Chapter 24: No Paradise Where a Traitor Arrives (1)
“Ah, Jichel.”
Lebion del Rosel flinched at the sudden voice but called out to her naturally. Just before entering the mansion, he had double-checked, and she had been standing gracefully at the edge of the banquet hall, overseeing the servants. Yet in the short time it took him to visit Isel's room, she had hidden herself in the shadows here. That meant she already knew. It wasn't something he could hide for long anyway. Dodging countless eyes in the confined space of this mansion was nearly impossible.
At her master's call, Jichel emerged from the darkness.
“Dinner... is prepared outside, my lord.”
“Ah, I brought some of your handiwork to Isel to let her taste it. She ate it well. As expected, our head maid's cooking is unparalleled.”
“...”
Jichel's expression grew subtly complex at Rosel's frank admission. Rosel knew that the middle-aged woman, nearing fifty, wouldn't be easily fooled by those eyes of hers. That's why he wanted her to understand. Rather than ordering her to prepare food for Isel, letting her discover it through actions like this would move Jichel's heart more than mere words.
Being caught naturally. That was precisely what Rosel hoped for.
“You've been taking meals in your study ever since bringing Isel in... Have you been sending them to her every day?”
Rosel shrugged.
“Well, that's how it turned out. If you're going to work a slave, shouldn't replenishing her strength come first?”
“...”
Jichel let out a low sigh. Having risen from maid to head maid since childhood, she knew well that in a noble household, one must never show emotions or expressions. She had experienced how a single slip could cost one's life. Of course, she knew Duke Rosel wasn't that cruel, but the occupational habit had ingrained a perpetually dry expression on her face. Expressionless, one might say. Among the servants, tales of the head maid smiling or crying were treated like legends.
Because of that, even Rosel had struggled to read her thoughts.
“...So you've been skipping dinner every night?”
“I sated my hunger with the refreshments in the study, so don't worry, Jichel.”
“Haa...”
Jichel sighed again. A sigh was also an expression of emotion. She was breaking a lifetime vow of restraint right now. To her, Rosel's meals were a grave matter—just as they were to Isel when he brought them to her.
“What kind of lord starves himself to feed food to a slave? My lord.”
This world was one of absolute monarchy and absolute nobility. Within his territory, the lord was absolute king. What lord in the world starved himself to feed a slave? To Jichel, who had served nobles her entire life, this was profoundly shocking.
Rosel scratched the back of his head sheepishly at the head maid's worried reprimand. It had been four years since he'd been with Jichel. Sometimes filling the void left by his parents, caring for him like a mother, her scolding carried a gentle maternal warmth that never felt offensive or stinging.
“Well, I filled up properly on the lunch you prepared, so I wasn't that hungry.”
“...Sneaking food to a traitor criminal slave is one thing. You're doing it to avoid unnecessary rumors, I presume.”
Jichel spoke politely, hands clasped before her. But her eyes vividly recalled the intimate scene last night between Isel and Silia.
“However, as head maid responsible for your meals, I cannot tolerate my lord skipping them.”
“I understand.”
“...Once the banquet ends, I'll prepare a separate meal for Isel as well. I'll handle it discreetly myself. So please, do not skip your meals, my lord.”
If that was her master's will, Jichel would comply. And she vaguely sensed it: Silia needed Isel, and Duke Rosel had greater matters ahead. Sturdy sustenance was essential for great deeds, so she made that promise.
Rosel asked her.
“...Aren't you going to ask what it means that I'm secretly bringing meals to a traitor criminal?”
He had no doubt Jichel would understand. That this action ran counter to Brikal's path. But Jichel merely bowed humbly, pledging only her duty as head maid.
“I am merely the head maid responsible for my lord's meals and comfort. I know nothing else, so I will trust and follow you.”
Rosel smiled warmly at her resolute words.
“Thank you, Head Maid Jichel.”
His faith in their relationship had not been misplaced, and he couldn't help but smile contentedly.
Isel stepped out of her room to wash up, towel in hand. Rosel had permitted daily baths under the pretext of slave hygiene, and following her master's words that a clean body housed a clear mind, she had decided to bathe every day starting today.
But she halted in the middle of the corridor at the sight of someone standing there.
Pink hair like blooming cherry blossoms, red eyes like rose petals. Those eyes met Isel's emerald ones.
“...Uh.”
“Ah...”
The two stifled gasps crossed, and Isel's emerald eyes instinctively dropped downward. The owner of those red pupils was none other than Biela, the only daughter of the de family and a count's lady.
“...”
Biela's pupils dilated hugely in the darkness, just like Isel's. Yesterday's wind had delayed her, but she had arrived at the study at the promised 10 o'clock. With no response to her knock, she had been waiting when Isel emerged for her bath.
Biela's eyes scanned Isel.
“...Oh, long time no see?”
For a betrayer who had ruined one person's life, it was exceedingly rude as a first word to her victim, but Biela was flustered by the sudden encounter.
“...”
Isel clutched her towel tightly and bowed her head. She had escaped the wounds of the underground dungeon, but facing Biela reopened the scars from the royal court, shattering her fragile heart anew. Memories of that day. The short hour rivaling 65 days of hell flooded back vividly.
