AWLITEB Chapter 8

Déjà vu?

Isabella blinked in confusion, staring at Genos seated across from her.

The situation was identical to this morning.

"It's hot, my lady."

A maid approached and placed a steak on her plate.

The steak, fresh from the griddle, still sizzled. Rosemary and herbs layered on top released a heavenly aroma.

The maid bowed and left the dining room.

"Eat plenty. You'll need five meals a day if you want to fill out those hollow cheeks."

Genos cut into his steak leisurely as he spoke.

Isabella looked down at the juice-soaked meat, swallowed her saliva, and picked up her utensils.

Right. No more people to watch out for. No more surviving on chicken gristle and a few mashed potatoes per day. That life stayed in the basement.

For the first time since age seven, Isabella began eating without praying.

The sweet, tender meat and moist juice under her teeth nearly brought her to tears.

"You know witches are born as infants, right?"

Genos poured wine into both their glasses.

"Oh, let me do that."

Isabella reached for the bottle, but Genos pulled it back.

"Why?"

Genos's expression soured with confusion.

"Well, because..."

"You need to be treated well for a while. Until that slave mentality carved into your body disappears."

"...It's not slave mentality. Who wouldn't serve when Your Grace is pouring wine? You could simply assign a maid if—"

"I told you. Act arrogant unless we're in front of others. Whether I pour wine or scrub floors on my knees makes no difference. And we don't have maids present because you can't be discovered as a witch. Plus, it's far more efficient to have them do cleaning than serve meals. Satisfied?"

After brief consideration, Isabella nodded.

Fair point. To dig out nearly fifteen years of ingrained servility, she'd need practice acting brazenly—even when the Grand Duke himself was pouring wine.

"Back to witches."

Genos wet his lips with blood-red wine.

"Witches are usually born as infants, but not always. Six hundred years ago, an adult awakened as a witch."

"Really? What happened?"

"On the Day of the Witch, she killed a knight who'd shoved her down—stabbed a hole through his gut. Her awakening. Another knight witnessed it. She was dragged away, experimented on for years, then died."

"But then, why doesn't the empire monitor every woman who might awaken as a witch on that day?"

"When an infant is born a witch, you can call her something entirely different. Not human—a witch. An evil being. But if an imperial woman awakens as a witch? That's a completely different narrative."

"The people would panic. Persecution of women could ensue."

"Exactly. Unpredictable consequences. So the palace never revealed that fact. Citizens only know witches are born as infants."

"But what if an awakened witch loses control and kills civilians? Are they gambling every hundred years just to preserve reputation?"

"The witch from six hundred years ago said something."

"Said what?"

"When ordered to confess everything, she convulsed briefly, then muttered like someone possessed. While her whole body glowed red."

Genos searched his memory, recalling the book's contents.

"'I am the Demon God's mistake. No awakened witch like me will appear again. Only infants can descend to the empire as witches, for your vessels cannot contain one as powerful as I.'"

"Awakened witch..."

Isabella felt strange hearing what could have been her second name.

"After that, no torture could make her speak again."

Genos murmured, refilling his glass.

"Because of that prophecy, they've only monitored infants ever since. Your inexplicable birth shattered that prophecy, though."

Isabella stared down at her large steak and set down her utensils.

Her head felt dizzy.

"Can I really hide that I'm a witch?"

"You were prepared to become a street beggar, weren't you?"

"...That doesn't mean I'm fine with dying."

"Do you know how long that witch six hundred years ago endured experiments?"

"..."

"Seven years. Every experiment meticulously recorded. Thanks to that, I know exactly what abilities and behaviors an awakened witch possesses."

"..."

"Only the Emperor and imperial family can access those records. No one would dare suspect you're a witch. They don't even know adults can become witches. Well, I'll find an opportunity to burn those records soon anyway."

"But what if His Majesty or another imperial notices—"

"The Crown Prince has to study the witch records to become Emperor someday. Seven years of extensive documentation. He hasn't touched them yet. The Second Prince is too terrified of creating misunderstandings to go near the books. Same with the Third Princess, who left for study abroad long ago. The Empress is a listless woman with no interest in anything."

"But His Majesty knows awakened witches exist, so what if he realizes—"

"What could the Emperor possibly figure out?"

Genos frowned as if the suggestion was absurd.

"Phyke only maintains his throne because of his strategist. Just be careful of the strategist."

"Strategist?"

"The Emperor has a hidden strategist. The empire's prosperity, our victories at the borders—all because of this strategist. Even keeping the strategist's existence secret to elevate the Emperor's reputation was the strategist's idea."

"Have you seen this person?"

"Wears a thick black cloak that hides their face. I heard an elderly voice. Probably worried about being kidnapped for their abilities."

"I see..."

"Finish your meal and get to bed early."

Genos wiped his mouth with his napkin and left the table first.

Once again, he departed before Isabella could stand and curtsy.

Isabella had also lost her appetite and started to rise when suddenly her shoulders slumped under unexpected weight.

"Ah!"

Isabella spun around, startled by the sudden pressure. Genos stood there.

"I knew it. Pick up your fork."

"Your Grace—"

"Eat. I told you to fill out those hollow cheeks."

"..."

"Now."

