COARV Chapter 38

Linon left, saying he was going to check on the repairs around the mansion once more. From what I heard, once a year they called in plasterers with very tight lips to fix the mansion's worst problems.

"My lady, you surely didn't think our Grand Duke would go around blinding plasterers, did you?"

Honestly, who's the one shaping his master's reputation like this…. In any case, it made sense—with that level of thoroughness, no wonder no rumors about Laurel Manor had ever reached the capital's social circles. To begin with, the central Grand Duchy never much cared for outside nobles anyway…

The mansion, half in ruins from the hardened demonic energy, hadn't entirely lost its elegant bones. Looking up at the enormous tapestries hanging in the first-floor hall, I found myself wondering how on earth anyone laundered those things—then checked the time and headed for the kitchen.

The dining hall had apparently already been closed for the day too, since only the servants' dining room off the kitchen gave off any faint warmth. I’d heard that in regions with brutal winters, entire households gather before the hearth fire, each doing their own thing. This place was much the same.

The seamstress and gardener were in the middle of sewing something when they saw me and said, "Wouldn't do to have lint flying around at breakfast," and vanished from the dining room in a blink.

Does she not really like me much?

Given how little time we'd crossed paths, it wasn't unreasonable for them to feel that way. Well—the dislike I got as Seria was familiar enough by now that it barely registered as dislike anymore. While I was busy thinking that over, Masha and Ben greeted me warmly.

"Lady Seria."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Good morning."

When I returned the greeting, Masha spoke with a worried expression.

"It's such a shame the sorcerers are running late, my lady. This place really isn't fit for someone as refined as you to stay in."

"It's fine. I actually like it here."

It wasn't an empty pleasantry—I genuinely liked this green mansion quite a bit. There's that saying, isn't there, that even a fallen conglomerate can coast on three generations of wealth? This mansion, beautiful enough to be talked about in society, was half in ruins from the hardened demonic energy, but I couldn't help admiring it every time I looked around anyway.

Above all, what I liked most was that it felt set apart. Like arriving at some quiet, unknown vacation house tucked away in the middle of a silent snowbound mountain.

Since being transported into Seria's body, every single day had been spent scrambling and bowing and scraping just to stay alive—and this kind of rest was something I hadn't had in a long, long time.

Watching the snow-covered scenery outside, walking through a mansion so quiet you could barely run into anyone—the hardened demonic energy could be more or less set aside, in moments like that. I really did like this vast, silent mansion's green house.

"It's an honor to hear you say so, Lady Seria."

Ben said, his face touched with a smile.

"Breakfast happens to be nearly ready."

I looked at the table with a puzzled expression. Because, atop a table of pale yellow marble worthy of Laurel Manor's reputation, sat a whole row of cakes lined up in a row.

The decoration was hard to believe for something baked in a relatively modest manor like this. A cake with melted chocolate piped delicately into a playful spiderweb pattern; a pound cake with soft fruit preserved in sugar arranged artfully on top; a rustic brown cake baked with molasses brushed over it...

Isn't this the work of the main castle's pastry chef?

Masha smiled.

"Up until two years ago, Linon had quite a sweet tooth. He used to polish off pudding and chocolate and sugared fruit without leaving a scrap. But since last year he's said he's worried about his health and hardly eats them anymore. Which is why we were puzzled that His Highness brought back a whole load of cakes again this year. Then again, apparently the young lady likes cake."

"Huh? Me?"

I tilted my head.

"I do like sweets, but I don't like cake this much."

This was quite obviously an amount several people could feast on merrily for days on end. Sure, Seria Stern had that officially-blessed villainess constitution where she never gained weight no matter how much she ate, and I did have a fondness for pretty, sweet things myself—but wasn't this simply too much? Just looking at it—eat this all by myself—turned my stomach.

"...Sorry?"

Masha looked at Ben in bewilderment. Ben looked equally bewildered.

"When I asked, as I was unloading the cakes from the cart, whether the young lady liked them—His Highness just said, 'Yeah.'"

"..........."

Crackle, crackle. The sound of the fireplace slowly burning through the logs. Silence hung in the dining room for a moment. A line of Lesche's surfaced in my mind, almost too on-the-nose—like a lie come true.

'The others said they liked this mansion and wanted to stay. A lie, probably.'

To think he'd been having all this dessert brought in every single year. And blaming it on Linon's tastes, no less. This year, it was blamed on mine outright. I had a suspicion about what was going on.

"Ben."

"Yes, Lady Seria?"

"By any chance—what did you tell His Highness about why you liked this mansion?"

"Sorry? Ah, um..."

Ben cleared his throat, looking somewhat embarrassed. He seemed to have understood at once why I was asking.

"Did you happen to see the rocky cliff on the left side of the garden? It's actually made of sugar crystal—I told him it suited my taste."

Ben, dredging up the memory, wore an expression steeped in something like regret.

"His Highness said this to me, right when he'd just taken over as Grand Duke."

'You really think it'll make Masha happy, dying alongside her in this ruin? I'll take responsibility for your damned pity myself, so why don't you just come live at the main castle already.'

'Young master.'

'Leave.'

