AWLITEB Chapter 6

After bathing, Isabella dressed in the nightgown Paile had provided and was shown to a guest room.

"Rest well, my lady."

The maids who'd attended her curtsied and withdrew.

This was the first time she'd slept away from the White estate since they'd adopted her.

And what a day this had been.

Isabella looked down at her fingertips, then closed her eyes and concentrated.

A passage from Magic for Beginners—a book she'd read at the orphanage—surfaced in her memory.

『Focus your complete attention on your fingertips, then vividly imagine the magic you wish to perform. With a solid foundation, you'll eventually be able to cast spells without such deliberate concentration.』

Isabella decided to try producing light from her fingertips, the way Genos had illuminated the grain storage room.

She pictured red light glowing from her fingers, focused her mind—

"Ah, hot!"

Isabella yelped and jerked backward.

The fire that had burst from her fingertips latched onto the bedding.

"Oh, hell!"

She frantically folded the blanket over on itself, smothering the flames, cutting off the oxygen. She pressed down hard with both hands until the fire finally died.

Of course, by then more than a quarter of the expensive blanket was charred black. The stench of burning fabric filled the room.

"Lady Isabella, is everything all right? I brought warm tea."

A maid knocked at the door, responding to the commotion.

"I'm fine! Nothing's wrong! I don't need tea—go rest!"

Isabella shouted toward the door, then looked down at the ruined blanket and sighed.

She dithered over how to handle it, then finally just flopped onto the bed.

Isabella closed her eyes against the mattress that cradled her body like a cloud.

She'd forget the complicated things for now—the fact that she was a witch, that she'd killed a stranger by blowing a hole through his face, that she was lying in the Grand Duke's house—and just rest for a moment.

Even though the room still reeked of smoke.

The witch has been executed! The witch has been executed!

Last night, a witch was put to death!

The shouting from outside the window made Isabella's face crumple in irritation.

She was exhausted, barely clinging to sleep, and someone had to be making that racket?

Who the hell was yelling loud enough to reach this corner room in the base—wait.

'Was there ever a bed like this in my room?'

Isabella's eyes flew open.

Everything that had happened yesterday came flooding back. She stared blankly at her hands—hands that had killed a man.

"Awake?"

"Ahhh!"

Isabella shrieked and whipped around.

Genos Perdian sat in a chair across the room.

He occupied an ancient wooden chair carved with red spiral patterns, looking disturbingly relaxed.

"How long have you been sitting there?"

Genos pulled a pocket watch from his coat, checked it, and tucked it away again.

"Three hours."

"Three hours?"

Genos looked at her as if to say, Is that a problem?

The refined aristocrat from the tea party—the one who'd measured every word and gesture against the rigid standards of etiquette—had completely vanished.

"What happened to the blanket?"

Genos nodded toward the scorched bedding.

"I tried to make light and accidentally started a fire..."

"Ah. We'll need to replace it, then. Do you have a preference for bedding?"

Isabella didn't even know bedding came in types.

She shook her head.

"No. Anything is fine."

"Good. Anything it is. Oh, and you can drop the formality, can't you?"

He didn't waste time. Genos had been using informal speech since yesterday's incident in the alley.

Isabella nodded mutely.

'As if anyone would refuse in this situation.'

"Good. No one uses honorifics with their warhorse."

Genos's lips curved in a faint smile.

"Warhorse... I still don't understand what you mean by that."

"We'll discuss the details after breakfast. Right now I'm just checking to see if your body handled the awakening. There's always the chance you might have died from the side effects."

'He says something that terrifying so casually.'

"The maids told me you have extensive injuries. Abuse from the White family?"

"...How long have you suspected?"

"Since I held your hand."

"..."

"You were supposedly adopted after a distant relative of the White family died in a plague outbreak. That was a lie?"

Isabella nodded.

"Complete strangers. No blood relation whatsoever. They picked me specifically because my hair and eye color matched—worried someone would realize I wasn't really family. They planned to sell me off to whoever served their interests best."

"Who else knows?"

"Martha, Rosalie, and Ethan. Only those three. The servants think the direct family just... dislikes me."

"I see."

He absorbed this without apparent emotion and stood.

