort. “Father, please don't worry too much. My second brother...”
“He won't return.” Esilly concealed her smile at Leoberg's calm tone. She knew well that her father, ruler of the county, was no fool. He surely felt—and grieved—even more than she did.
“Esilly, my precious daughter. Do you know what Fred is plotting now?”
“More or less.”
“Tell me. I want to know if my fears are mere paranoia.”
Esilly started to compile the information she'd gathered but stopped. Father would know more. He just didn't want to accept the horrific reality, hoping his youngest would refute his predictions.
But she couldn't indulge that. She wouldn't let the exalted figure backed by countless domain folk avert his eyes from truth. This man was Pelgaroin's head, the empire's central pillar, a great lord and count—her people's hope—before he was her father.
“My second brother is committing treason.” Thus, she had to voice what he dreaded.
“Rumors say he's betrayed nation and kin to join the rebels. It's mere gossip among nobles now, but it'll soon reach the county's lowliest corners. It's only a matter of time before it reaches His Majesty's ears.”
“Why... why would Fred...”
“Father. You have no time to regret the past. We must devise countermeasures.”
“Countermeasures? What kind?”
“The imperial family will send someone soon. Under pretext of capturing my second brother, they'll wreak havoc. You mustn't get entangled. Cooperate actively to feign ignorance of his treason and evade suspicion—”
“Esilly!” BAM! Leoberg slammed the desk, veins bulging in his neck as he bellowed. “Your brother! Your own flesh and blood! You want me to aid in capturing my son!? Do you know what they'll do to him if he's caught...!”
Esilly bit her lower lip, glaring at Leoberg. Her eyes glistened, startled by the sudden outburst.
“Do you think I'm not sad?” Leoberg, mid-rage, finally clamped his mouth shut. Her words were cruel but true.
“...The imperials aren't fools. They'll seize this chance. Whoever comes as overseer will propose some deal to you.”
“I know.”
“Then you'll have to choose: remain Pelgaroin's head, or your second son's father. But know this—whichever you pick, I'll respect you.”
Her consolation—not quite consolation—restored his calm. Sighing deeply, Leoberg straightened. Ashamed for snapping at his young daughter, he couldn't meet her eyes. He reopened his book, casually shifting topics.
“We'll discuss heavy matters later. I'm not in the mood now.”
“Then what shall we talk about?”
“You've heard my worries, so I'll hear yours. How's your romance with Theorad going?”
Theorad Deharm. Her heart fluttered at her beloved's name, only for gloom to surge thinking of the Elf clinging to him. By now, Theorad might have succumbed to the Elf's threats and slept with her. Of course, it wouldn't wound her heart. Noble heirs practicing intimacy with slaves was commonplace. No need to grieve. The Elf was mere slave and whore. If anything, Theorad keeping his chastity despite being male was the oddity. Learning through her was perfectly natural. As fiancée, she must endure. She had to. Like getting caught in a drizzle sans umbrella on a picnic—brush it off. She'd thought it through and resolved it many times. Getting hurt would play into the Elf's hands. She absolutely, absolutely couldn't lose.
Yet, despite herself...
“Yes. Things are going well with Sir Theorad.” She couldn't help the sadness tinging her feigned smile.