Far Too Light
Under the crushing weight of that suffocating pressure, the vassals dared not even lift their heads. The sheer majesty of the Empire's one and only Grand Sword Master was truly indisputable.
"She is not 'just a child.' Her name is Lefonya. Lefonya Craitan. I could have sworn I delivered her name in writing, yet it seems not a single one of you bothered to read it."
Duke Craitan muttered as if grinding his teeth. Blue veins bulged against the back of his tightly clenched hand before he let out a harsh, smoldering breath.
"Because I failed to inform you in advance of the arrival of your new master, I generously permitted this impromptu visit. Had I known you came here to lecture me as though I were a seven-year-old boy, I would have turned you all away at the gates."
"Your Grace, we risk disloyalty to speak only because every one of us cherishes House Craitan—"
"Anyone who wags their tongue carelessly about the young lady..."
Duke Craitan unbuckled the sword at his hip and laid it heavily upon the desk with a dull thud.
"...will pay the price."
Death.
It meant their only repentance would be in blood. Silenced by his unyielding resolve, the vassals clamped their mouths shut, daring not utter another word.
Right at that moment.
Knock, knock.
A soft rap echoed against the great conference room doors.
"I believe I ordered that no one be let in," Duke Craitan said with a sharp furrow of his brow, his irritation palpable.
Despite the venom in his voice, the heavy latch clicked, and the door swung open.
"Are your ears clogged with wax? I distinctly said no one—gah!"
Mid-shout, Duke Craitan caught sight of the figure stepping into the room and clamped a hand over his mouth, swallowing the rest of his harsh curse in shock.
The vassals tilted their heads in bewilderment.
"Your Gwa-ace."
A sweet, tiny voice floated into the room, so warm and lovely it instantly thawed the freezing hostility in the air.
Every person in the room snapped their head around.
Standing there was a child who bore such a striking resemblance to the late Duchess that it seemed as if the departed lady herself had returned from the dead.
The vassals exchanged furtive glances. Their eyes flickered with recognition—this was 'Lefonya,' the child the Duke had adopted. Now they understood why he had so abruptly taken in an orphan, and why he defended the decision with such fierce obstinacy.
Displeasure and thinly veiled disdain pooled in their gazes as they stared down at her.
Lefonya, however, did not care in the slightest.
Mmm. As expected, they're glaring at me.
Bearing the brunt of their prickling glares without flinching, Lefonya trotted right up beside the Duke.
"Ponya."
Resting a hand against his forehead, Duke Craitan wore a fiercer scowl than ever before.
Naturally, Lefonya paid it no mind.
"Why are you here? I explicitly ordered the staff to ensure you wouldn't wander over this way."
He likely hadn't intended to let his vassals see a child he'd soon cast off after playing house, which explained his irritation. But for Lefonya, this was far too golden an opportunity to let slip by.
"Hah... No, never mind that. We are in the middle of a meeting right now, so—"
"Your Grace."
Cutting off his deep, raspy voice, Lefonya reached out with her short little hand and tightly curled her fingers around one of Duke Craitan's massive ones.
At the mere touch of her grip, the Duke flinched as violently as if he were being subjected to severe torture.
"Dere's too many stwangers here."
Come on, tongue. I'm saying something important. Get it together.
"I wanna stay with Your Grace for a while."
The words were sweet enough to melt hearts, yet Lefonya delivered them with complete emotional detachment.
Duke Craitan stared down at the tiny hand clutching his finger.
Meanwhile, the vassals glared at Lefonya with malice burning in their eyes, thoroughly disgusted by what they perceived as a shameless toddler flattering the Duke.
After a long silence, the Duke spoke.
"Right. I was mistaken."
"Huh?"
"If they cannot conceal their malice even in my presence, they would only be worse where I am not watching."
Duke Craitan reached down.
Scooping Lefonya up effortlessly with a single arm, he set her upon his knee.
"Indeed. Ponya, you must feel safest and most at ease beside me."
Blinking in surprise at finding herself perched on the Duke's lap, Lefonya stared back at the stunned, horrified vassals.
"Greet her, all of you."
Duke Craitan rested his chin on one hand while his other gently stroked Lefonya's unruly silver hair.
He had just granted her request.
Jackpot.
Lefonya quietly clenched her small fist.
Having scoured the mansion without uncovering the heirloom, she knew the Duke was the only one who possessed its whereabouts. Monitoring his every move would be ideal, but she had lacked a justifiable pretext. Now, thanks to the vassals barging in and radiating blatant hostility, she had the perfect excuse handed to her on a silver platter.
She had gambled that if she acted frightened and clung to him as if she desperately needed someone to rely on, his sense of duty would compel him to indulge her.
"Nice to meet you," Lefonya said, scanning the vassals slowly to memorize each of their faces.
They might prove useful someday, after all.
"I'm Lefonya Craitan."
Reluctantly, the vassals bowed with stiff, formal courtesy to acknowledge her greeting.
Once the round of introductions concluded, one of the vassals rose to his feet.
"It seems these matters are not suitable for discussion in the young lady's presence. Perhaps we should resume our conversation at a later time, Your Grace."
It was another way of stating they refused to hold an internal council before an outsider.
Yet the Duke, perhaps agreeing that disparaging remarks about Lefonya shouldn't be made in front of the girl, gave a curt nod.
