Chapter 38
“What the hell is this guy babbling about? Does he think anything that comes out of his mouth counts as words?”
Isaac spoke with a look of genuine disdain.
But Aemon didn’t stop. He jabbed a finger at Cecil and shouted.
“You think I don’t know who you really are?! You can fool everyone else, but you can’t fool my eyes! You think I don’t know you’ve been pretending not to know things on purpose? Listen—this girl already knew everything I was teaching! Algebra, history, literature—before I even taught it, she already knew! She’s been tricking everyone with that innocent act!”
At his words, Cecil froze. She had to put in tremendous effort to keep from showing that he had hit a sore spot.
Aemon raved on.
“You’re not some ordinary eight-year-old. You’re… a genius! I don’t know why you’re hiding it, but that’s why you were able to come up with such a plan! A plan to ruin me!”
“I seriously can’t listen to this anymore. Hans, shut this man up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Mmmph! Mmmph!”
In the end, Aemon was dragged away, and the room fell silent.
During lessons, I was extremely careful, so there was almost nothing that could have revealed I’m a genius. The only slip was that one time I spoke about Wainwright.
Cecil quickly glanced around the room.
Then… is Aemon’s outburst just some mental side effect from the brainwashing?
Fortunately, it seemed that everyone dismissed his words as the last desperate raving of a man who had given up. No one appeared to take him seriously.
“Are you all right, my lady?”
“Please don’t pay attention to what that man said.”
“How dare he commit the crime himself and then blame our young lady for it.”
The maids surrounded her, offering comfort, and Cecil buried her face into Anne’s shoulder.
“I was scared… The teacher kept saying it was all my fault…”
“Our poor young lady. It’s all right now. The bad man is gone.”
Cecil lifted her head slightly to gauge the Duke of Bartholomew’s expression.
He… was looking at her.
Those characteristically cold eyes were fixed on her, as if seeing straight through to her core, reading her completely.
The same man who had once killed her without hesitation to take Nibelung.
The memory of that horrific death washed over her.
Has he figured it out?
Cecil felt her hands trembling as she clung to Anne.
He’s realized it from Aemon’s words—that I’m not an ordinary eight-year-old…
The moment she thought that, the duke began walking toward her.
With those long strides, he closed the distance without a hint of hesitation. Cecil felt the hairs all over her body stand on end.
I have to run.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
It was as if death itself was approaching.
Like a grim reaper holding a great scythe, coming to end her for good…
I’m going to be killed!
But then—he knelt down on one knee.
Cecil knew enough to understand that people generally didn’t assume that posture if they intended to kill or harm someone.
Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Are you all right, Cecil?”
He met her gaze.
“Were you very frightened?”
The duke’s golden eyes looked intensely sincere.
Cecil’s throat closed up.
Speaking the right words at the right time was practically her specialty, but right now, nothing came to mind.
“I… um… that is…”
When she failed to respond, his expression grew serious. He reached out and took her from Anne’s arms.
The duke lifted Cecil and stood.
“There’s no need to strain yourself to speak. It was more than enough to be startled by all this.”
His voice was low and—surprisingly—so gentle it almost sounded like a lullaby.
“It’s unfortunate that things turned out this way. I imagine you’d grown somewhat attached to your teacher.”
Still in his arms, Cecil rested her head against his chest.
From there, she could hear his heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump—not fast, but steady. For some reason, it was oddly comforting.
“I… I… I mean…”
Her mind told her she needed to say something—to reassure him, to claim she hadn’t been frightened, to show composure and politeness.
Lying was her specialty, after all.
But for some reason… in front of him, lying felt incredibly difficult.
Tears welled up in her eyes and began to roll down her cheeks.
I don’t want to cry over something like this. I don’t want to show such a childish, undignified side.
She had cried fake tears before in front of the duke, but never real ones. She had no desire to show him genuine tears.
Exposing your weakest side to your enemy—there’s nothing dumber in the world.
Yet the tears kept falling, drop after drop, soaking into the front of his coat.
The duke looked at her with pity and drew her closer. Stroking her back, he murmured:
“It’s all right to cry, Cecil. You don’t need to hold it in. Children can cry whenever they want.”
Idiot. Do you even realize you’re the reason I’m like this?
Even as she grumbled inwardly, Cecil couldn’t stop crying. In that unbelievably warm embrace, she wept to her heart’s content.
Once she’d finished crying, drowsiness overtook her. The body of an eight-year-old truly was frail. In the end, she fell asleep in his arms.
The duke continued to pat her back until she drifted off. Meanwhile, the servants cleaned up the mess in the room and scrubbed away Aemon’s urine.
After Cecil was deeply asleep, Isaac returned.
“We’ve restrained Aemon Brocher. We searched his quarters, but it seems he’s already destroyed any evidence of his espionage. What should we do?”
The duke glanced at Isaac. His eyes were so different from when he’d looked at Cecil, it was hard to believe he was the same man.
“Torture him for information and bury him somewhere no one will find.”
“As you command.”
Despite the brutal order, Isaac nodded without batting an eye.
The duke pressed his nose lightly to Cecil’s hair and let out a quiet sigh. He closed his eyes, and his face looked remarkably at peace.
Cecil supposed there was at least one good thing to come out of all this.
That was the fact that she no longer had anyone to teach her lessons.
Pretending to be just smart enough during class is tedious even for me. And a waste of time besides.
[Indeed! After something like this, surely they won’t bring in another tutor!]
Nibelung agreed.
However, the Duke of Bartholomew completely betrayed Cecil’s expectations.
“…I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Having gone through all manner of hardships, Cecil thought there was little left that could surprise her. But this—this shocked her.
While her eyes went wide, the duke sitting across from her remained perfectly composed.
Wearing a tailored vest, his hands neatly clasped atop the desk, he spoke.
“I said I will be teaching you myself.”
His expression was serious.
“I feel responsible that the tutor I personally selected ended up that way. But if I teach you directly, nothing like that will happen again.”
Absolutely not. Having a private tutor is already risky enough, but being taught directly by the duke is incomparably more dangerous. This must be stopped at all costs.
Cecil quickly put on a smile so sweet it could melt butter.
“I’m so grateful that you care for me so much, Your Grace! But you’re far too busy to be teaching me yourself. I’d feel terrible causing you such trouble.”
Her tone was as pleasant as could be, the sort that made rejection feel harmless.
The duke studied her quietly before replying:
“I’m not busy at all.”
Liar. That’s a blatant lie.
Not once had Cecil gone to bathe late at night without seeing light coming from his office.
He always worked late into the night and rose at the crack of dawn to start again.
Seeing the disbelief on her face, the duke sighed and rose to his feet. His tall, imposing figure moved toward her.
Bending down, he came close enough that his fringe brushed her forehead.
“And even if I were busy, there’s no need for you to take that into account.”
“…Why not?”
“Because I’m the adult, and you’re the child.”