Genos remained standing, took the fork, and speared a piece of steak. He brought it to Isabella's lips.

Isabella opened her mouth reflexively. Genos slipped the steak inside.

Isabella sat frozen with the fork dangling from her mouth.

"Finish everything before you get up. I'll send a maid to monitor you."

Only after this firm warning did Genos finally leave the dining room completely.---

"My lady. My lady."

In the deep hours when the moon shone bright, a maid gently shook Isabella awake.

Isabella opened her eyes halfway, still mostly asleep. The maid spoke respectfully.

"You must wake. His Grace requests your presence."

"...His Grace? Why?"

Isabella's voice was hoarse as she rubbed her eyes and sat up.

The maid lit a candle and placed slippers by the bed.

"You need to go to the bath. You must wash and prepare to go outside."

"Outside? At this hour?"

Isabella glanced toward the window where the moon hung and asked in bewilderment.

"I don't know much either. But you must hurry, my lady."

Isabella's body ached as she slipped on the slippers and followed the maid from the bedroom.

After bathing, she was dressed in a blue silk gown. Maids swarmed to apply her makeup and style her hair.

"This seems too elaborate for nighttime."

Isabella examined her reflection uncertainly.

"We don't know either. We were simply ordered to make you as beautiful and glamorous as possible."

The maids teased her hair into volume, braided it loosely, then rolled and pinned the braids.

Her makeup emphasized her eyebrows and lips with bold color, making her features more striking.

"Finished, my lady. We'll escort you now."

The maid set down her brush and gestured politely toward Isabella.

Isabella followed in a daze. When the maid opened the door, Isabella's eyes met Genos's—he'd been waiting outside the powder room.

"Ready, I see."

Genos assessed Isabella's face with clinical detachment.

Isabella was undeniably beautiful, but Genos wasn't a man moved by feminine beauty.

"Let's go."

Genos turned and walked ahead.

Isabella followed, mystified by this midnight excursion but compliant.

Outside the mansion, a different carriage waited in the courtyard—shabby and worn, unlike yesterday's.

The coachman opened the door. Genos extended his hand toward Isabella.

When she hesitated to take it, Genos tilted his head.

"The future Grand Duchess refuses to hold her husband's hand?"

"...No, Your Grace."

Isabella took his hand carefully and climbed into the carriage.

Genos followed, sitting across from her. The coachman closed the door and mounted the driver's seat.

The carriage departed smoothly. Genos lowered the curtains over the windows.

"A witch's abilities fall into three categories."

Genos's voice was heavy. It too carried the rasp of the early hour.

"Strength, magic, seduction. Tonight we'll discover which you excel at most. Every witch has one dominant ability."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere dangerous."

Dangerous.

Isabella felt a flicker of fear.

But strangely, it didn't last. Her heart raced, flooded with anticipation instead.

Isabella had lived her entire life in tedious danger. Occasional starvation, occasional beatings—a routine existence. The abuse never exceeded those boundaries.

It was enraging and painful, but also unbearably boring. Suffering from predictable torments became tedious.

So at Genos's words about heading somewhere dangerous, Isabella's heart thrashed like a fish meeting water.

After the carriage traveled for some time, rowdy voices of ruffians began filtering through.

Genos pulled the curtain back slightly.

They'd arrived at Tanje Street—the empire's back alley.

Tanje came alive at night more than day, packed with dishonorably discharged knights, errand boys who handled dirty work, and those selling their bodies for food or coin.

No noble would set foot here in their lifetime.

"Stop the carriage."

Genos opened the glass partition to the driver. The carriage halted immediately.

"Put this on."

Genos handed her a cloak from the corner of the carriage.

After Isabella donned the large cloak, Genos pulled on his own. He retrieved a small pouch from his inner pocket and handed it to Isabella.

Isabella opened it to find several silver and gold coins.

"Use it when needed."

Isabella tucked the pouch into her cloak pocket. The coachman opened the door with perfect timing.

As they stepped out, every eye on the street fixed on them simultaneously.

"Return just before sunrise."

"Yes."

The coachman deliberately omitted honorifics as he bowed, then quickly mounted and departed the street.

The people of Tanje were ignorant thugs. Though they'd brought a shabby carriage deliberately, lingering would invite theft down to the wheels.

"Why didn't you bring guards?"

"I'm sufficient. Besides, if guards discovered you're a witch, that would be problematic."

Genos glanced around once, then fastened Isabella's cloak properly.

"Let's go. Before we attract more attention."

Genos led the way.

They arrived at a rundown tavern in the street's deepest corner.

When Genos pushed the door, it released that creeeak—the skin-crawling sound of un-oiled hinges.

"Steal the bracelet from the brown-haired man sitting in the center of the bar."

Genos turned back mid-entry, whispering to Isabella.

Isabella looked at him, then returned the pouch he'd given her.

"I want to distribute this money to the men here and have them steal the bracelet from that man for me."

Genos's lips curved slightly. Heh.

"Taking the long way around?"

"You gave me money hoping I wouldn't choose such a simple method."

Isabella moved toward the tavern entrance, but plucked a single silver coin from the pouch in Genos's hand as she passed.

"For drinks."

Isabella grinned and stepped forward.

Even Genos could see the anticipation radiating from her now.