Uninvited Guests
Startled, Lefonya snapped her eyes open.
It was deep into the night, an hour when even the faintest light was swallowed whole by darkness.
Hovering in midair, mounted atop the silhouette of a silver wolf, a boy looked down toward Lefonya's terrace. He appeared barely three or four years older than her, yet his face was striking enough to sear itself into memory after only a fleeting glance. It felt absurd to describe a boy who couldn't be older than nine in such terms, but his raven hair—darker than the deepest abyss—carried an almost sacred majesty, as though he had draped the night sky over his shoulders. His golden eyes, radiant and piercing, shone even brighter than the sun.
A face I've never seen before.
Lefonya never forgot a person once she laid eyes on them, yet this boy existed nowhere in her memories.
"Who are you?"
The boy offered no answer. He merely stared down at the terrace, as if he had come solely to confirm a suspicion with his own eyes.
"I never truly believed it would work."
"What?"
"I'm glad you're alive. Truly."
He muttered the cryptic words beneath his breath. His voice, tinged with a faint, quiet ecstasy, carried a dangerous undercurrent. To stare at someone who was plainly breathing and remark twice on how glad he was that she lived—he was certainly a boy with terrible manners.
"Then I'll need to verify what comes next as well."
"What?"
"Ha. See you again."
"What do you mean by—ah!"
Before Lefonya could finish her question, the strange boy wheeled around. The silver wolf leaped off empty air, kicking up a sudden, violent gale that forced her eyes shut. By the time she pried them open, the boy was gone without a trace.
...What in the world was that? Did I fall asleep on my feet? Was I dreaming?
Lefonya blinked up at the empty sky in disbelief.
Fall asleep on my feet, my foot. There's no way that was a dream. Tsk.
Lefonya sat propping her chin on her hand at a sullen angle, turning over the brief encounter from the previous night. Thanks to that boy barging in uninvited and vanishing just as abruptly, she had tossed and turned until dawn without catching a single wink of sleep.
He looked right at me and said I was alive. Did he think I was dead?
Yet no matter how hard she searched her memory, she drew a complete blank. He was a total stranger.
My head already feels ready to split open just trying to guess where the heirloom is hidden, and now this? Who on earth was he?
Lefonya bit her lip and pressed her temples with her thumbs, though her scrawny toddler fingers possessed so little strength that the gesture offered scant relief.
Could he have mistaken me for someone else?
Then she remembered the intense, unblinking way he had stared at her. No one scrutinized someone with such relentless, unyielding focus by accident.
Could the Pope have sent him?
After weighing the possibility, Lefonya shook her head.
If the Pope had sent him, he wouldn't have just flown away. He would have slit my throat on the spot.
The Pope had never taught his hounds to leave their targets breathing.
I really don't want to get dragged into any more annoying trouble.
Grumble.
Right on cue, her tactless stomach sounded the alarm. Tossing and turning had made her oversleep, throwing her breakfast schedule entirely out of order.
Humans really were creatures of comfort.
Since when did I care about eating breakfast every morning?
Back under the Pope's thumb, whenever she failed an assignment, she had been locked in a cold underground dungeon to starve for days on end. Could skipping a single meal truly justify making such a fuss?
Lefonya smacked her belly with an open palm as though disciplining an unruly pet.
"Don't get used to being full. It's only temporary."
Grumble.
Her stomach roared back in open defiance despite the scolding.
"I said I'll go eat later. Just wait."
Grumble!
Her belly vehemently argued that food had to come first.
"Have you no pride?"
Groooowl.
"Completely shameless," Lefonya muttered, rubbing her stomach in defeat. "Fine, fine. I know filling your pride won't fill your belly. If you're going to make this much noise, I suppose I have no choice."
Having neatly rationalized her surrender, Lefonya reached out and tugged the servant's bell pull to summon the maids. It would be much easier to think on a full stomach anyway. Her belly was simply being too loud.
Moments later, a polite knock sounded at the door. At Lefonya's permission, the bedroom door swung open to reveal two maids.
"Did you sleep peacefully through the night, My Lady?"
"Good morning, Lady Fonya! Did you have sweet dreams?"
They were Birdie and Becky, maids from the main residence who had been assigned as her personal attendants. They were the very same maids who had bathed her when she first arrived at the estate and rushed off to fetch clothes from the young lords' closets.
"Mhm."
Hearing them call her 'Lady Fonya' had made her cringe with embarrassment at first, but after hearing it day after day, she had grown completely numb to it. Since it was an affectionate moniker she would only ever hear during her temporary stay in this estate, making a fuss every time was far too bothersome.
"His Grace had breakfast earlier today due to urgent business. He specifically instructed us not to wake you so that you could rest comfortably."
"I's okay."
Because her mind was wandering, her tongue loosened, and the words slipped out in a slightly lisped slur—something she felt far less self-conscious about now.
After washing her face and slipping into a fresh dress, Lefonya sat down before the vanity mirror.
Urgent business, huh.
She recalled how the maids had been bustling nervously around the estate over the past few days, whispering about preparing to receive sudden, unannounced guests.
