The Fasting Evil Lady -2-
The Desmont family hierarchy came in two flavors. One was the social ranking. The other was the unspoken order acknowledged by the family members themselves.
The social ranking was the legitimate kind that would make outsiders nod in approval. At the top sat Darbav, the grand archmage and family head, followed by the heir apparent, Kyle, in second place.
In most families, treatment varied wildly based on social positions—just like in those romance fantasy novels, where the retainers lived in constant fear of the family head's moods.
But the evil lady's family was a bit different.
"Daddy! Feed me!"
"What do you want to eat?"
"Meat."
"I was craving fish today, though."
"Eeeek! Meat!"
"Ugh. Fine, meat it is."
Maybe because it was the evil lady's family, but in the Desmont household, rank wasn't determined by social status. It was decided by who had the foulest temper. Well, technically, it was about yielding for the sake of family peace, but no one in the Desmonts complained about it. They all accepted it willingly.
The biggest example? The young lady herself. She called the family head "Daddy," after all.
The absolute top of the Desmont hierarchy wasn't the family head with his full backing—it was the matriarch, Rosanna, the one who made life hell if you didn't obey.
"Dear?"
"Sorry."
"I didn't even say anything."
"Was it the socks?"
"Spot on."
Next came the young lady.
"Daddy! Bro! What're you doing?"
"Working."
"Working."
"Let's eat!"
"Sure."
"Yay."
Then the vice-head, Kyle.
"Olivia. Get up at 8 a.m. starting tomorrow."
"No way!"
"Got it."
And finally, Darbav himself.
Today's problem fell to Darbav: dealing with the emotional shift brewing in the second-in-command, the young lady.
Darbav drew a deep breath, worry etched on his face. Everyone was on edge watching her fast. For the young lady, who loved eating more than anything in the world, this was no small matter. Darbav, at the bottom of the pecking order despite being her father, couldn't afford to take it lightly.
If she starved herself, it'd reach Rosanna's ears eventually, sparking a clash between ranks one and two. Darbav, the lowly shrimp, had no desire to get crushed in a whale fight. He was reacting sensitively for that reason alone—though of course, his primary concern was her health.
Honestly, I didn't think it was a big deal. As her butler, I'd seen her skip meals plenty of times.
"Why aren't you eating, milady?"
"We're poor. Gotta save money."
"True enough."
But Darbav was seeing it for the first time, so his shock was understandable.
As soon as morning arrived, Darbav and I peeked through the door at the young lady, who was dozing upright in bed.
"Hmnya."
Her routine was sneaking chocolate from her treasure pouch before breakfast. Today, we'd specially placed a chocolate cake on the bedside table, waiting for her reaction. A chocolate fiend like her would surely sneak a glance and flash a delighted smile.
"She's really not eating? Not even chocolate or food?"
"You're joking, right? Skipping meals is one thing, but chocolate? That's impossible. She loves it more than life."
"It's true."
"..."
We rubbed our sleepy eyes, watching her every move.
"You're awake."
"Yeah."
Darbav gripped the doorframe, swallowing hard.
"Don't tense up. She'll eat."
"Hoo..."
She'd always loved food. Starting with her favorite chocolate—the best thing in the world—she'd bravely try anything that tasted good, even bugs or visually shocking stuff.
I remembered the time as a kid when she wanted to eat a frog. I'd heard knights joking about grilling one during training, and her eyes glazed over as she demanded I catch one. I seriously questioned if she was nobility or just a pig.
"Ricawdo! Let's eat fwog!"
"Pardon?"
"Sneak out and gwille it! They say it's yummy!"
"What are you talking about? I've never even tried it. Nor thought to."
"Why not?"
"It looks gross?"
"Kinda, but they say it's tasty."
That bold spirit probably kept her figure intact. As a child, she was quite chubby—morbidly obese, even. Not waddling-ugly, but definitely plump. Cute in a roly-poly way. She'd had that honest gluttony from then until now.
I observed her with Darbav.
"Hmnya... air raid alert."
Darbav said gravely.
"Worried about the empire's safety."
"..."
"She's my daughter, but her patriotism is too strong."
"..."
What an incomprehensible family.
We'd woken her just enough earlier, then excused ourselves to the bathroom, so no more alerts sounded.
Anticipating her reaction, I waited by the table for her to notice the chocolate cake. The young lady I knew would devour it on sight.
"Hmnya. Hm?"
"Chocolate...?!"
"Ugh..."
Soon enough, she spotted the cake. Her eyes widened, and a beaming smile spread across her face. She glanced around slyly, then stared holes into it. I whispered to Darbav.
"See that?"
"...Not yet."
