Yeah. I'm an Orphan - 4
“Hmm…….”
A midnight invitation.
Karl groaned under his breath, Daisy’s voice still echoing in his head—the one that had asked him to meet her at night.
She was pretty enough to look at, but both of them were heirs bound to carry on their houses. Even if there was some fondness between them, a single night was all it ought to be.
Unless she abandoned her family and came over to ours. Then it’d be a different story.
Karl’s mouth twisted into a smug little smirk as he waited for Daisy to arrive. He was a duke’s son; Daisy was only an earl’s daughter. It was only right that she be the one to come to him.
“Young Master Miller. Are you in?”
Knock, knock. Someone rapped on the door from outside.
It was Daisy’s voice—the same one he had heard that afternoon.
“Mm. Come in.”
The door opened without a sound, and Daisy stepped inside.
Or rather—she should have.
“What…?”
Karl shot to his feet before he even realized he had moved. The person who walked in ahead of Daisy was the last man he had expected to see.
Albert.
The orphan brat Karl had quietly scorned and openly slandered at every opportunity.
“A pleasure to meet you. You must be Young Master Karl Miller?”
What the hell is this bastard doing here?
Karl glared past him at Daisy, still standing in the doorway, as if the sheer absurdity of it all might force an explanation out of her.
“Well then. I’ll leave you two to talk.”
Daisy only smiled, stepped back, and offered nothing more. As Albert crossed to the seat opposite Karl, the maids waiting outside entered with a tray of teacups and a teapot.
Glug, glug. The soft sound of tea being poured filled the quiet. Then Albert’s lips parted.
“Your legs must be getting tired if you keep standing. Why don’t you sit?”
“Ah… very well.”
Taking orders from an orphan grated on him, but saying so outright was impossible. Karl gave an awkward nod and sat; Albert settled into his own chair across from him.
“I imagine this came as quite a shock. I asked rather rudely for a private word with you, Young Master.”
“Ah… yes.”
Clink. Karl lifted the cup, steam curling from the surface, and carefully set his lips to the rim. Even through the fog of confusion, the fragrance, the heat, and the taste came through with startling clarity.
I’m calming down a little.
Perhaps it was the warmth spreading through his chest. Something like composure returned to Karl’s face.
“So. What business brings you to see me alone?”
Lowborn or not, this was the man set to become the Queen’s lawful consort. Openly cutting him down would be nothing short of begging for death. So Karl kept his tone polite and careful—even if he fully intended to be rid of the man after a few more words.
“I heard you gathered with the other young masters and young ladies this afternoon and talked. That you were quite worried about my… circumstances.”
But the hilt was already in the other man’s hand.
Karl’s face twisted. Panic flickered across his features.
Don’t tell me… he heard everything?
The Royal Palace was Beatrix’s front yard. Her eyes and ears were planted in every corner. Even if the rear garden had seemed empty but for their little group—
I let my guard down. And I realized it far too late.
He cursed himself for the carelessness—and the cold fear that he might die for it closed around him. Then, abruptly, another thought struck.
Strange. If Her Majesty had known, she would have moved the moment she found out.
Beatrix’s ruthlessness and cruelty were known to every soul in the kingdom. That she had left him alive this long made no sense at all.
Why?
While Karl floundered for an answer, Albert—who had seemed to have nothing to do with any of it—supplied one himself.
“I spoke to Lady Beatrix. I asked her to spare you. For now.”
“Wh… what?”
Lady Beatrix.
I asked her to spare you.
Those two phrases alone were enough to rattle Karl. Addressing her by name so freely spoke of an intimacy that bordered on the unthinkable. And that she had listened—that the tyrant had bent her will for him—
“I don’t blame you for being surprised. She’s not exactly the hesitant type.”
Albert only smiled and took another easy sip of tea.
In a contest of nerves that had begun without warning, Karl was already losing ground.
“Then… just what did you wish to see me about?”
He wanted nothing more than to drop the formal speech and spit the words out plain. But the clinging will to live, and the manners drilled into him until they were part of his bones, held his reason in place—even as a vicious sense of inferiority burned through him at the thought that this man could rein in that tyrant.
“I would prefer you stop cutting me down in public. Among your own family is one thing. But not at gatherings. Not when there are others present.”
I’m extending this mercy. Take it quietly.
That was how it landed in Karl’s ears.
“…Is that all?”
He let his irritation show as he asked.
“Yes. And while we’re at it, let’s clear the air completely. Holding grudges won’t do you any favors, Young Master.”
“You speak as though I were some powerless incompetent who can’t do a thing… Is that what you think of me?”
He took it that way?
Albert realized Karl’s thoughts were more twisted than he had expected.
“Not at all. If we’re ranking incompetence, I’d come out ahead. It’s just…….”
And he admits it that easily?
The answer was so far outside common sense that Karl’s head tipped sideways.
“Just… what?”
“It’s an undeniable fact that I’m the orphan brat you look down on. But even so—what exactly can you do about it, Young Master?”
What can you do?
Albert’s blunt jab flushed Karl’s face a deep, angry red.
“That’s going too far.”
“You started this fight, Young Master.”
And yet—
The moment the other man closed his hand around the hilt and leveled the blade, the fear swelled. It cooled the heat in Karl’s cheeks until they felt almost cold.
Icy, even.
“The Royal Palace is filled with Lady Beatrix’s eyes and ears. Speaking so carelessly in a place like that was a mistake on your part as well.”
“…You seem to believe Her Majesty’s favor will last forever.”
“It’s lasting today, at least.”
A man whose leash could snap any day, putting on airs like this.
Albert caught the subtext and huffed a quiet laugh. The sheer nerve it took to say something like that while terrified was almost impressive. In front of Beatrix herself, he wouldn’t have managed a single word.
