Episode 18
How sloppy can they get?
I propped my chin on my hand, staring at the steaming tea.
I didn’t drink it—just watched it—so Floreta and Ponente, who sat beside me, spoke up.
“What’s wrong, Lia?”
“Yeah. Why aren’t you drinking? It’s your favorite—hydrangea tea.”
Ah, so the body’s original owner knows how to drink tea.
Sure. Hydrangea tea is nice.
I also enjoyed hydrangea tea when I was alive.
Of course, not enough to drink it even if it had poison in it.
The fragrant scent drifted upward. I tilted my head.
Not far away, a servant stood with his head bowed, hands trembling.
Seriously, if you stand there like ‘I totally did something,’ how am I supposed to drink this?
And the scent was… off.
Basic rule of poisoning: use something colorless, tasteless, and odorless. Do they not know that?
Or, if they insist on using a detectable poison, they could at least hide it in strong flavors. This… this was practically a request that I die willingly.
I let out a deep sigh.
Logrié, who shamelessly invited himself to a siblings-only tea gathering, reached toward my teacup.
I smacked the back of his hand and picked up the cup instead.
Then I flipped it over and dumped the tea onto the floor.
Gasps erupted around me. Ignoring them, I held the teacup out to the trembling servant.
“Bring another.”
The servant jumped and swallowed hard.
He cautiously took the cup and hurried away.
All the kids stared at the spilled tea on the floor. As everyone’s attention gathered there, a maid approached to clean it up.
“Leave it. He spilled it—he can clean it later. Don’t touch it.”
“Yes, Princess.”
“Everyone leave.”
The servants exchanged glances. Only when Kinesia smiled gently and nodded did they leave the room.
Before long, the servant returned with a fresh cup of tea.
I looked down at the clear tea.
The moment I lifted the cup, the servant tried to back away—but I stopped him with a question.
“You. What’s your name?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself. I’m not in a good mood.”
“…Arman.”
The servant trembled, and Ponente cut in, annoyed.
“Hey, why are you picking a fight all of a sudden?”
“Yeah, Lia. You never act like this. Don’t pick on him.”
Floreta tried to stop me too. Kinesia and Logrié stayed quiet.
Ignoring them, I stared only at the servant.
After a long silence under my gaze, he stiffened, sensing something was wrong.
“Princess… did I… do something wrong…?”
I lifted the cup and sniffed it. Beneath the floral sweetness was a faint, sharp smell.
“I don’t like this tea. So you choose. Will you bring another?”
“Seriously, cut it out,” Ponente snapped.
I paid him no mind and kept staring at Arman.
He lowered his head and stepped back.
So you’re determined to make me drink it.
I set the cup down and sighed.
“Logrié.”
“Hm?”
“Take Floreta and Ponente outside.”
Ponente instantly protested.
“Hey! Who put you in charge?!”
Floreta, sensing trouble, darted toward the door—clearly on her way to snitch to our parents.
Quick-thinking Logrié grabbed her by the collar.
“H–hey! Let go of me, Logrié!”
“Yeah, let her go! Whose side are you on—you’re my friend!”
Logrié ignored both of them, hauled them to the door, used Floreta’s body to push it open, and looked back at me with a playful grin.
“Give me a kiss later.”
As if.
I ignored him and turned back to Arman. Kinesia approached, but I didn’t look at her.
“Arman.”
“Y-yes, Princess.”
“What were you promised in return?”
“…Pardon?”
He couldn’t even meet my eyes.
“Speak. You didn’t poison my tea for free.”
Silence.
He clasped his hands tightly to hide the trembling, then looked up.
He tried to pretend nothing was wrong—face rigid, sweat beading on his forehead. He glanced toward Kinesia for help, but she only stared at me in shock.
He finally lowered his gaze again.
“I don’t know what you mean. I… I never—”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Then drink it.”
“…What?”
“I said don’t make me repeat myself.”
I held the cup toward him. His fingers fidgeted, digging at the skin beside his nails.
“Drink.”
“I—I…”
Blood dripped down his hand.
“What’s there to hesitate about? It’s just sweet hydrangea tea.”
“That’s…”
“Or should I drink it? Let me be generous and warn you—if I drink it, you die. Whoever is behind you won’t protect you.”
“…”
“If you were valuable, they wouldn’t have sent you to do something this risky.”
His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor.
I stood and slowly approached.
He trembled violently, staring up at me like a frightened animal. I placed the cup in front of him.
“Drink.”
His hand bumped the cup. Instead of lifting it, he dropped to his knees and begged.
“I committed a grave sin! Please—Princess—please spare me just once!”
“If it’s a sin worthy of death, then die.”
“N-no, it’s not— I mean— that is—”
“It isn’t? You weren’t trying to kill me?”
I widened my eyes. He flattened himself against the floor.
“I—I was! It is a death-worthy sin!”
“Good. Don’t decide your own punishment.”
I kicked the cup aside and returned to my seat, lounging back on the armrest.
The servant remained on the floor.
“So? What did you get in return?”
“M-my father…”
His voice cracked. He bowed deeply.
“My father was… taken.”
“You received your father?”
He nodded.
“When our family fell on hard times… Count Getelin…”
He froze as soon as he spoke the name, horrified. He looked up at me with panicked eyes.
So it was that flashy flour-roll bastard.
Of course, he’s just one of many—half the men in that council room were probably involved.
The engagement rumors must’ve scared them. Duke Amir threatened their meal tickets, so they retaliated.
How transparent.
I clicked my tongue. The servant continued.
“There was a bad year… crops failed… and he came to us. We only wanted to borrow grain, but he offered money and—”
“That’s enough.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t need the rest.”
I already knew the story: small loan, ridiculous interest. Debt snowballs. He used that as leverage to sell Arman’s father into slavery, or worse.
A landowner big enough to form contracts? Of course Getelin wanted it.
Listening would be a waste of time.
Better to spend the time deciding how to use him.
Lost in thought, I didn’t notice the servant crawling toward me until he grabbed my foot.
“Please save me! I’ll do anything. If not me—then please, at least save my father!”
“Lia.”
Kinesia called my name softly, pitying him.
I didn’t kick him off. Instead, I grabbed his chin and forced him to look up.
He was shaking like a mouse beneath a cat’s paw.
“You’ll do anything?”
“Yes.”
“Then you belong to me.”
Count Getelin lounged in a plush red chair, twisting his mustache as he waited for someone.
As night deepened, his eyelids grew heavy.
He yawned loudly, nodding off—saliva threatening to drip—when the butler knocked.
“Guh! Ahem.”
Getelin wiped his mouth and composed himself.
“Come in!”
The butler entered and stepped aside.
Someone stood behind him—face hidden beneath a deep hood.
The man entered. Getelin waved the butler out.
Once the butler’s footsteps faded, Getelin let his irritation show, twisting his mustache again.
“How are you still alive?”
The man said nothing. Instead, he pulled back the hood and lowered the mask.
The face revealed was Arman.
