The Chapter Is Pulled (2)

Slice, slice.

The sound was one I'd grown fairly used to by now, coming from right beside me. Before long, a plate appeared, piled with apples cut into neat little bite-sized pieces.

She even carved a few of them into little rabbit shapes while she was at it.

For a noble daughter of a marquisate to be doing this kind of busywork with her own hands—and to be this good at it. There was really nothing ordinary about this woman. Camilla was the exception, not the rule; most noblewomen would never have touched such a task in the first place.

"You said I needed lessons. Weren't the books enough?"

Harnie grumbled as she picked up a slice and popped it into her mouth.

"If the books were enough, I wouldn't have kept asking you all those questions."

"Hah. You leave me speechless."

"About what, exactly?"

"Do you have any idea how many questions I've been asked by tutors in my entire life?"

"Why on earth would I bother counting somethi—"

Shove.

Harnie stuffed a piece of apple into my mouth, as if to say I wasn't supposed to be talking back.

"I never even got to five. Five questions. You couldn't even manage five, and you're asking to be taught?"

"Eughly whad's whad you dink?"

"Of course it is! No noble alive would understand this page in under an hour. And if someone gets through it without even five questions, what use would I possibly be to them?"

She said that whenever she watched me take notes, she could tell I wasn't just skimming over things half-understood the way others did. From the tutor's side of things, that was apparently incredibly gratifying.

Hmm... is that so? For a high school senior prepping for the college exams, that hardly seems all that strict.

I chewed down the rest of the apple in my mouth as I thought it over.

"Honestly, though, it does mean I'll spend a little less time being interrogated at the marquisate. I should get going."

"Why would you go?"

"...Pardon?"

"You said they'll grill you the moment you're back. In that case, why not simply stay here? You have a perfectly credible excuse, after all."

"I—that's..."

Her purple eyes darted this way and that.

"No one's going to object to you staying beside your injured fiancé, are they? Am I wrong?"

"..."

"This is the sort of moment where we make use of each other. I've been skipping my visits to the Duchess myself, on the very same grounds—that I must nurse my wounded fiancé."

It seemed she had no particular reason to head straight back, because the words I have to go never came. She was wavering, all right.

"Given that you've already helped me as my fiancée at the trial, I'll write to the marquisate saying I'm staying one extra day. That should silence any gossip."

After a moment's deliberation, Harnie let out a long sigh and sank back into her chair. Then she asked, careful and quiet:

"Then... may I trouble you for that favor?"

Watching her make the request with such a shy expression, I couldn't help wanting to tease her a little.

"Oh, of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠course, I'll be taking payment for it. Right here and now."

"P-payment?"

I stabbed the fork deep into an apple slice. And then—straight into Harnie's mouth.

"Mmph?!"

"It'd be the height of cowardice to cut someone off mid-sentence by shoving an apple in their mouth, wouldn't it? You have some too."

Frankly, it had hit me so hard earlier that I'd nearly choked on my own throat. That was why I'd been a bit flustered in the moment, and why I'd felt the urge to pay her back.

Granted, I hadn't actually come close to stabbing my throat—but still.

"..."

But somehow, no reaction came back.

Harnie sat with her head bowed, utterly silent.

I'd been careful about how deep I pushed it... Could she have actually choked?

"Er... are you all right?"

When I asked, scratching my cheek, Harnie's head snapped up.

Trembling from head to toe, she began marching toward me.

"Why, what's the matt... er?"

"You—you...!"

"Uh... uh-oh?"

My danger sense flared all at once.

She meant it. Her hand was already raised over my head—

Is she going to hit me, like before?

No, wait. Getting slapped out of nowhere? For what?!

Come on, say something! Any excuse!

"D-did I perhaps make some kind of mistake—"

"You're asking because you genuinely don't know?!"

"...Yes."

I really, truly don't know.

I just fed her an apple back with the fork. That hardly counts as some enormous offense.

...No, wait. Does it?

Unless, hypothetically, there's some unspoken rule that feeding Harnie an apple is grounds for fury...

In the meantime, Harnie had taken another step closer.

It might have been my imagination, but she somehow looked even angrier than before.

"Ah, of course you wouldn't understand. Yes. That's exactly the kind of man you are."

Her hand rose high into the air once more.

"Then perhaps you should simply accept what's coming to you."

