Chapter 7.
The Less Tiny One and the Even Tinier One (5)
Adrienne de Casinel Blois knew shockingly little for someone who was supposedly the same six years old as Cyril.
Strictly speaking, it was more that Cyril was unusually knowledgeable, but since Adrienne was his only point of comparison, it was only natural for him to think that way.
“The witch is pitiful.”
“What’s pitiful about her, exactly?”
“But still. The witch thought of the princess as her daughter.”
It was true that the witch, despite kidnapping the princess, had fallen for her charm and played the role of a mother.
Cyril believed it was all a trick meant to deceive the princess.
After all, Cyril’s own mother was not that affectionate. Neither of the Duke and Duchess of Tesar were.
So to Cyril, the witch’s behavior—hovering around the princess all day, desperate to give her everything—seemed deeply suspicious.
“The witch is pitiful… She died….”
But Adrienne, who had grown up in the endlessly gentle Casinel, seemed to see things differently.
Her clear blue eyes drooped sadly, without a trace of malice.
Cyril disliked annoying Adrienne, but an Adrienne who looked depressed was unfamiliar—and that made him dislike it even more.
Even if she was a bit stupid, it was better when she smiled brightly.
“…She didn’t die.”
“Really?”
“She just pretended to. So the princess could go back and live with people.”
And so Cyril added that one line.
It was a blatant lie, but Adrienne brightened immediately.
She even clapped her hands, saying she knew it would be that way, which made Cyril snort inwardly.
Simple-minded to a fault.
“That’s enough for today. Go now.”
“Okay. I’ll tell Dad.”
Cyril wondered what Count Casinel would think if he heard this story.
If Adrienne would even repeat it accurately was questionable.
“Has your mother still not come back?”
“Huh?”
“The Countess. I heard she went on a trip.”
Adrienne, who had been about to leave, blinked out of habit.
For a question asked without much thought, she took an oddly long time to respond.
Instead of answering, Adrienne hurried back in small steps, even climbing onto the bed.
Cyril looked at her as if asking what she was doing.
She leaned in and whispered.
“She hasn’t come back yet.”
“When will she?”
“I don’t know.”
Perhaps because she was whispering unnecessarily, her voice was very quiet.
Ever since coming to Casinel, Cyril had thought this often, but Adrienne really was strange.
Shaking his head, he asked,
“When did she leave?”
“Six years ago?”
“Six years ago? That’s not a trip, that’s—”
Cyril trailed off, having spoken without thinking.
If she left six years ago, hasn’t returned, and no one knows when she will—
There was only one answer.
Only then did Cyril realize that Countess Casinel had died the year Adrienne was born.
There was no doubt that the count had been unable to tell Adrienne the truth.
Cyril understood his decision.
Adrienne was so innocent and foolish that it might be better for her to live without knowing her mother had died.
Someday, she would learn the truth—but not yet.
“…I see. But why are you whispering?”
“Because it’s a secret.”
“A secret? Fine. I’ll keep it secret.”
Seeing that the count had told his daughter it was a secret, he must have been deeply worried.
Afraid that someone might reveal the truth to her.
Without considering that he himself was also a child, Cyril nodded.
“You can’t tell my dad.”
“Tell him what?”
“That my mom isn’t coming back.”
But what followed went in a completely different direction than Cyril had expected.
Adrienne was looking at him with an unusually serious expression.
Her voice was still quiet, and her pronunciation still whistled, but her face was solemn.
That seriousness suggested one possibility.
That Adrienne might already know her father was lying.
“You… do you know where your mother went?”
But… this idiot?
Still doubtful, Cyril asked carefully.
“Yes. But you can’t tell Dad. I have to pretend I don’t know.”
Adrienne leaned closer and whispered.
“Otherwise, Dad will be sad.”
“It’s a promise.”
She even held out her finger with a resolute expression.
Cyril, at a loss for words, stared at it for a moment before slowly hooking his finger around hers.
“That’s it. Now we have to keep the promise.”
“…Okay.”
Adrienne smiled softly and climbed down from the bed.
This time, she didn’t look back.
Left alone, Cyril thought, as the warmth faded from his finger—
That maybe Adrienne wasn’t as stupid as he thought.
＊ ＊ ＊
However, Cyril soon completely discarded the possibility he had once considered—namely, that Adrienne might not be stupid after all.
“She’s Mignon. She’s Rose. What do you think this one is?”
“How would I know.”
Adrienne was definitely stupid.
There was no other way to explain the situation of a soon-to-be seven-year-old noble playing with dolls.
“She’s pretty, so she’s Mignon. She has pink hair, so she’s Rose. But this one has brown hair. So what do you think?”
