Prologue — The Morning She Arrived
A faint light seeped in through the lids of my eyes.
I blinked a few times, and my blurry vision slowly sharpened. A high ceiling. And at the very center of it, a small chandelier caught my attention, its blossoms of flowers arranged in delicate, intertwined patterns.
It was the familiar scenery I saw every morning.
Then, from right beside me, a voice still unfamiliar to me spoke.
"It is time to wake, Lady Lisette."
I lifted my face from the pillow, half-lidded eyes searching for the owner of the voice. Short black hair. A straight nose bridge and dense, dark lashes. And beneath them, clear black eyes so deep they seemed they might pull me in.
Had she not been dressed in that immaculate maid's uniform, I could have believed it without a flicker of doubt if someone introduced her as the daughter of any noble house. She was that striking.
Her name was Cecile.
She had been appointed as my personal maid only recently—assigned to me directly by my father, Marquis Edmond de Velois, the moment I came of age this year.
Sweeping back my chestnut hair as it tumbled loosely over my shoulder with one hand, I looked at Cecile standing there so properly. More precisely, I found myself staring at the black dress she wore, the snow-white apron cinched at her waist, and the frilled white maid's cap resting neatly atop her dark bob.
...She was beautiful.
Very much so.
Apparently unaware of my gaze, Cecile had assumed I was simply not yet fully awake, gazing at her in a daze. She spoke again, gently.
"Good morning, Lady Lisette."
It was only when that clear voice reached my ears that my mind snapped awake. I cupped my cheeks with both hands—they felt inexplicably hot—and hastily turned my gaze upward.
"...Right. Good morning, Cecile."
Cecile dipped her head slightly and smiled. There was nothing self-serving in that smile, nothing overly familiar. It carried only the composed courtesy befitting a maid.
"Shall I draw back the covers?"
"...Yes."
Cecile approached and carefully pulled the blanket away. The moment the chilled air touched my legs, I instinctively drew my body in. She was quick—before I could shiver, she had fetched a shawl and draped it over my shoulders.
"We mustn't have you catching a cold, my lady."
The touch of her hands brushing against me was so careful that I nearly stopped breathing for a moment.
I rose slowly from the bed and walked to the window. When I drew the curtains back a little, the morning sunlight spilled deeper into the room.
The gardens of the Velois Mansion spread out below—meticulously tended boxwood hedges, lawns still beaded with dew, and in the far distance, the faint contours of our vineyards. This was the heart of one of the most vast estates in the western kingdom, land the Velois family had kept for over three hundred years.
As the eldest daughter and sole official heir of a house that prized honor and dignity above all else, I was meant to inherit all of it.
And yet...
I looked at my own reflection in the window glass, then turned my gaze back toward Cecile. The black dress. The snow-white apron. The frilled maid's cap. Something about the sight of her in that attire struck me, inexplicably, far too vividly.
"My lady, today is a lesson day at the Lady Academy. You must be ready by mid-morning, so I will begin by assisting you with washing up."
Cecile's voice was, as ever, calm and respectful. I gave a short nod.
"Yes."
While Cecile prepared the water at the washbasin, I quietly looked down at my own hands. I had spent my entire life in the position of one who commands. In the position that never had to bow its head to receive. As the eldest daughter and official heir of a marquisate, it was only natural that servants bent their waists before me.
Then why...
Why was it that every time I looked at Cecile in that maid's uniform, something like a strange thirst welled up from somewhere deep in my chest?
The position of one who is commanded. The position of one who serves. The position of one who sets aside her own standing, if only for a moment. That I yearned for such a thing—of that, I could tell no one.
Above all, not my father.
"My lady, I am ready for you."
Cecile looked at me and politely extended her hand. I took it and walked to the washbasin. The face reflected in the mirror still wore the composed expression befitting a marquis's daughter.
But the heart hidden beneath it was already beating, just a little, to a different rhythm.
Cecile gathered my hair carefully, sweeping it back over my shoulder.
"I shall serve you with my utmost devotion today as well, Lady Lisette."
To that, I gave a brief reply.
"...I'm counting on you."
The voice that left my lips was as calm as ever. But within my heart, another sentence was already circling.
That what I wanted to say was not count on me—
but command me...
That much, I still could not fully admit. Not even to myself.