"The maids said your injuries were severe, so I called a physician. She'll be here in ten minutes. Don't worry—she's a woman. I'll have her sent in."

"Wait, Your Grace!"

Isabella scrambled off the bed and hurried toward him.

Genos turned from the door to face her.

His body seemed even larger in good light than it had felt yesterday—massive and solid, all muscle and height.

The sheer size of him stole her words.

"You called me. So speak."

Genos frowned impatiently.

"...I thought I heard shouting outside about a witch being executed. What happened?"

"We acquired an infant corpse—a baby who'd died of natural causes—and burned it, then announced we'd killed a witch child. Thank God witch corpses have no distinguishing features from normal humans."

"You just... lied to the entire Empire?"

"Yes. Satisfied?"

He clearly didn't expect an answer. He left the room before she could respond.

Isabella stood there looking dazed, shaking her head, even slapping her own cheeks lightly.

Not a dream. Definitely not a dream.

The enormity of what had happened was only just beginning to sink in with the morning sunlight.

After having her wounds treated and getting dressed, Isabella made her way to the dining room.

The maid who'd escorted her curtsied to Genos—who was already seated—and departed, leaving Isabella standing awkwardly by the table, fidgeting with her hands.

"Sit."

Genos lifted his coffee cup without looking up.

The table was laden with an extravagant breakfast spread—more food than Isabella had seen in her entire life.

"I didn't know what you'd like, so I had them prepare a variety."

"Ah... yes."

"Though you'll eat anything happily enough, I imagine. You haven't been fed properly."

"..."

"Why are you staring? Sit."

Genos gestured to the seat across from him with a butter knife.

"Is this your true self, Your Grace?"

"What do you mean?"

"..."

"Oh, you mean am I being rude?"

Isabella's silence was answer enough.

"Yes. This is who I really am."

Genos acknowledged it matter-of-factly.

"All that etiquette nonsense is exhausting. Watching what I say, reading everyone's reactions, filtering every word—I hate it. Pretending to be kind and gracious? Absolutely miserable."

"..."

"You're the same, aren't you?"

"...Excuse me?"

"In that alley. You were dancing in front of a corpse with a hole blown through its face."

"..."

"That wasn't just the witch awakening. I'd already seen it in your eyes at the White estate. That half-mad look."

Genos spread butter on a perfectly crisp croissant, voice utterly casual.

"Are you going to keep standing there?"

He pointed the knife at her again.

Half-mad.

The words echoed in Isabella's skull.

She thought maybe there wasn't a better description of her in the world. Nothing more accurate than that.

Isabella moved mechanically and sat across from him.

The table was absurdly oversized for the manor's modest scale. Twelve settings—five seats along each side, one at each head.

Genos had chosen a middle seat rather than the head position, which meant he and Isabella could see each other clearly without too much distance between them.

"A gift from His Majesty. Made from an apple tree struck by lightning, or something like that. I wasn't really listening. I was in a foul mood when it arrived."

"Because it's too large for the manor?"

Genos's lips twitched with what might have been approval.

"Exactly. A reminder to know my place."

He took a sip of coffee.

"So I thought I'd expand my place instead."

"What do you—"

"I'm going to stage a rebellion and become Emperor."

Crash!

The teacup in Isabella's hand slipped from her fingers and shattered against the table.

She leapt to her feet in shock, and Genos's smile widened with obvious satisfaction.

"Excellent start."

"I've never... I've never dropped anything like that..."

"We need to begin your training as soon as possible. Learning to control the witch's power."

Genos rose, napkin in hand, and crossed to Isabella's side.

He caught her wrist.

Isabella flinched and looked up at him. He wrapped the napkin around her fingers without comment.

Her finger was bleeding.

"...Thank you."

"Better eat first. You'll need energy to process what I'm about to tell you."

Genos pressed her back down into the chair by the shoulder, then returned to his seat.

"The broken cup—"

"The maids will handle it later. Eat."

Isabella stared down at the silver utensils and elaborate dishes, completely disoriented.

She wanted to ask more about that staggering revelation, but couldn't find the courage.

"Eat."

Isabella nodded and reached for a fork, then stopped. Old habit took over—she folded her hands and bowed her head.