Oh. Anyone else would probably fall head over heels at the sight of that smile.

So why did it look to me like the smile of a murderer?

Without meaning to, I began shuffling backward, step by careful step. Maybe it was just my gut, but I could see my own future stretching out ahead of me...

Somehow I'd backed clean over the bed and ended up cornered against the wall.

Time to attempt one final excuse.

"Lady Harnie? I'm gravely ill...?"

"No, you're not. You are very, very healthy indeed—healthy enough to scurry around like that."

"I haven't eaten, so my stomach's cramping and I'm dizzy and—"

"You just ate an apple, didn't you? You're hardly on an empty stomach. You'll be fine."

"Couldn't you knock me flat with a single blow?"

"Why, no. Young Master Karsein looks alllllll the very picture of vigor."

Uh-oh. Nothing's working...

...I'm screwed.

Intuition kicked in—the prickling certainty that a fresh palm print was about to be branded across my back, just like last time.

"Not once, but twice! Twice, you hear me—!"

Haha. Fine. Just take it like a man.

...In my experience, it hurts less if you just take these things quickly.

CRACK!

"Gwaaah!"

A back spike delivered the moment you rise from a sickbed is an exceptionally bitter one.

***

Hiss—sssss.

Just around the time that sound began radiating its heat from my back, Camilla arrived carrying a meal tray.

"Young Mast... er? Is something the matter here?"

Harnie immediately cut in and answered for me.

"Nothing at all happened."

"...I see?"

"Nothing happened, I said."

Camilla looked thoroughly bewildered—the person being questioned was me, after all, so why was Harnie the one speaking up?—but I couldn't manage much of an answer either. With my back to Camilla, Harnie was glaring daggers at me, as if to say: don't. say. a word.

I was going to ask Camilla whether anything was out of the ordinary...

But there she stood, eyes blazing a fierce blue, looking like she'd sooner die than permit it.

...Cold sweat beaded down my spine.

"N-nothing happened, really."

"If you say so, my lord, though your complexion..."

"Ah, my complexion! Right! I'm fine! I suppose it's just because I only just got up. Ha. Haha!"

"Yes...?"

Camilla tilted her head again.

"I don't recall your color looking that poor when you rose..."

"Oh? Ah, well, you see! I'm just terribly hungry, that's all!"

"..."

Does that even make sense, my lord?

Her voice never said it outright, but Camilla's eyes said it all.

I know it looks suspicious, Camilla. Believe me. But there's nothing I can do about it.

Because if that topic so much as brushed the air right now, my back would be wearing one more Harnie-shaped palm print by dinnertime.

"A-ahaha! I'm starving, so shall we... eat?"

I know you're suspicious too, Camilla!

But if I take one more blazing spike to the back, I'm not sure I'll be able to stomach this meal at all...

Please, read the room, Camilla. Don't ask what happened here.

I sent up the most desperate prayer I could muster, and after giving Harnie and me a brief once-over, Camilla silently began setting out the meal.

I stole a glance at Harnie. The dagger-glare was gone.

I... I survived.

Only then, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exhaling in relief, was I able to take a seat at the table.

The spread laid out on it wasn't particularly lavish.

Which, on reflection, was only natural—though there were people in this household who'd never learned even that much.

It was in this respect that Camilla stood utterly apart from Claire.

She brought everything that's easy on my stomach.

What's more, thoughtfully—generously, even—she'd set portions of each dish on a separate small plate, alongside the neutralizer, plainly to show me they'd been verified free of Kellbia allergens.

This wasn't simple diligence. Camilla might well be the one person in this entire household who understood Karsein better than anyone else in it.

And she'd even had the good sense to pack a meal kit for Harnie as well, which meant her odds of being useful in this chapter were considerable.

Better yet—Camilla was a maid. Her position was tailor-made for the job.

"I shall take my leave. Please enjoy your meal."

"No—wait just a moment, Camilla."

"My lord?"

I rose from the table and handed her a single letter. It was the correspondence to the Marquisate Theresia I'd written earlier in front of Harnie.

"This goes to the marquisate. Deliver it to my mother, and see if you can get a feel for the mood while you're at it."

"Understood, my lord."

First, I needed to know just how far the Chapter 2 episode had progressed. The progress window remained stubbornly silent, but when it came to digging up intelligence at a moment like this, no one was better suited to the task than Camilla.