Unable to face Biela, whose image rose with that sneering, victorious smirk, Isel averted her gaze. Biela did the same, though for different reasons.
“...Tch, guess I'll come back tomorrow.”
Biela clicked her tongue, her face irritated by the unexpected meeting. Confronting the very person ruined by her betrayal was never pleasant. And to Biela, who admired Duke Rosel, Isel was a thorn in her side. The continent's top beauty, the hero Emilia. Subjectively, Biela thought her own looks superior, but objectively, she ranked slightly lower—and the thought of her as Rosel's sex slave was utterly repulsive.
“Why'd I have to run into you now of all times, tch.”
Leaving the trembling Isel behind, Biela turned to leave for next time... but couldn't take a step. Isel's voice from behind stopped her.
“...Why... why'd you do that to me... Biela.”
When Biela heard of the 65 days in the underground dungeon and being sold as a sex slave, she had felt a shallow pang of guilt. Unlike Daltan and Gleon, as a fellow woman, she understood it was the worst downfall for any woman. And unlike them, Brikal hadn't even thanked her with a word, fueling some resentment. Of course, grateful just not to be dragged down with Emilia, she quickly dismissed the guilt. The water was spilled; impossible to gather again. She chose to accept fate.
Thus, this unexpected encounter with Emilia was deeply unpleasant—like fanning the embers of that shallow guilt.
So she tried to leave. Ignore Emilia, just as before.
But.
“...Why... why'd you do that to me... Biela.”
Emilia's words halted Biela's steps. Her heart thudded as if slamming into something. She'd tried to flee the resentment irritably, but heard it anyway. Feeling her shame exposed, Biela scowled to cover it.
“...Am I your friend or something? Calling a noble by her first name, slave? You think that's allowed?”
She berated her deliberately. Back off. Don't dredge up the guilt I buried.
But for some reason, despite trembling, Isel wouldn't retreat.
“Why... hic... why'd you... do it...”
Hiccuping from the terror of that day's brutal memories and its perpetrator, Isel still stood firm. She desperately wanted to know. Why had she done that to her? She hadn't seen even a glimpse of her former party members since.
Biela crossed her arms.
“Why what? You tried treason, didn't you? So you get judged.”
“...You, you know that's not true...”
“Ha, you still think you're the hero? Won't talk nice, huh?”
To hide her shame, Biela raised her voice instead. Even if Rosel heard—especially if he did—she couldn't back down now. Retreat would look like fleeing from Isel in others' eyes, whatever the reason.
“...Why... why did you do that...”
Isel finally used polite speech toward Biela. Despite the contempt and mockery from a former comrade who'd once shared equal goals, she had to hear it. What in the kingdom had frightened her into this?
But Biela let out a baffled laugh.
“You're joking. You said you'd kill Brikal and become king, didn't you?”
“...I, I never said that...! You know...!”
“No idea? Daltan and Gleon heard the same. Your fault then, right?”
Throughout the journey, Isel had shared the same dream: after victory and rewards, travel the continent with gold, settle somewhere, raise heirs with her love, and live out her days. Biela had always cheered it as a wonderful dream—but now it resurfaced as vile mockery, churning nausea in Isel's gut.
The dungeon's torment had worn her body to break her spirit; the court's had broken her spirit to ravage her body anew.
“Feel better blaming others for your mistakes?”
Finally, Biela's taunt made the bile surge up Isel's throat.
“Urp...! Urrgh...!”
Trembling with rage at Biela's brazen, loathsome face, Isel braced against the wall and vomited. Pale gastric juices mixed with food from Rosel's grace spilled onto the corridor.
“Ugh...!”
Biela pinched her nose and stepped back from the mess.
“See? You're disgusted by your own lying self. So why bother? Fate's easier to accept.”
Biela truly lived that way. If unavoidable, enjoy it. To her, Isel was just an obstacle.
“Ugh, shoulda lived nicer. Anyway, I'm out. Hope we never meet again, slave.”
Here, Biela decided to withdraw. If anyone heard, fleeing now would leave her the victor. Watching someone she'd ruined crumble was taxing anyway.
“Hic... The disgusting one... hic... is you... Biela.”
But... as Biela turned, she couldn't move again. Not Isel's words gripping her ankles. Something stood steadfast in the shadows—like terror incarnate.
“What is the meaning of this, Lady Biela?”
It was Rosel. His face, grim in a way she'd never seen, loomed behind her.
But Biela didn't panic. She flashed a bright smile at Rosel instead. Quick thinking was essential for a noble lady.
Erasing her venomous glare, she smiled pitifully.
“Ah, Duke Rosel...! I've been waiting for you...!”
“I asked what this is.”
“Ah, no. This traitor keeps blaming me, so I was enlightening her on the truth, and she... made a mess in the corridor?”
Rosel felt his fist tremble. At the hypocrisy and vileness from that small, cute face.
But he didn't raise his hand. No emotional disposal. After all, there was no paradise where a traitor arrived.
Now, he'd make her realize that. That choosing her as dance partner at her social debut years ago wasn't coincidence.