Genos paused mid-cut through his salted meat, watching her with a faintly disgusted expression.

The Empire allowed religious freedom. Not out of any noble principle about liberating the masses, of course.

Establishing a state religion meant appointing high priests, and history had shown that priesthoods inevitably challenged imperial authority.

But banning religion outright would spark unnecessary resentment among the populace—equally unwise.

So the emperors had dressed their fear in the language of tolerance: religious freedom.

Isabella finished her silent prayer and looked up. Genos spoke immediately.

"Are you religious?"

"Ah..."

Isabella let out a small, bitter laugh.

"No. I was just making a wish."

"A wish?"

"Yes. It became a habit long ago. Even though the wish already came true, I still went through the motions."

"What did you wish for?"

Isabella hesitated briefly, then spoke.

"I wished for the power to destroy the White family."

In that moment, Genos saw that subtle madness flicker back into her eyes like a candle flame behind glass.

She'd need refining, but the quality was there. That look would serve.

He reached across the table and pulled her plate toward him, loading it with a balanced selection of salad and meat.

"I can serve myself, Your Grace."

Isabella squirmed with discomfort, but Genos simply set the filled plate back in front of her and shook his head slightly.

"You have another habit besides that prayer routine."

"What do you mean?"

"That attitude right there."

Genos leaned forward across the table, expression somewhere between impatient and disgusted.

"You've spent years acting meek and stupid so you wouldn't get beaten to death."

"..."

"But that persona won't help you anymore. You don't actually want to be pathetic and helpless, do you?"

"..."

"Find your real self."

"...I've been acting for so long, honestly I'm not sure I remember what my real personality even is."

"Then fall back on one very vivid memory."

"What?"

"Dancing in front of a corpse with a hole through its face."

"..."

"That's the real you."

A corpse with a hole through its face.

The words made Isabella's hands tremble.

She slowly clenched and unclenched her fists, breathing deeply. The shaking stopped after a moment.

Isabella picked up her utensils and began eating quickly.

Genos finished his meal, wiped his mouth, and slouched sideways in his chair with one arm hooked over the back.

The casual posture transformed him. He looked like a handsome rake lounging in some street-side tavern.

Isabella felt his gaze and glanced up mid-bite, cheeks bulging with meat.

She didn't look away. Genos smiled at that, clearly pleased.

"The bare feet. That was deliberate, wasn't it?"

Isabella chewed her mouthful of meat thoroughly, swallowed, and drank some water.

Through the transparent glass, she could see Genos's face alight with interest.

"You noticed."

"And you let yourself get stabbed by that brooch on purpose?"

"Yes."

"You thought if I knew about the abuse, I'd consider breaking the engagement?"

"Yes. I was planning to destroy Rosalie's heart that way. But then I realized—you don't actually love her. And a man who doesn't love his fiancée wouldn't care if she turned out to be cruel and terrible."

"Exactly right."

The Grand Duke laughed and shook his head.

"I noticed that cheap old brooch Rosalie was wearing the moment I met her at the gate. It bothered me."

"Everything went according to plan except for one thing—I didn't account for your mask."

"Didn't you consider that your scheme might fail and you'd just get beaten? That's what ended up happening."

"I considered it. But I thought getting beaten would be acceptable. I guessed they'd dismiss the escort knights when you visited. So if things went wrong, I planned to run. The maids wouldn't be standing guard then."

"And you'd have lived on the streets?"

"I was scheduled to be married off within six months to a widower in the south. He's fifty years old, and his daughter is ten years older than me."

Isabella stabbed viciously at her salad, movements sharp with residual anger.

"They say he suffered from extreme jealousy and locked up his previous wife until she starved to death. Wouldn't living as a vagrant be better than marrying into that household?"

Genos listened with obvious fascination.

"Besides, yesterday was my third escape attempt. After the first two failed and I got beaten half to death for it, I wasn't even scared yesterday."

"I see. Well, everything worked out splendidly in the end."

Genos crossed his muscular arms and nodded.

"How fortunate that your ability manifested before you married that lunatic widower. Divorce and remarriage are tedious, and people love to gossip about them."

"What do you mean?"

Isabella looked genuinely confused. Genos answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I need to marry you."