"Would you like to have breakfast in the lovely glasshouse in the garden today, My Lady?" Becky asked while gently running a brush through Lefonya's hair. Her unruly, uneven waves, which had once reached down to her waist in a wild tangle, had grown remarkably soft and manageable under their care.
With her hair tied neatly into twin pigtails once again, Lefonya pictured the glasshouse. A glasshouse out in the garden was quite a distance from the main mansion.
Ah. I see what's happening.
A knowing smile touched Lefonya's lips.
"Why? What about the dining room?" Lefonya asked, feigning innocence.
Birdie, picking out a pretty ribbon for her hair, offered a practiced smile. "Guests have arrived today, so the main residence will be rather bustling and noisy. Is there anything in particular you'd like for breakfast? Just tell us, and we'll let the head chef know right away!"
"Mmm. Anything is fine."
Lefonya nodded obediently while studying their faces through the mirror. At her easy reply, both maids let out subtle, synchronized sighs of relief.
That settled it.
The Craitan vassals have arrived.
Lefonya smirked quietly, as if she had been waiting for this moment.
No one had told her the vassals were coming, but it was only natural. There were exceedingly few guests who could descend upon a ducal manor without prior notice and still be received with formal hospitality in the main residence. It took very little deduction to piece the puzzle together.
They must have rushed here the second they heard news of my adoption to raise hell.
That was simply how high nobility operated.
Vassals swore allegiance to the ducal house, and their duty was to steer their lord back onto the proper path whenever he strayed. If their master suddenly adopted an unknown child of dubious origin out of nowhere, declaring her his daughter, no retainer in their right mind would smile upon it.
Honestly, it was far stranger that the adoption went through so smoothly without any resistance in the first place.
Having been thoroughly schooled by the Pope on the inner workings of aristocratic society, this felt like the inevitable next step.
Besides, now that the documents have already been submitted to the Imperial Palace, the adoption can't be dissolved unless the Duke changes his mind himself.
Perhaps because the legal knot had already been tied, she felt surprisingly calm despite the impending arrival of the vassals. The Duke of Craitan had taken her in to soothe the agonizing guilt over his lost daughter. For now, he had no reason to have a change of heart and dissolve the adoption.
It was a good thing I pricked my finger and bled to get those papers signed and sent to the palace as fast as possible.
Lefonya looked down at her fingertip, where the duchy doctor's prompt treatment had left not even the faintest trace of a scar.
The main residence is going to be a headache for the next few days.
Even if they couldn't overturn the outcome, the vassals wouldn't back down easily after traveling all this way. When reasoning with the Duke inevitably failed, they would surely linger at the estate for days, trying to exert pressure on Lefonya instead.
I suppose I could try to help resolve the family's problems and prove my worth to the vassals, but...
Lefonya had no intention of volunteering to fix the ducal house's affairs. If a great house required the hands of a young child to solve its dilemmas, it deserved to crumble anyway. That was the master's responsibility. Since Lefonya was not the head of the house, she had no reason to do his job for him—unless they offered her the title of family head, of course.
This actually works out nicely.
Lefonya patted her stomach, urging it to hold out just a little longer.
"...Birdie."
"Yes, My Lady?"
"Is the Duke in the grand conference hall right now?"
"Pardon?"
Lefonya had never once sought out the Duke on her own, so asking for his whereabouts—and on this day of all days—caught Birdie completely off guard. When Birdie looked up with a flustered expression, her gaze met Lefonya's through the glass. The young girl was watching her intently.
Birdie subtly averted her eyes.
That was answer enough.
"Oof!"
Letting out an exaggerated grunt without meaning to, Lefonya hopped down from the high chair.
"My—My Lady! Where are you going?"
Pumping her short arms and legs with determination, Lefonya marched straight out of the bedroom. Birdie and Becky scrambled after her in a panic.
"Mm. To see the Duke."
"...Excuse me?"
Having no intention of offering further explanations, Lefonya pictured the layout of the grand conference hall in her mind and trotted briskly down the corridor as fast as her tiny feet could carry her.
Inside the grand conference hall.
"A sudden adoption? You have acted far too hastily, Your Grace!"
"If you merely took pity on the child, sponsoring her would have been more than sufficient, Your Grace!"
The hall was thick with the heated clamor of assembled vassals.
"It is not that we refuse to celebrate the arrival of a new young lady! But if she should covet the ducal house's wealth in the future—"
"What do Lord Havelian and Young Lord Felens have to say about this?"
"Now is not the time for idle bickering! Since the adoption has already been decreed, we must first verify her background. Have you investigated whether there are criminals in her bloodline, Your Grace?"
"Are you suggesting we simply accept this adoption? She is a child of unknown parentage, raised heavens know where or how! What if she carries some contagious plague?"
"Still, compared to wasting time searching for the lost lady whose very survival remains uncertain—"
SLAM!
Duke Craitan, who had sat in silence pressing his temple throughout the cacophony, brought an aura-infused palm crashing down onto the table.
Crafted as a magical artifact, the table managed to withstand the blow without splintering, though it shuddered violently. The sheer bloodlust radiating through that vibration struck every vassal instantly dumb.
"I granted you freedom of speech, yet you dare cross the line."
His low, gravelly voice tightened around their throats like a vice, suffocating the air in the chamber.
"Since when do I require your permission to adopt my own child?"