DYPIOOP Chapter 9

The Prospective Duchess with a Heart as Vast as the Ocean

The story of Amy spread through Haelton Grand Estate in an instant—half a day, and every servant in the place knew.

"Did you hear? The future mistress is such a kind person."

"She even overlooked a maid mishandling something precious to her. That says everything."

"And apparently it was a gift from the Duke himself. Something expensive, and she just let it go. Educated people really are something else."

The cake in the rumor had somewhere along the way transformed into a valuable object. This was only further exaggerated by the fact that Elonia had barely shown herself outside since moving in. Aside from a handful of maids, most of the staff had only glimpsed her from a distance—or not at all.

"She's delicate, apparently. The Duke is constantly fretting."

"I saw them having tea from far away the other day. The master looked happier for it."

"That's exactly why a man who's never brought a woman home suddenly appeared with one without any warning."

The servants drifted down the corridor trading gossip about which noble family's daughter had what sort of personality. In the middle of this, one of them stopped short.

"Actually—has the future mistress's personal maid been assigned yet?"

"Probably not. The wedding hasn't happened."

Haelton estate paid better wages than most places. In exchange, it demanded equivalent experience and a relentless pursuit of perfection. Those who'd worked their way up to decent positions were satisfied with the wages while privately hoping for something a little more stable. Carvel wasn't a cruel employer—but he wasn't one to put his servants at ease, either. He was merciless about mistakes. Of course, it was their fault for making them, so they couldn't very well argue—but people were people, and no one ever knew when an error might slip through.

The servants of Haelton had quietly decided it was thanks to Elonia that the incident had been let go at all. And the position of that woman's personal maid was sitting empty. Something lit up behind their eyes.

After the noon incident and a full history lesson besides, Elonia endured her evening dance instruction. It was Nyx's favorite scheduled event.

[Is this a human body or a log?]

'At least a log doesn't have eyes...'

Elonia held her breath, trying to look anywhere but Miss Melton's alarmingly enthusiastic face. The woman's striking features kept drawing closer, and Elonia's feet kept instinctively retreating, until Miss Melton wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled with decisive force.

"Oh, you mustn't make that adorable expression and try to flee. The entire point of dancing is this—a man and a woman, pressed together precisely so."

"Mi—Miss Melton. I think my stamina is declining very rapidly!"

Between never having learned before and the sheer strangeness of it, she also had to feign appropriate fragility to support her story about poor health. Hearing Elonia's cry for survival, Miss Melton clicked her tongue with evident regret and let her go.

"Truly, if only your health were fine, I'd have taught you 101 techniques for conquering women at social events!"

"Women?"

"The most beautiful woman bewitches even her own sex. Rather like myself, don't you think?"

Miss Melton winked and pointed at herself. She was, undeniably, beautiful when she danced—beautiful enough that Elonia very slightly began to understand why emperors throughout history had neglected affairs of state for their concubines.

"Later I'll also teach you the secret technique for bringing the Duke to his knees and into bed in a single stroke—hohoho."

"Wh—what are you doing?!"

"You know exactly what I mean. Or perhaps he's already so smitten it's unnecessary?"

The problem was simply that she talked too much. Watching Miss Melton aim that knowing smile at her, Elonia could feel her health deteriorating in real time. The mere thought of holding Carvel's hand and dancing sent goosebumps crawling across her entire body. Fortunately—having apparently been forewarned about the health situation—Miss Melton provided ample rest breaks throughout.

"Oh dear, you've gone quite pale. Shall we rest for a moment?"

"That would be good. I just had a brief dizzy spell."

Elonia channeled the shock into performance and settled herself into a chair. Feeling inexplicably warm, she asked a maid to pin her hair up. No sooner had she done so than a maid appeared bearing refreshments—as if she'd been waiting precisely for this moment. Wearing an expression of tremendous self-satisfaction, she completed the preparations with brisk, precise efficiency and then turned to Elonia.

"Mistress, I'm Katie."

"...Pardon?"

"My name is Katie. Please remember it!"

She emphasized her name a second time, delivered a bow of geometrically perfect precision, and returned to her post.

'What was that. Is she asking me to use her name?'

Elonia spent the entire afternoon suffering through an unexpected memorization exercise as the maids rotated on an hourly basis, each departing with her name emphatically ringing in the air. Miss Melton raised her teacup with languid grace.

"On my way here today, your reputation had quite gotten around, Elonia. Something about a prospective duchess with a heart as vast as the ocean?"

"People just say things."

Every instructor who walked through the door used that exact phrase on entry. Heart as vast as the ocean—she wasn't even a woodland spring. Elonia pushed back halfheartedly, the way she had all day. But as the pushbacks accumulated, she gave up on even that. Given how thoroughly the noon incident had been distorted, correcting it had become more effort than it was worth. She'd decided to simply accept it. Nyx chortled.

[Isn't the ocean me?]

'You're stagnant water.'

[How generous. I even dance with you.]

