BPOTWC Chapter 8

No—I'm not that bad, Clarisse wanted to say. Just… never had the chance, that's all.

"Go and fetch the one made with phoenix feathers instead."

A quilt stuffed with the plucked feathers of the phoenix—a rare monstrous beast, one precious enough that even His Majesty the King slept beneath its down in winter—was a treasure beyond price. But Rosalie saw no reason to mention as much, and only nodded.

"Yes, my lord."

Once Maximilian had gone, Rosalie took Clarisse's two hands and lowered herself to meet her eye to eye.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm called Rosalie."

"Hello. I'm Clarisse Lennon Grezekaia."

Clarisse, her hands still caught in Rosalie's, bent awkwardly at the waist to return the greeting.

Whatever it was about the sight that struck her as endearing, Rosalie's smile turned warm and motherly.

"Shall I call you Miss Lennon?"

"I like Clarisse. Just Clarisse."

"Clarisse."

Rosalie repeated the name slowly, and nodded.

"What a lovely name."

"No one's ever complimented that before."

"Is that so? I imagine everyone's been so busy praising your other qualities, they simply forgot to mention the name."

That wasn't true. She had never, in her whole life, been given a compliment of any kind.

But Clarisse found she rather wanted to be the sort of child who had heard a great many compliments, so she just grinned, helplessly pleased with herself.

Her first compliment left her feeling strangely, wonderfully good.

"Now then—shall we start with your bath? The room's warm enough now that you can take off your clothes. I'll help you."

Rosalie reached toward Clarisse's clothing.

"I can do it myself."

Clarisse stepped back a pace at once and caught hold of her own buttons.

"You can undo buttons that small all by yourself?"

"Yes."

Clarisse worked her small hands quickly and undid the button in an instant.

It was something she had always done alone, back in the Grezekaia palace, and she had never once thought it worth remarking on……

"Goodness—you really are very good at that. What clever little hands you have."

The compliment came at once.

Clarisse, suddenly a little giddy with delight, hurried to undo the rest of the buttons too.

"Oh, aren't you just the capable little thing."

After that, with Rosalie's help, she settled into the warm bath.

"It's warm……"

"It is, isn't it? I'm glad. Tell me if it ever gets too hot or too cold."

"It feels nice."

Clarisse scrubbed hard at her own face with her small palms, brisk little strokes. She even scrubbed carefully behind her ears, and Rosalie praised her for it once more.

"You certainly know how to wash your face properly, don't you."

"It was in a book! I read a book yesterday, and……"

The day before, Clarisse had read the book the Duchess had placed in her room. It explained that a person could fall ill if they didn't brush their teeth and wash themselves properly.

Clarisse wanted very much to live, healthy, to eighteen, and so she had read the book through carefully three times.

"Good heavens, you can read books all on your own?"

"I'm nine. And books are fun. This one had lovely pictures, too."

"Aren't you a diligent little thing. A child who loves books will grow up fine and good, mark my words."

Rosalie worked a generous lather between her hands and set to gently smoothing it through Clarisse's pink hair.

The soft bubbling sound near her ear tickled somehow, and Clarisse kept having to hold back a laugh.

"What a lovely shade of pink."

"If I spend a lot of time in the sun, the color fades, and it might turn blond."

That was something the maids in Grezekaia had told her.

That pink hair didn't suit royal blood—that if she let the sun fall on it long enough, it would fade to an elegant gold, or so they'd said.

Though however long Clarisse had waited beneath the sun, her hair had never changed color in the slightest.

"Oh, what a waste that would be."

"A waste?"

"Of course it is. I've never once seen such a pretty shade of pink. It would be such a waste to lose it."

"But……"

Clarisse nearly answered, They said it doesn't suit a child of royal blood, but she caught herself and shut her mouth.

She had realized, thinking it over, that she was no longer a child of royal blood at all.

Seeing her hesitate, Rosalie smiled and spoke for her.

"A head of hair this pretty ought to be loved, every single day."

"Rosalie is……"

Clarisse, embarrassed for some reason, fiddled with her own fingertips, wrinkled and pruney from the water.

"…… a compliment champion."

"Oh my, what a kind thing to say. Clarisse has such a sweet way of talking."

She truly seemed pleased, humming a little tune to herself as she went on helping with the bath.

Clarisse kept thinking, I should probably keep my mouth shut, it's embarrassing, and yet……

She found herself, quietly, hoping for another compliment all the same.

Maximilian hesitated for a moment outside his wife's door.

The affair with Betsy, on top of an already uncomfortable relationship, had left things more awkward still.