'...We've only ever eaten this mansion's sugar for so long now that we can't stand the spice of anywhere else. Young master—I mean, Your Highness. Susan and Joanna feel the same way.'

'If it isn't a dessert made with the manor's rock sugar, we can't even bring ourselves to eat it, sir.'

Ben's recollection left me strangely unsettled. Lesche knew perfectly well that it was all a lie. And knowing that, he'd still gone and hauled back a mountain of desserts every single year anyway.

It wasn't even a difficult thing to grasp. If only he could've spoken his real feelings, just once, plainly—

"He must have meant—there's plenty of sweetness out there too, so please come out. Even though he knew the whole thing was a lie meant to put his mind at ease."

Every single time he loaded up an absurd, impossible amount of dessert onto the cart like this—what could Lesche possibly have been thinking? Thinking of Masha, bound to this ruin because of the very relatives trying to drive him out of the succession. And thinking of the people who'd chosen to stay by her side.

"Oh, dear..."

Masha let out a sound of sorrow, quite unlike her usual self. Ben's expression wasn't much different.

"I truly never realized that's what it meant."

"The young master's still young. So young, that one."

Where exactly is 'young' supposed to fit, I thought. That build. That height. That chill of his. My thoughts must have shown on my face. Masha wiped away her wistful expression and offered a soft smile instead.

"I suppose because I've watched His Highness's face since he was a small boy, he still looks young to me even now."

That contrary little thought lasted only a moment. Watching Ben and Masha, at a loss for what to do, I kept thinking, over and over, of Lesche's sunken red eyes.

My heart ached for some reason.

"I can't remember the last time I've braided a lady's hair."

After the meal, Masha braided my hair for me. I hadn't actually asked anyone to pack accessories, but the diligent maids at the main castle had tucked jeweled, ribboned hairpins into my luggage anyway. Masha threaded a daisy-shaped jeweled pin through a few of the strands as she braided.

"When are the sorcerers leaving the mansion?"

The sorcerers from the Kingdom of Nesla had arrived a little while ago.

"They'll probably stay about a day. Of course, they'll be up on the fourth floor, so you won't run into them at all, my lady."

"I won't go up to the fourth floor either."

The Grand Temple treats foreign sorcerers as heretics. Which meant the sorcerers themselves would likely tremble far more at the mere sight of me than the other way around, but avoiding each other altogether would probably be the more comfortable choice for everyone involved. What would the original Seria Stern have done, I wondered? Probably would've stamped and raged, screeching that she'd gouge out the eyes of any heretic who dared even glance her way.

Very possible, that.

I laughed weakly to myself, watching Masha in the mirror as she opened a bottle of perfumed oil.

"Oh my. This oil smells lovely. Is it lily? Around here, mugwort's the easiest thing to come by, so we make oil out of mugwort—smelling a flower-scented one is a nice change."

Oil the main castle's maids had packed. Masha dabbed some onto her palm and applied it lightly to the ends of my hair. A sweet fragrance lingered around my nose.

"Here, this is a shawl Susan and Joanna made. Wear it and go take a look around."

And there, unexpectedly, was a gift.

I thought they didn't much care for me. So this is what they were sewing back in the dining room earlier.

The hooded shawl Susan and Joanna had made was surprisingly well-crafted for something put together in such a rush. I thanked them and cinched the shawl's ribbon tight.

Wearing the thick shawl, the place I ended up walking to was, after all, just the mansion's garden. The first time I'd come here, I'd been startled to find all the plants dead—but now even that was hidden beneath a soft blanket of snow. Right now it looked exactly like an ordinary countryside estate's garden, giving off that same pastoral, unhurried air.

I gazed out at the pristine, wide, snow-covered garden. Lesche had said he never came out here except when the sorcerers were due. Even then, he never stayed long, and left almost as soon as he arrived. Of course, he was the Grand Duke ruling a vast territory and the man who had to guard the glacier—the monster's tomb—so he'd probably just been busy.

It might just be speculation on my part, but I thought I understood why Lesche left so quickly. This wasn't a place a person should look at for very long. Even knowing full well that hardened demonic energy was swarming right behind him, the stillness settled over this sprawling estate had a way of putting the mind at ease anyway. And what of the people keeping watch over the green mansion, then?

Every year, when the season ripened, I could imagine wanting to come and stay a while...

Seems like I've gone and gotten myself tangled up in Laurel Manor.

Damn it. Honestly, this wasn't exactly a good sign.

If I let myself grow fond of this manor, wouldn't that spell real trouble? This was, after all, the male lead's true hometown in the original. But the human heart really is a sly thing, because another thought had already begun quietly creeping in alongside the first. This place doesn't even appear in the original novel to begin with. A place Lina never comes to. A place that vanishes before she ever gets the chance.

So maybe it's fine—just this one place—if I let myself get tangled up in it a little. Unlike Kallis, this manor would never go running off to Lina on its own. It would never be a place I'd have to share with her... I was aware, even as I thought it, that I was leaning toward whatever made my own heart most comfortable, but it was true all the same.

Maybe I could actually purify it? I'm a Stern, after all, no matter what.

Carrying a small measure of hope with me, I went back inside the mansion.