"Dismissed. All of you, leave."
When the vassals filed out, only the Duke and Lefonya remained in the grand chamber.
Shouldn't I get down now?
Sitting on someone's lap for the first time in her life felt terribly awkward. Ever since arriving at the ducal estate, she had been fed three hearty meals a day, punctuated by two lavish snacks. As a result, she could practically feel the plump layer of flesh she had put on.
I must be heavy.
Lefonya wriggled slightly.
"Ponya."
A voice tinged with quiet puzzlement drifted down from above. Looking up, she met Duke Craitan's eyes, his chin still propped in his palm.
"I was told you have been eating well lately..."
Taking that as a subtle hint asking how long she intended to stay on his lap, Lefonya scrambled to climb down. But before her feet could touch the floor, the Duke's large hand held her fast, leaving her suspended in an awkward posture.
"Could there be an issue with the reports I received?"
Huh? Does he mean I'm heavy?
Duke Craitan tilted his head with a grave, contemplative air.
"They reported that you eat well. Are you truly eating well?"
Lefonya swallowed hard.
"How much do you eat?"
He even pressed the inquiry.
The question was so utterly bizarre that Lefonya was at a loss for how to answer. What on earth was his angle here? A man of the Duke's stature would never ask something without a calculated purpose. Inquiring whether she was truly eating well and how much she consumed...
I really have gotten too heavy.
To be fair, she had indulged quite a bit lately.
Or maybe he's hinting that the kitchen supplies are running low because of me.
Nobles lived in luxury, but premium ingredients were finite; he might consider it wasteful to lavish them on an adopted child. And if not that...
Is it because I've gotten chubby and look unsightly?
She had heard that some noble households strictly regulated their children's weight and proportions from an early age. Deduction left only those three possibilities.
"You are far too light. Tsk."
Too light?
Was that sarcasm? Struggling to parse the hidden meaning behind his words, Lefonya tilted her head.
"Judging by your silence, it seems someone responsible for my reports has indeed been lying to me."
Duke Craitan's expression chilled into a grim mask. Startled by the sudden prickle of murderous intent radiating from him at such close quarters, Lefonya shook her head frantically.
"I eat weally, weally well!"
Slurred toddler pronunciation was the least of her worries right now; answering came first. Having no clue why the Duke was suddenly incensed, Lefonya rushed to explain.
"Is that so? How many times a day do you eat?"
Lefonya fidgeted with her tiny fingers. Hesitating out of fear that admitting to eating too much would get her scolded, she stalled, causing Duke Craitan's brow to twitch into an uneven scowl.
"Th-three times a day, and snackies two times..."
Her cheeks burned as if she were confessing to a heinous crime. A wave of regret washed over her—she should have turned down that extra dessert.
Is he going to hit me?
It was certainly possible. Duke Craitan's hands were immense and calloused; a strike from him would be agonizing against a five-year-old body. Bracing herself so she wouldn't go flying if a blow suddenly landed, Lefonya tensed every muscle in her frame.
Yet what came was not a blow, but a dead-serious murmur.
"That is not enough."
"Huh?"
"At your age, your older brothers ate four full meals and two snacks a day. Not to mention late-night snacks, and they would even wake in the dead of night to raid the pantry."
Are they human or wild beasts?
Swallowing the retort rising to the tip of her tongue, Lefonya scrambled to reassess the situation. Was he concerned because she fell short when compared to those two sturdy boys? Or did he simply find the sight of a frail, spindly child distasteful?
Lefonya piped up hurriedly:
"I'm wobb-ing Your Grace's food stworage dry!"
"Now, that is commendable."
She had just declared she was eating him out of house and home, yet he praised her for it. What was more, the lingering chill of his bloodlust dissipated into thin air. Though utterly incomprehensible, the danger had passed, and that was all that mattered. Lefonya stroked her chest in quiet relief.
"By the way, when you panic, your natural pronunciation slips out."
"Huh?"
"At your age, Ponya, it is perfectly natural for words to tangle upon the tongue. Yet you are always fretting over it."
Well, obviously. Having a lisp like a toddler is mortifying.
"Ponya, your second older brother, Felence, was still babbling until he turned five."
Isn't that way too late?
Cradling Lefonya securely in his arms, Duke Craitan rose from his seat.
"The scholars worried immensely back then because he was so delayed, but now he speaks fluently and is growing up healthy. Some children are simply slower while others are quicker; you have no need to dwell on such things, Ponya."
Second brother...
"The bwother who hasn't gwaduated fwom the Academy in thwee years?"
"...Come to think of it, he isn't growing up all that well either," Duke Craitan muttered, his brow furrowing deeply. "Regardless, speak however is most comfortable for you. Interpreting it is my responsibility."
No need to worry about being slower than others...
It was the first time in her life she had ever heard such words.
The Pope had always drilled into her that she must never fall behind, that only death awaited the slow. He taught her that everyone besides herself was a competitor to be surpassed, that she must always be vigilant of their eyes and never reveal a single weakness.
And yet...
It feels strange.
Lefonya stole a glance at Duke Craitan.
Sensing her gaze, the Duke lowered his eyes.
Their gazes met.
"Ponya."
"Mm?"
"I heard you have been wandering around the mansion lately under the guise of sightseeing."
He truly was receiving reports on every single breath she took.
"Stop wandering now."