Camilla gave a deep bow and was gone—then reappeared before long, carrying refreshments, having perfectly covered her tracks so that no suspicion would fall on her from the rest of the family.

"How did it go?"

"Well... about that."

Camilla hesitated briefly before answering.

"She stated that you will attend the Eastern Noble Conference together, as soon as your recovery is complete."

"...Mother said that herself? Directly?"

"Yes, my lord."

So that was why Camilla's phrasing had felt like an indirect quote.

Isabella had evidently put it in no uncertain terms.

So—the Eastern Noble Conference first, then.

In that case, the branching point hadn't been decided yet. Which meant the next move was very likely still in my hands.

"Anything else?"

"She said she means to replace the portrait in the central hallway of the Bagrand ducal house."

"The central hallway..."

Harnie seemed a little startled too; she raised a hand to cover her mouth.

The painting in the central hallway was the family portrait. And it wasn't as though only Karsein—the one who'd caused all the trouble back then—had been painted out of it.

Transparent as glass, aren't they.

Fine. Change whatever you like. The ducal ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠house belongs to you, after all. I have no intention of meddling in that.

Right now, the only thing that matters to me is where this Chapter 2 is going to begin.

I got up from the meal, produced a slip of paper and a map, and began sketching a route across it in swift strokes. The moment the last mark was made, I handed it to Camilla.

And last of all, I gathered together the money Emma had failed to embezzle and placed it in her hands.

"Go to this place and carry out the task inside. Spend as much as it takes—I don't care what the cost is."

"...My lord."

Camilla shot a quick glance at Harnie.

Meticulous as ever. She'd evidently been mindful of the possibility that the fiancée might overhear something this sensitive and turn on us later.

"I see. So this is why you had me send my correspondence through you, Lady Harnie. There was a reason behind it all."

Harnie, too, seemed rather reassured after seeing all this.

"Please don't worry. This engagement of ours was made under the Oath Jewels—it's a contract engagement."

"A contract... engagement?"

"Yes. Think of it as a relationship of mutual aid, each of us helping the other achieve our goals. So there's really nothing to concern yourself over."

"Just as Lady Harnie says, Camilla."

When even I nodded in agreement, her wariness finally melted away. She even bowed and asked forgiveness for having doubted them—she carried herself with a noble's proper heart in every respect—and Harnie was quick to tell her it was all fine and urge her to lift her head.

After a few more exchanges of conversation and the two of us were alone again, Harnie smiled brightly and turned to me.

"It's been so long since I've seen vigilance that proper. And her poise, too—hardly what you'd expect from a maid."

"Camilla was born a noble, you know."

"Oh my, is that so?"

"Yes. She gave up her status because of her mother's Mana Panic illness."

"I see. That would explain why her dignity never once wavered."

Having accepted that, Harnie stole a glance my way and murmured something under her breath.

"What was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that?"

"Nothing at all."

I never did find out what she'd said. But from what little I could see of her, Harnie's face looked distinctly brighter than before.

Whatever it was, at least it seemed I wouldn't be getting hit like earlier.

***

Night had slipped in before I knew it.

Having tasted, however briefly, the feeling of freedom away from the marquisate thanks to Karsein's help, Harnie found herself able to look at the thing she'd always dreaded—meals with other people—with slightly new eyes.

The meal itself had been little more than an exchange of questions and answers, a table of conversation. But precisely because of that, Harnie could say it with certainty:

She had been genuinely, truly lucky to bind herself to this man.

Do you know, Karsein? Eyes like that are rare in this world.

Camilla's gaze was still vivid in her memory. The way she had scrutinized Harnie, bristling with suspicion—as though she would never let her master's secret orders leak beyond that door. That had been no mere gesture of persuasion, no polite solicitation of an offer.

That was loyalty. And you, surely, must have granted that maid an immense, life-altering mercy.

To Camilla, Karsein was no mere convenient master. He would be the benefactor of her entire life.

And that was why she'd been lucky.

He was a good man.

Good enough that she wanted to grab her past self by the shoulders—the self who had once wondered what she'd do if he turned out to be wicked—and give her a good scolding.

"Well then. I suppose I ought to earn my own keep, too."

Before retiring to the guest room Heron had shown her to, Harnie picked up her pen and began to write.

...