Chapter 4
Every time a faint groan slipped out, Cordelia fidgeted nervously, not knowing what to do.
What should I do at times like this? She tried to remember what her mother used to do whenever she was sick.
First, she pulled out a handkerchief and wiped Caspian’s sweat. His face was burning hot. She dipped a cloth in water, wiped his face and neck over and over.
Then she pressed her palm against his forehead, then her own, comparing the heat. The fever was still high.
Cordelia lifted the blanket and rolled up his sleeves and trouser hems. Again, she dipped the cloth in water and carefully wiped his arms and legs.
Who knew how long it went on. Only after her constant effort did Caspian finally open his eyes.
Cordelia, who had been drying his wet arm with a towel, quickly leaned over him.
“You…”
His voice was hoarse, the words breaking off.
He had told Catherine to send the child away at dawn, yet once again she hadn’t listened.
Caspian tried to sit up, struggling, and Cordelia helped steady him. He glanced around and realized right away that it was this little girl who had been looking after him.
She was sweating so much her bangs were damp, her blue eyes filled with worry. For some reason, Caspian couldn’t bring himself to drive her out immediately.
Cordelia handed him a cup of water.
“It was just a nightmare. I didn’t sleep well, that’s all… nothing serious.”
Caspian brushed it off like it was nothing. Cordelia didn’t really understand his words, but seeing his color improve eased her worry.
After a moment’s thought, she suddenly bolted out of the room. Caspian sighed at the closed door.
Everything she did was sudden and odd. Was it because she couldn’t speak? Or was she just born with such unpredictable behavior?
Setting the cup on the side table, Caspian lay back down.
It was the same dream again.
Always the same person, same words, same ending, looping endlessly.
And in that dream, Caspian was always at the very bottom.
He could never beg, never cling—just open and close his mouth uselessly, no sound coming out…
Bang!
A loud crash dragged him out of the depths.
Eyes snapping open, Caspian sat up and looked toward the door. Something had bumped into it. Slowly, he staggered over.
“Ha.”
Standing there was Cordelia, holding a tray of warm soup and bread. She must have rushed out earlier to fetch breakfast.
Her light-brown bangs were all messy, and Caspian let out a short laugh.
Running his damp hair back with one hand, he muttered,
“I don’t want it. Take it away and eat it yourself…”
But before he could even finish, Cordelia shoved the tray into his arms. Caspian blinked, staring between the tray he’d caught and the little girl in front of him.
Cordelia pointed at the food, then pressed a finger to her lips and mimed chewing. Finally, she raised her fists on both sides of her face like a little cheer.
“…What the hell.” Caspian muttered low, stepping back into the room.
Judging by her actions, if he refused, she’d probably hover until he ate. And he didn’t have the strength to argue.
So Caspian sat at the table, planning to eat quickly and then chase her out. Cordelia trailed behind him and stopped a small distance away, standing quietly.
The big room fell silent. Only the faint clink of spoon against bowl broke the stillness.
Catherine and the maids were always quiet while he ate too, but this silence felt different. Maybe because the girl couldn’t speak?
No, that wasn’t it.
Caspian tore off a piece of bread and held it out to her. Cordelia blinked at it, then shook her head.
“Take it.”
He waved the bread lightly. After hesitating, Cordelia accepted it with both hands, almost formally. She tucked it carefully into her apron pocket.
Watching her, Caspian realized something.
He was conscious of her—of this voiceless, noiseless intruder in his space.
“Go call Cassie for me.”
As Cordelia started clearing the dishes, Caspian spoke softly.
She froze. His green eyes, calm but detached, met hers as he leaned his chin on his hand.
Cordelia nodded. She remembered that Caspian often called Catherine “Cassie.”
Only then did Caspian look away and rise from his chair.
Before leaving, Cordelia glanced back. Standing by the bookshelf, he no longer looked like the same boy who’d been feverish earlier.
The door shut much more quietly than when she’d rushed out.
***
Knock, knock.
Catherine’s familiar knock came, and she stepped in.
Caspian was flipping through an old book without interest. Without looking up, he asked,
“You’re here?”
“Yes, young master. Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah.”
So the girl had told her he’d been sick in his sleep.
Closing the book, Caspian glanced at Catherine. He briefly wondered how a mute, foreign child had managed to explain anything.
Then he remembered the look in the girl’s eyes when he’d first woken—those deep blue eyes filled with worry, though they’d only just met.
Without thinking, Caspian compared them to Catherine’s.
He shook his head slightly, putting the thought aside, and slid off the bed.
“Get some bathwater ready. I want to wash up—I’ve been sweating since morning.”
“Yes, then I’ll have the maids—”
“No. Don’t let anyone else in.”
He cut her off. Catherine studied his face quickly. He looked tired, but otherwise normal.
“…Understood.” She hesitated, then turned to leave.
“And get rid of that child.”
“…”
“I told you yesterday, didn’t I?”
Sliding the book back into the shelf, Caspian’s face and tone were completely casual.
Catherine thought of Cordelia, who had been so diligent in her work.
“Do you dislike her, young master?”
“That’s not the point.”
“No, I think that’s the most important point.”
Caspian scanned the shelf with bored eyes. He’d read these books so many times he could practically recite them. Catherine made a mental note to request new ones from the duke soon.
“If there’s something about her you dislike, tell me, and I’ll make sure she fixes it.”
“Then can you make her talk?”
“…”
“Or do I just look stubborn for no reason?”
His words cut sharp. Finally, Catherine realized he was irritated.
Her master rarely changed expression, but his moods were extreme, swinging sharply.
Even Catherine—the one who had served him the longest, longer than anyone else at the estate or the villa—couldn’t always read him. No wonder the villa staff had such a hard time.
“…So the problem is that she can’t speak?”
“I told you from the start. I don’t need a personal maid.”
“Young master, I just—”
“Is this really something we need to argue about?”
His brows furrowed. A clear sign of his displeasure.
But Catherine couldn’t back down. She hadn’t chosen Cordelia by chance.
“You’re fourteen now. You’ll need someone by your side to look after you. And who knows when the duke might call for you.”
“…”
“And… I think that girl could be a good friend to you.”
She remembered the first time she’d spotted Cordelia in the market. It felt like the heavy clouds in her chest had suddenly lifted.
That child was like the sun—someone who could shine into the bleak heart of a boy wasting away in the same room, day after day.
The fact that Caspian was showing his emotions now only proved her right. Catherine was sure of it.
Caspian laughed coldly.
“You really think that’s possible?”
“Young master…”
“If you won’t send her away, I will. You know that, right?”
Catherine closed her mouth. Same old story.
This wasn’t the first time Caspian had had a personal attendant. But none had lasted even a week—they all quit for the same reason.
“Just go.”
Biting back her words, Catherine bowed and left.
Now, all she could do was pray. Pray that Cordelia wouldn’t be driven out of the villa.