Is that… jealousy, maybe?
It wasn’t as though men who carried a torch for Beatrix didn’t exist. The voice of a woman in a dark robe still lingered at the edge of Albert’s memory.
In the game, the spotlight stayed fixed on the protagonist and the queens, so side characters barely appeared—a line or two of dialogue at most. Every time a hidden detail surfaced, it felt strange and oddly fascinating. For a femdom story, the worldbuilding wasn’t nearly as simple as it first seemed.
“Young Master. There won’t be a second time. I may have grown up a worthless orphan, but I’m not completely ignorant of how the world works.”
If you don’t want to die, behave.
With that as his final word, Albert rose. He had warned him enough; there was nothing left to say. Having gotten what he wanted off his chest felt good—his expression had brightened by the time he left.
“Damn it…!”
CRASH!
Alone, Karl slammed his fist down on the innocent table. The teapot and cups rattled hard against the wood.
Once the immediate danger had passed, arrogance lifted its head—and rage followed close behind. Then a crushing helplessness settled over him.
Karl sat slumped for a long while before his mouth twisted again. A damp, jealous madness flickered in his eyes.
“…Fine. There’s nothing I can do.”
Not right now.
But once he became duke and held real power, there would be any number of things he could arrange. Spread malicious rumors. Forge evidence and drive that orphan bastard into a corner. Keep the people who did the dirty work disposable—cut the tails whenever needed……
“Right. And after that…….”
Karl muttered under his breath, head bowed. Lust and fear tangled together until he was barely in his right mind.
A man’s grudge runs long, and it runs filthy.
Conrad Miller knew that as well as anyone—and yet……
I never imagined the boy had gone this mad.
She never should have left the rear to him just because her eldest daughter had fallen ill. The belated regret sat heavy on her shoulders.
“What do you think I should do?”
Beatrix asked from behind the desk in her study. Even for a duchess, she offered no seat—simply left her standing before the desk. Good mood or bad made no difference.
“He asked me to spare him, so I let it go once. And he crosses the line again?”
Tap. Tap. The Queen’s pale fingers drummed the desktop.
If she said a thing was white, it was white. If she said it was black, it was black. This time, though, it happened to be the plain truth. Her limbs—the ones who could not lie to her—had brought the report themselves. The same way they had in the rear garden: hidden inside Karl’s own room.
“Is that… truly so?”
Conrad let the words trail off, still struggling to believe it. Beatrix’s eyes narrowed.
“Of course it’s true. You think the ones bound by oath would lie? They’d die on the spot.”
The Black Shadows. Beatrix’s secret hands and feet—bound to her by vows of absolute obedience. The mere indirect mention of their master sealed Conrad’s lips. To try wriggling free in the face of the truth would cost her own head as well.
“I am… sincerely appalled by this matter. The fault is mine for failing to raise my child properly.”
Conrad dropped to her knees at once and bowed her head. There was only one thought left in her: beg. Beg, and preserve the family’s line—even if she died in this room for it.
Beatrix stopped drumming the desk, folded her arms, and spoke.
“The only criminal is that one boy… so I’ll spare the rest of you.”
“I am deeply grateful, Your Majesty!”
She would live. Conrad bowed again, flooded with the sheer joy of survival.
“But you understand, don’t you?”
“Yes. I will take full responsibility and handle it.”
“Do that. And the one to carry on the line?”
“There is one.”
Still young, yes—but there was a second child. And not a son: a daughter, fully capable of inheriting the legitimate succession.
“Then raise that one properly.”
“Yes. I will do so.”
“Mm. Get up off your knees.”
At Beatrix’s indifferent tone, Conrad slowly rose. She did not even brush the dirt from her skirts—simply stood ramrod straight.
“Oh—and when you handle it, don’t make a spectacle. If the neck of the man I went to the trouble of sparing gets cut off too noisily, it’ll sour his mood.”
“By that… you mean I am to settle it with as little noise as possible?”
“Mm. Poison, strangling—whatever. Just keep the noise to a minimum. Natural causes would be ideal, really. An accident would work too.”
“It shall be as Your Majesty wills.”
A parent killing their own child. Beatrix was not so ignorant as to miss how that would rot a person from the inside. But Conrad was a stern noble who valued her house above her child’s life. She could kill her own offspring gladly if it meant the family survived—doubly so when that child had nearly brought the entire house down in a single stroke.
“That’s all I had to say. Go.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I offer my deepest thanks for your boundless mercy.”
Conrad finished with a bow that was not flattery but genuine gratitude, and left.
Once was forgiveness. Twice did not exist.
If the fool had at least schemed on his own lands instead of inside the Royal Palace, he might have lived a little longer.
No matter how you look at it, he simply wasn’t cut out for it.
Put a man without the capacity in charge of a territory and you got nothing but chaos. Beatrix decided it was just as well she had weeded out an incompetent sprout. Of course, the anger at him for insulting Albert came first.
I should finish the preparations and hold the ceremony soon.
All that remained was to arrange and hold the wedding. The thought of marrying him properly lifted Beatrix’s spirits—until she sighed and closed her eyes.
She intended to avoid the grand wedding originally planned, but the guests who absolutely had to be invited were the problem. Inviting a handful of nobles for appearance’s sake was one thing……
They’re the real problem.
Just as she had attended the southern wedding, she would have to send invitations of her own. It was simple courtesy among the four sovereigns who kept the peace by dividing the continent. The trouble was how little she wanted to observe that courtesy. Her heart was a tangle.
She wanted to keep Albert as her own small, private treasure.
The world refused to allow it.
“Tsk.”
Beatrix clicked her tongue and leaned back against the chair. The faces of three women rose in her mind, and a sigh slipped out of her unbidden.