"She looks ready to dive in."
"Wait. My daughter's not that weak-willed."
I posed a question to Darbav. Come to think of it, I hadn't heard why she was fasting.
"By the way, family head. Why is she fasting?"
"No idea."
"..."
"If I knew, would I be lurking here?"
His confident, passionate reply made me nod in agreement.
'Fair point.'
She kept staring down the cake, sniffling with wide, vacant eyes—the picture of a gluttonous villainess.
"I'm hungry."
But then... nothing. Despite admitting hunger, she squeezed her eyes shut, struggling.
"Eeeek... can't eat."
Why, though? Soon enough, I learned the reason for her fast.
"Gotta diet..."
A perfectly healthy motive.
"Can't get fat..."
Now I knew.
*
Time passed. Not a full week—just three ticking hours.
I stood by her bed with lunch, watching her solemnly poke at her plate.
"Ricardo."
"Yes."
"Nah."
She looked burdened. Whatever sparked this one-day diet had clearly shifted her mood, and it didn't sit well with me. I'd wanted to cheer her resolve at first, but after a full day of fasting, worry crept in.
(Though secretly, I preferred her weight in certain spots.) I kept my mouth shut, watching her gloom.
"Haa..."
It hurt to see. For someone who lived for food, dieting stung. At this rate, she'd waste away to paper-thin, just like Darbav feared. I supported her, but starving wasn't healthy. So I speared some meat and flew it to her mouth.
"Here comes the airplane."
"What's an airplane?"
"Meat."
"Mm."
She clamped her lips and shook her head. Blocking protein, apparently. Her fierce rebellion tightened my fist.
'Milady...'
I asked gently.
"Why not? Stomach upset?"
"Yeah."
Grrrowl.
Uh, no—that wasn't it. I chuckled softly.
I fibbed that the rumble came from my stomach and probed carefully.
"Still, eating's good for you."
"..."
"We run on food, right? You said so yourself once."
"True. But..."
She pouted down at her belly. A slight pooch, smooth and not ruining her figure—yet she sighed deeply, head hanging, no spark in sight.
I smiled faintly, moved the food to the table, and sat gingerly by the bed.
"Milady."
"..."
"Milady."
"Hm?"
Leaning in, I whispered my thoughts on dieting calmly by her ear.
"Starving isn't healthy."
"Not starving. Just feel off, so no appetite."
"Two days off? We should see a doctor."
"...No hospitals."
"Family head told me. Skipping meals while I'm away—a whole day."
"..."
I made a sad face and asked softly.
"What's wrong? You look perfect to me."
"No. I'm fat."
"Fat? Why? You're gorgeous, great figure."
"Really?"
"Of course."
"For real?"
She whipped her head around, sulky.
"No. I've gained weight."
Something must've happened. She was super pouty. I figured someone hurt her feelings. She rarely got wounded, so seeing her like this irked me. Hiding my chill, I asked.
"Who said that?"
(I'd brick their pretty life to an end if they called her fat.) But she shook her head vigorously, dashing my dark thoughts.
"No one. Just suddenly feel fat."
I shook my head at her pout.
"Doesn't seem so."
"No. Really."
"Hmm..."
I voiced my honest feelings.
"Never seen anyone prettier than you."
"I know."
"So confident."
"Pretending not to know you're pretty is obnoxious, they say."
"Puhaha! True. Like me pretending I'm handsome."
"That's prince syndrome."
"..."
Her ironclad defense against compliments drew a wry smile from me as I swallowed.
"Still, I hope you skip the diet."
"Why?"
"You're pretty now."
"..."
She clenched her fists, looking up.
"How pretty?"
I drew a big circle with my hands, childlike.
"This much?"
"Only that pretty?"
"No, this much more."
"Pfft."
She covered her mouth, laughing, gaze softening. Worry easing, she eyed me with puppy-dog sparkle and a crinkled smile.
"I know."
What? That smile was too normal. My heart skipped.
She giggled up at me, then slowly closed her eyes, mouth opening expectantly.
"Meat."
"With carrots."
"Hate carrots."
"No choice."
I fed her meat-only bites. By the empty plate, she wiped her mouth and patted her full belly.
"Feel fat now?"
"Yeah. Diet and I don't mix."
"Seems so."
"Quitting."
Sitting beside her, I asked.
"So why diet anyway?"
"Well..."
She turned, pulled a magazine from the bedside drawer, and pointed to a woman's photo.
"Wanna wear this."
"...?"
I chuckled inwardly.
'Fuck.'
It was a swimsuit. Black, boldly plunging at the chest. She pointed shyly, smiling.
"Maybe later."
Timing is everything in life.