He spun in place—more whirlpool than waltz—and stated this with complete shamelessness. Elonia leaned toward him and asked quietly, through lips that barely moved:

"Why did she eat the cake in the first place?"

[Think about it. A forest spirit eats grass day in and day out—of course she'd crave a special treat occasionally.]

There was something oddly persuasive about that. She briefly wanted to ask whether Nyx only drank water, but she caught Miss Melton watching and simply nodded instead. Miss Melton brightened.

"Oh my, you should have said something sooner if you wanted to learn! I happen to have quite the mastery of 'how to make a former lover lose all interest in you in a single dance.'"

The timing was catastrophic. She had nodded at precisely the wrong moment—now apparently volunteering to learn a dance specifically designed to repel ex-lovers. Miss Melton rose from her seat with the expression of a general about to execute a long-planned campaign and pulled Elonia to her feet by the shoulders.

"It's very simple. With a 92% probability, the first thing he'll do is ask how you've been—and when he does, you take your knee and, like this, between his—"

Miss Melton's skirts billowed in a deeply alarming manner. Elonia resigned herself to another late finish.

"Now, follow me—the angle is precisely so."

Nyx, watching this unfold, clutched his belly laughing until he was crying. Breathless with it, he eventually dissolved—whoosh—and vanished.

'Hmm... that would come in very handy for dealing with Nyx.'

She had no ex-lover to repel, admittedly, but it still seemed useful. The enthusiastic dance lesson only ended when night had fallen. Watching Miss Melton disappear with a cheerful "See you tomorrow!", Elonia exhaled for the first time in hours. She lifted her gaze to find Haelton estate's garden draped in darkness, fireflies drifting through the faint chorus of crickets. It felt like a well-earned reward at the end of a long, unreasonable day.

'I'll walk a little.'

She'd collapse onto her bed the moment she went inside anyway. A brief turn through the garden seemed the better option. With any luck, she might spot the Nymph, who hadn't caused so much as a single piece of mischief since the cake incident—she'd been entirely absent all day, which, given her usual habit of hovering and rearranging things, was its own statement. Elonia wandered among the carefully tended flowers, murmuring under her breath:

"Should have brought cake."

Word had apparently spread far and wide that she liked chocolate cake. Whenever tea was served, chocolate cake appeared without fail alongside it. Thanks to this, Elonia had taken to quietly concealing extra slices in a corner of her room—if she ate any more, she suspected her body would stage a formal protest.

'I've had more than enough. I couldn't have dreamed of it before.'

A bitter memory surfaced—passing a bakery once, the smell of bread drifting out to meet her. Her stomach lurched at the recollection, something rising at the back of her throat with grim intent. It got as far as her collar before she managed to contain it. The cool night air helped. The open garden helped. Elonia drew a long breath, feeling the weeks of bridal lessons and memorization—all those hours boxed inside her room—finally beginning to loosen.

A small flicker of green caught her eye. At a glance it might be mistaken for a firefly, but Elonia knew the difference.

"Nymph!"

The startled Nymph froze and then couldn't keep still—shifting her weight from foot to foot, clearly uncertain whether to bolt. Elonia crossed to her in a few quick steps.

"I'm not here to scold you. If you wanted cake, you should have said something."

Tears gathered in the gentle eyes of the five-year-old. A small hand rose to wipe them away. Something in Elonia's chest went uncomfortable. Partly because of what Nyx had said.

'Right. To want it that badly...'

Growing up without enough to eat—Elonia understood that well enough. She reached out and smoothed her palm over the small head.

"It's alright. If you want more cake later, just tell me. I think I can get plenty."

The reddened eyes blinked at her words. The Nymph stared for a long moment, then began to drift slowly around her. Then she pointed toward something.

"You want to go that way?"

The Nymph nodded. It was the far end of the garden, nearly at the estate wall.

'Does she mean to go back inside?'

Before that thought could finish, the Nymph reached out and tapped Elonia's forehead with careful deliberateness. At once—exactly as Nyx had done in front of the Devney baron and baroness—a cool sensation swept through her entire body. Then something fragmented and unknowable flickered rapidly through her mind.

"Carvel, Crown Prince Roel is here to see you."

"Welcome, Your Highness."

"Good to meet you. I've heard a great deal from your mother—but you're even more adorable than I expected."

Young Carvel, the previous Duke and Duchess, and Crown Prince Roel. The prince who had died in childhood looked, contrary to expectation, like an ordinary, good-natured person—roughly Carvel's age, but carrying a slightly more adult air.

The previous Duke of Haelton had Carvel's black hair. The previous Duchess had platinum-blonde hair of blinding brilliance. The memory played out in a daytime garden, sunlight making the contrast between them all the sharper.

Young Carvel was visible. He was about to open his mouth—

"You seem to have gotten fairly comfortable with the schedule."

The memory vanished as abruptly as it had come. She turned toward the sound and found Carvel on the terrace above, looking down at her.