A Stifling Dinner with the Marquis
“Come, sit.”
The moment I stepped into the dining room, Marquis Craig was already there, occupying the seat of honor as if he had claimed it long before anyone else arrived. He seemed utterly unbothered that we had come later than him; he simply gestured toward the empty chairs with that same unreadable calm. Since it was only a meal with his daughter and her friend, he made no comment about dress codes—just as Yuri had predicted.
Yuri and I took our places side by side, and the servants began bringing out the dishes one after another. There was no particular order to it; the food simply lined itself up across the table in a steady procession. Not too little, not too much. Once everything was set, Craig finally spoke.
“Eat.”
He served himself first, and Yuri and I followed suit. Yuri’s mother had passed away, and there were no other relatives living in the estate, so only the three of us sat at the table. The vast expanse of polished wood made our tiny gathering look almost pitiful, and the silence—broken only by the occasional clink of silverware—turned the air even more desolate.
As the invited guest, I couldn’t very well be the first to speak. I was so tense I barely knew whether the food was going into my mouth or my nose; I half-expected to choke on it. Just when I thought the quiet might kill me, Craig—who had been eating in absolute silence—opened his mouth again.
“I heard about your grades.”
I’m sorry for complaining. Honestly, I’d rather just eat in peace. …No, please, just let us keep eating in peace.
“Twentieth out of thirty in the class, was it…?”
I prayed desperately inside my head, but of course none of it reached him. His mouth showed no sign of stopping. I couldn’t understand why he felt the need to bring up his daughter’s ranking right here, with her friend sitting beside her. And then, as if he had said all he intended, Craig simply closed his mouth again after dropping that single fact. The clatter of utensils returned to fill the table.
“O-oh, that reminds me—Yuri placed second in the written exams, didn’t she? Second in the entire school! The professors couldn’t stop praising her!”
I tried, however weakly, to lighten the mood by bringing up her written scores. Yuri’s overall rank was low only because the practical exams carried heavier weight and her swordsmanship scores dragged her down. On paper alone she was a model student at the very top. The theory professors always spoke of her with genuine admiration—bright, diligent, exemplary. Of course, first place in written exams belonged to Celian, but Celian was simply in a category of her own. She dominated both written and practical without contest.
“In the end, that only means her swordsmanship is still lagging. Don’t worry. Starting tomorrow I’ll train her one-on-one every day.”
I couldn’t even begin to guess how mercilessly he planned to drill her until she gave up the sword entirely. Even as a third party listening in, I felt a chill crawl down my spine.
“Tell me what you’ve been studying at the academy.”
Craig seemed dissatisfied not only with Yuri taking up the sword but with her attending the academy at all. He pressed her relentlessly about everything that had happened there—her professors, daily life, the times we had spent together, her studies, the other students. Throughout the entire meal Yuri had no choice but to recount every last detail under her father’s relentless, not-quite-interrogation.
“Sorry. My father made things really uncomfortable for you, didn’t he?”
Yuri offered an apologetic smile, as if she understood exactly how I felt.
“Not at all. The food was so good I was too busy eating to notice the time.”
“I’m glad it suited your taste. I specifically asked them to prepare the dishes El used to love when we were little.”
“Haha…”
Honestly, I couldn’t remember a single flavor. All I had learned was just how heavy the air in a room could become. Only after the meal ended and we returned to Yuri’s room did the constant tension finally leave my body.
“Shall we have some tea after the meal…?”
Knock, knock.
Just as Yuri reached for the teapot, a knock sounded at the door. She set the pot down and opened it to find Marquis Craig standing there. After a brief exchange through the doorway, he stepped inside with her and settled himself at the round table where Yuri and I had been sitting.
Without a word Yuri set out one more teacup, then lifted the teapot she had just put down and poured for each of us.
Slurp.
“……”
Yuri and I sat perfectly still while Craig alone lifted his cup and savored the tea. If this silence continued any longer, the food from earlier really would sit like a stone in my stomach. Someone needed to say something.
“Earlier I only listened to Yuri’s stories and never asked about yours. Count Frentz was a man I held in high regard. Meeting his daughter and failing to inquire even about how she has been living… that was careless of me.”
For all his polite words, he was clearly still suspicious of whether I was truly Count Frentz’s daughter. After more than ten years of silence I had suddenly appeared claiming to be the sole survivor of the Frentz family—and now I was glued to his daughter’s side. I couldn’t blame him. In fact, his suspicions weren’t entirely wrong.
“…Fortunately, I managed to escape with the maid who had been looking after me at the time. She helped me a great deal.”
I chose my words carefully, trying not to invite further doubt. Of course none of it was the real Elicia’s story; I simply embroidered pieces of my own past until they sounded plausible. The Guild Master who had raised me as an assassin became the maid who cared for me. The guild hideout, tucked away from prying eyes, became a ramshackle hut on the outskirts of a village. The assassination training I had endured became sword lessons from some nameless mercenary who happened to pass by.
I had spent countless nights refining this version of my past, just in case anyone ever grew curious after the assassin guild’s fall. It came out so smoothly I almost wondered whether I had a hidden talent for storytelling.
“The tea is excellent. Another cup, if you would, Yuri.”
“Yes.”
It was the same estate, the same servants, the same shop, the same leaves he always drank—yet Craig declared it delicious and emptied his cup again and again. Each time, Yuri lifted the teapot and refilled it without complaint.
Thankfully, Marquis Craig showed no sign of suspicion while listening to my tale. He merely nodded now and then as he swallowed his tea. If anything, he looked almost uninterested.
“I see. You must have suffered a great deal. I would like to hear more, but the hour has grown late. I shall see you both at the training grounds tomorrow morning.”
In the end I spent more than an hour talking nonstop. All that speaking made me reach for my teacup far more often than usual, and Craig emptied his even faster, forcing Yuri to brew fresh tea several times over.
When it was finally time to sleep, Craig opened the door to leave—then stopped and turned back to look at us, or rather, at Yuri. He clearly had something he wanted to say, yet his mouth refused to open.
“Good night, Father.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Marquis.”
We would have offered the evening greeting the moment he stepped out anyway, but the silence had stretched too long. Yuri took the initiative and spoke first; I followed right after her.
“…Yes. Sleep well.”
Only then did Craig finally leave. Yet when Yuri had greeted him, the corner of his mouth had twitched. Or perhaps “twitched” wasn’t quite right—more like a suppressed quiver. His hand had even started to rise before he stopped himself.
All day long I had seen nothing but that stern, unyielding face, so I almost dismissed it as my imagination. But no matter how I turned it over in my mind, that brief flicker had been the face of a man holding back a smile. Professor Selen’s words rose unbidden: that Marquis Craig doted on his daughter Yuri. I still couldn’t tell which face was the real one.
While I was lost in those thoughts, Yuri spoke up.
“All right! Father’s gone, so hurry up and change into your nightclothes, okay?”
“…It’s already late, and I’ll be staying a few more days anyway. Can’t we just sleep and talk tomorrow?”
“Hmm? We were going to talk in bed until we fell asleep, remember?”
This was no time to be worrying about anyone else. Who did I think I was, fretting over other people’s problems? I should have seen this coming the moment I remembered the last time I shared a bed with Yuri. Now that she had seized the initiative, the option of sleeping alone in my own room was already gone. If the best plan was off the table, I had to scramble for the next-best one.
“…Can’t I just lay out a separate blanket on the floor like last time?”
“Hehe.”
Why are you just laughing instead of answering, Lady Yuri?