What an intuitive naming system.
Cyril’s sharp mind immediately supplied the answer Marron, but his identity as a prematurely mature noble recoiled in horror.
“…You don’t know.”
“……”
“It’s okay. I’ll tell you. Brown is—”
“Marron. Marron. I know.”
But even his noble pride couldn’t tolerate being ignored.
When he gave the correct answer, his face twisted in discomfort.
“Do you want to say hi to Marron?”
“No.”
“Do you hate Marron?”
“Yes. So please, go out and play.”
“But Marron says she hates you too.”
So what.
Marron was a doll with brown hair neatly braided into two plaits.
What difference did it make if a doll hated him?
If anything, it was better that it didn’t like him.
Thinking that, Cyril still glared at the doll once.
How dare it hate him when it wasn’t even driving its owner out?
Ridiculous.
“Cyril, will you read me a book later?”
“I’ll see.”
“So you’ll see and then read to me.”
Adrienne answered calmly and went back to playing with her dolls.
Why she insisted on playing on his bed when she could do that anywhere was beyond him.
Adrienne thinking that she naturally had to play on his bed was ridiculous—but when he thought about it, the fact that he tolerated it was also strange.
He could have gotten angry and kicked her out.
Yet he didn’t.
That mildly irritating realization made Cyril think, and he soon found an answer.
…She’s a bit slow.
Since he was the more mature one, he should endure it.
Thinking that way made him feel better.
Even though they were the same age, Adrienne was far less mature, so Cyril decided not to care how she played.
“…What are you doing?”
But his resolve lasted less than a minute.
Just as Cyril seemed to refocus on his book, his attention was drawn back to Adrienne’s doll play.
That was doll play?
The two dolls dressed in fine gowns were holding toy swords.
Adrienne was swinging the dolls’ wooden arms skillfully, clashing the swords together.
“Battle.”
“Battle…?”
The small parasol and dainty table placed beside them suddenly looked absurd.
As Cyril stared in disbelief, Adrienne answered briefly.
“It’s camouflage.”
“Where did you learn words like that?”
A child who didn’t know basic things somehow knew words like battle and camouflage.
When Cyril asked in surprise, Adrienne pulled the dolls slightly apart and said,
“Muette told me. He said you have to camouflage yourself so you won’t get caught.”
Muette was one of the knights protecting Casinel.
It wasn’t strange for him to teach tactics—but teaching them to Adrienne was another matter.
“…Are you the heir?”
“The heir?”
“Are you going to become the count?”
“That’s Dad.”
Talking about heirs to someone who didn’t even understand the question was pointless.
Shaking his head, Cyril turned back to his book.
How much time passed like that?
“Adrienne. You really… how are you going to live?”
“Huh?”
Unable to hold back his frustration, Cyril asked seriously.
If his parents had seen this scene, they would have been shocked.
Though his health had prevented him from receiving full heir training, Cyril had never neglected his studies, even from his bed.
Adrienne might not be the heir, and for Casinel’s sake, she probably shouldn’t be—but after spending time together, didn’t he owe her at least a word of advice?
That was how Cyril reasoned, earnestly worried.
“If you just play around like this all the time, you won’t even be able to get married when you grow up.”
“Married?”
“It means joining families.”
“Joining?”
Adrienne tilted her head again, clearly not understanding.
“When you reach the right age and your family’s standing matches… no, when you grow up, you’ll have to live with some man.”
“I live with Dad.”
“Not the count. Another man.”
“Cyril?”
“…I am a man, technically.”
The moment he realized he had agreed, Cyril flinched.
He barely stopped himself from shouting, Why would I marry you?!
“When you grow up, you’ll meet a man from another family. And to do that, you have to be smart.”
“Ooh.”
Adrienne stretched out the sound, as if she finally understood.
Just as Cyril was about to feel relieved—
“It’s fine. I’m pretty.”
An absurd answer came back.
While Cyril questioned the functionality of his own ears, Adrienne added, delivering the final blow.
“They said it’s fine if you’re pretty.”
“Who? Who on earth said that?”
“Everyone says I’m pretty.”
“Who exactly?”
“Emma did, and Lena did, and Mila did, and Dad did, and also—”
“That’s enough. I get it.”
Cyril raised his hand before the names of everyone in the castle could be listed.
Even for a child, how could she think something so ridiculous…
Adrienne might look like that, but she was still a noble.
And nobles were expected to have certain virtues.
She was already being scolded by Countess Parte, yet she thought so optimistically.
Failing to consider that he himself was unusually mature, Cyril fell into serious contemplation.
