Drawing the Line Against Abuse
As she slipped the stethoscope into her bag, Eloi burst in with a cheerful shout, clutching something wrapped in brown paper.
"Put it down here."
Whether Cecily Bethel stayed in the annex or not, Ibel had her own duties to attend to.
Namely, getting a little closer to Damian.
She had sent Eloi to the village bookstore to buy supplies for just that purpose.
Blice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
It was a splendid book, complete with black-and-white illustrations. A tale of a girl's fantastical adventures, it was the novel sweeping the nation these days.
Eloi had also picked up a few toy books—fables with moral lessons.
"Where's Damian? I want to read to him right away."
"Ah, probably in the garden, ma'am. I ran into him on the way back!"
Children's books were utterly different from thick tomes. Holding them long enough warmed the pages with body heat, making them curl slightly, and they carried the faint scent of dried grass.
The cheap paper and ink caused the letters to smudge a bit, but it didn't hinder reading aloud.
"Anselm. I'm going to read a fairy tale. Want to listen?"
"No, thank you. I need to read books for adults."
"All right."
Anselm refused politely but coldly, and Ibel didn't press. Forcing it on someone who said no would only deepen the emotional rift.
But just as Ibel stepped out of the twins' bedroom—
"You devilish brat! Possessed by Satan himself, no doubt. How dare you do this to a guest! I thought he'd improved lately, but of course not!!!"
Genevieve shrieked at the top of her lungs. Ibel strode forward purposefully and flung open the front door, taking in the whole scene at a glance.
Bulky servants had Damian's arms twisted behind his back.
The wriggling child bared his teeth at Genevieve like a wild animal, while Cecily Bethel, soaked to the skin, dabbed at her face with a handkerchief.
"Aaagh! Aaaagh!"
"You monster. You should never have been born. Anselm would have been enough!"
Genevieve bellowed arbitrarily and raised her hand high.
In that instant, Ibel's amber eyes flashed as she lunged forward and seized Genevieve's wrist in a vise grip.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"Wh-what? Let go of me!"
Why won't this come loose!
Genevieve twisted desperately to free herself, then flinched as she met Ibel's golden eyes.
They blazed fiercely, like those of a predator.
She felt as if claws might rip her apart any second, and Genevieve gasped for breath.
"How dare you, a mere underling, stand in the way of an elder of this house... Aagh!"
Ibel didn't even let her finish. She wrenched the wrist harder.
She had no desire to use force on the frail, but protecting a younger, weaker child? She'd do it without hesitation.
"Let Damian go."
The servants glanced nervously at Genevieve, ignoring the icy command.
Ibel didn't hesitate. She closed in and struck one with a resounding thwack.
"I said, let him go."
It wasn't a slap with her palm.
She had balled her fist and landed a precise blow on the servant's jaw.
It was the self-defense technique she'd mastered to survive among men, despite her slender frame and fragile bones.
The servant staggered from the surprise hit, his grip loosening. Damian darted free like a feral cat and clung to the hem of Ibel's skirt, hiding behind her.
"The household discipline is in shambles."
Those words were spat at Willen, the butler who had rushed out at the commotion.
Ibel caught the fleeting expression on his face.
It wasn't shock at seeing the young masters manhandled for the first time.
No, it was the grim look of someone who already knew—and had allowed it.
"Grabbing and twisting the young masters' arms? This surely isn't the first time."
Willen froze under her frosty gaze.
In noble houses, corporal punishment for children was commonplace. Especially for brats who went too far.
Willen was elderly, and thus leaned toward strict discipline.
As long as nothing broke or landed the Bayern bloodline in an asylum, if a beating could bring them to their senses...
Besides, Genevieve was the elder of the house.
Unless Victor ordered otherwise, Willen had no authority to stop her.
"Aren't you ashamed? Mistreating a child like this. Even at fifteen, you couldn't subdue him."
Yet for some reason...
Willen felt shame for his past inaction.
By his own logic, he could have held his head high. But standing by idly gnawed at him endlessly.
"...My apologies, ma'am. And to the young master."
Instead of excuses, Willen bowed deeply.
This was a clash of power within the estate.
Even without realizing it himself, the butler's proper response was clear.
"Compile a list of everyone, including yourselves, who's mishandled Damian up to now. You're all dismissed."
"Understood."
"Your punishment... Go report it to him directly. Every detail—no omissions. Admit that servants touched Damian before, and you didn't stop them."
Firing servants was within her purview, but the longtime Bayern butler? That was Victor's call.
With the situation sorted, she finally turned to Cecily Bethel.
"I'd like to hear what happened, but first, you need a moment. I'll have someone help you change into proper attire."
At Ibel's nod, a few terrified maids rushed forward to escort Cecily away.
That left the seething Genevieve.
The most troublesome one.
"There seems to be some misunderstanding."
As Ibel spoke calmly, Genevieve snapped back sharply, bubbling with rage.
"Misunderstanding? We were strolling with Miss Cecily when water poured down from above! That demon-possessed brat laughed about it. Think spoiling the child will make everything fine?"
"I didn't say to spoil him."
"You're taking Damian's side and smearing mud on my face! In front of a guest, no less!"
"If mistreating a child counts as discipline, then our methods differ. A matter of perspective."
Ibel replied curtly, then glanced down at the small hand clutching her skirt.
She was trying to act tough, but a faint tremble betrayed her.
Anselm might fake it seamlessly, but could Damian?
He's scared. Trying not to show it.
She wanted to ask why, but he couldn't answer properly. So she could only infer.
Ignoring Genevieve entirely, Ibel knelt to meet Damian's eyes.
"Damian. You knew it was bad, didn't you?"
His gaze, fixed on her, rolled sideways.
He couldn't speak, but he understood. And he clearly knew what his actions meant.
Of course. Genevieve mistook Anselm for Damian before. His eyes were bright and alert then.
He had selective mutism, true.
But he could control his violence when he chose. It wasn't total lack of control—these outbursts had reasons.
Ibel studied Damian a moment, then nodded calmly.
"You knew and did it anyway."
Genevieve's face lit up. Proof she was right after all.
"See? That child is possessed by a de—!"
"Stay away. I won't allow it."
"...?"
Ibel cut her off, extending a hand.
"Whatever punishment Damian gets is my call. The duke entrusted him to me. If you want to argue, take it up with Victor."