'That the maid she'd brought from the House of Count Darlington could be that kind of creature…….'

Maximilian had some sense of his wife's character, and it worried him that the maid might have taken liberties with her, or shown her disrespect, all this time.

'Could she have been mistreating her?'

Had his wife only told him sooner, he might have helped, in whatever way he could.

'Though—I suppose ours isn't the sort of relationship where such things get discussed.'

Three years married, and they remained, for all that, little better than strangers to one another.

No—worse than strangers, if anything.

Strangers, at least, carried the possibility of growing closer through some proper course of events.

But their marriage held nothing ahead but growing more awkward still, before each of them, at some appropriate hour, went their separate ways.

"Your…… Grace?"

He was still hesitating there when a clear voice reached him from behind.

"……!"

Maximilian startled and turned. He had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't even heard her approaching down the corridor.

"Rosalie told me what happened. Thank you for resolving the matter with the child."

"I'm glad you already know of it."

"And."

She set one hand over her heart and bowed low, with great elegance.

"I offer you my sincerest apology, Your Grace."

"……."

"It was my own shortcoming, that I failed to carry out the duty you entrusted to me properly. The fault is mine."

That much was true.

Responsibility for those below one's station belonged, in the end, to the master they served.

Betsy had lied to the household's other servants when they'd voiced their worry and urged her not to mistreat the child, claiming, The Duchess herself has ordered that the prisoner be treated this way. She had gone so far as to disregard the Duchess's own order to see the girl.

And when they searched her bag after her arrest, they had found a written report of the Duchess's every movement, day by day.

There had been nothing of consequence in it, but leaking a household's private affairs to the outside was a thing that could never be permitted.

And with Maximilian carrying royal blood, this touched on the kingdom's own security laws besides.

And that was no small matter, at that. Given all of it, Maximilian found it hard to believe the fault was his wife's alone.

"I…… ought to have noticed it myself."

"Betsy is my own maid. Your Grace has hardly laid eyes on her. And you haven't even been at the manor, of late."

That, too, was true.

"And she only came into this household because of my marriage, in the first place."

That, too, was true.

His wife's tongue was so deft that he didn't even dare talk back.

In the end, all he managed to say was……

"I will see the maid dealt with according to the law."

Much the same answer he always gave.

"Yes."

She answered at once, as though she had expected nothing else, and straightened where she stood before him.

"I'll accept whatever punishment is due to me as well. And…… there's one more thing, though it's shameless of me to ask."

Maximilian looked down quietly at his wife's hesitant face.

"Might you keep this matter from reaching the House of Count Darlington?"

Regrettably, that was impossible.

The Count's household needed to be told the truth too, so the matter could be rooted out at its source……

"Please. I'm begging you."

But when she lifted her face and their eyes met properly, Maximilian found himself, before he knew it, nodding without meaning to.

It had, of course, been a mistake, and he moved at once to correct it.

"Oh, thank you! Your Grace is truly…… a wonderful man!"

But he found himself staring, blankly, at the way the corners of her eyes curved so prettily toward him, and never managed to say anything at all.

Pathetic, really.

It was only after her hair had been thoroughly dried and she'd been dressed in a pretty red frock that Clarisse was finally left alone in her room.

She drew the pebbles from her pocket and pressed a small kiss to them.

"That was hard, wasn't it? Still, I'm so glad we made it all this way together."

If Mallangie hadn't been with her, she might have cried, alone in the dark room, the night before.

Of course, the other stones of the castle had been kind to her yesterday as well.

But she wasn't close to them yet, not the way she was with Mallangie. She couldn't put her whole heart in their hands, not yet.

"As long as you're here, it doesn't matter where I am. Besides—everyone here seems to like you a great deal."

Clarisse had heard clearly, that very morning, the Duke call Mallangie a "guest."

"The Duke truly is a splendid man."

In Grezekaia, no one had ever once acknowledged Mallangie as Clarisse's friend.

At best they'd dismissed him as nothing but stones she'd picked up somewhere, and at worst they'd flung him—her precious Mallangie, held close in her arms—far away from her, so that she'd once spent hours searching for him.

"So from now on, I want to try to be of use to the Duke. Will you help me?"

Clarisse brought her face close to Mallangie.

The four scattered pebbles had, by now, drawn themselves together into the shape of a small animal, with little arms and legs.

"Mrrph. (I'll think about it.)"

Mallangie, a golem no bigger than an adult's palm, answered flat and unbothered.

"Thank you."

Clarisse pulled the tiny golem into a tight embrace.

"Surely there's something we can help him with! Whatever it turns out to be."