HUI 25

Tea Time

Ninia herself wasn’t even sure how many kinds of tea this castle had.

Tea was a fixture of any noblewoman’s daily life, and the Grand Duchess should have been no different—but Ninia’s circumstances were far removed from those of ordinary aristocrats.

No one expected a young lady of rank to visit.
She had only anticipated a few dignitaries, never a youthful noblewoman. Ninia gestured for the maid to continue her work.

“Please, go on.”

“…Yes, ma’am.”

The maid’s hands trembled, but she managed to pour the tea without mishap, though her complexion was still pale. Perhaps it was best to send her away.

“You may return and help the others now.”

At Ninia’s permission, the maid bobbed her head and hurried out with the tray.

Mierne looked after her in disbelief and finally remarked, “The maids here are rather… unusual.”

“We hired people displaced by the war,” Ninia replied. “They can be clumsy, but they have their merits.”

Ninia lifted her cup first. Mierne, following suit, took a sip—and immediately winced. The tea was bitter enough to make even Ninia’s tongue curl.

Mierne swallowed with visible effort, pressing a handkerchief to her brow as though her head ached. “It must be hard for you to live like this…”

Her words trailed off sympathetically. Another noblewoman might have shed a tear and agreed, but that didn’t apply to Ninia.

“I’m quite comfortable, thank you,” Ninia said, and took another drink. The winter had been so brutally cold that she never refused the hot tea the maids brought—this very same tea, in fact.

It’s not so bad. Is it really that awful?
As she swallowed, she wondered if these were the only tea leaves stocked in the castle.

“As expected of the former Saint,” Mierne said with genuine amazement. “Remarkable.”

It could have sounded sarcastic, but her eyes held a kind of curious fascination, as if Ninia were some rare creature. How bitterness of tea related to sainthood was a mystery, yet Ninia merely smiled.

Seeing that smile seemed to relax Mierne, who began chatting freely.

“Actually, the journey here was rough. The knights sent to escort us kept getting lost—we ran into wild beasts more than once!”

“Count Troid must have chosen the wrong men,” Ninia replied, recalling how Marquis Bilian’s greeting earlier had carried a note of irritation.

“So they weren’t His Grace’s own knights? That explains it!”

Mierne went on about how incompetent the escort had been and how many times they’d wandered the forest.

Normally, knights would ride out to greet and guard visiting nobles. Duke Tarahan knew this and should have prepared accordingly.

Use my knights for that?
Instead, he’d ordered Jernom to dress the count’s miners—men pressed into labor from a seized mine—as if they were knights. Small wonder the “escort” had been a disaster.

“Ah, I feel better just talking about it,” Mierne sighed.

“I’m glad,” Ninia said.

Perhaps thirsty from so much talking, Mierne reached for her cup but, lacking the courage to finish the bitter tea, settled for a drink of water instead. As she sipped, her gaze flicked toward Ninia—specifically to the tips of her hair.

“Your hair is unusual, Your Grace,” she observed.

Indeed, the ends of Ninia’s hair were white. She had debated cutting them off before her guest arrived but had left them.

“I wasn’t well for a time, and it turned this way,” Ninia explained.

“I see,” Mierne said, eyes alight with curiosity.

It was impolite, yet refreshingly frank. Nobles usually wrapped their insults in indirect words, no matter their age, as a way of preserving a veneer of refinement. Few expressed their feelings this openly. Ninia found Mierne more intriguing than her own hair.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering,” Mierne said at last.

“What is it?”

Her eyes sparkled with inquisitiveness. Though she hadn’t asked yet, Ninia felt a strange unease, a discomfort that had perhaps been there since their very first glance.

“I thought clergy remained chaste for life,” Mierne said, “so how did you come to marry His Grace?”

The question had a silky, entangling cadence, like ribbons twisting together.

Mierne’s expression was different now. When Ninia stayed silent, she smiled, eyes narrowing until the clear green deepened to a darker shade.

“Or is it that you’re confident you’ll stay pure even after marriage?”

She murmured to herself, inspecting her neatly kept nails, then smiled as if it were nothing.
“I’m only curious. Truly.”

Not mere mischief—malice. Like her earlier honesty, Mierne revealed her feelings openly.

Before Ninia could respond, Mierne rose, looking down at her.
“Thank you for the tea, Your Grace. I, too, believe in God. I hope you are not someone who defies His will.”

She swept past Ninia and left. The door shut with a quiet click, and silence followed. Alone, Ninia gazed into her cup.

Why, I wonder?

Malice came in countless forms. Again and again, Ninia found herself searching for the reasons behind the hostility aimed at her.
It was like running a finger along a blade’s edge—sometimes the blade became an arrow that pierced straight through.

She brought the cup to her lips. The pale brown tea had already gone cold.

Though it was summer, night fell quickly, and the evening banquet drew near. At the appointed hour, Ninia descended to the dining hall with the guests. A servant pulled out her chair.

…The Grand Duchess’s seat.
It was the place beside the duke at the head of the table, different from where she usually sat. Perhaps it was to prevent any gossip in front of the visitors.

Marquis Bilian and Mierne took their places of honor, with Count Anterno seated close by.

“I dozed off in my room for a bit,” Mierne said warmly to Ninia. “Time flew by—I must have been tired.”

She wore a different gown from tea time, her hair neatly twisted back to reveal the smooth line of her neck. Youthful and radiant, she brightened the atmosphere like sunlight. Marquis Bilian beamed at his niece.

“My dear girl, you’ve grown close to Her Grace already.”

“Of course. She’s so kind. I even promised to send her some tea leaves when I return to the capital.”

Tea leaves? From whatever random weeds she brewed earlier…
Still, it was a gracious offer for someone who clearly knew little about tea.

“You have a generous heart,” the marquis said. “Don’t you think so, Your Grace?”

Ninia could hardly ignore the invitation to agree. She inclined her head slowly.

“Indeed. I’d be grateful for such a gift.”

“I’ll send you a variety—plenty of each. No need to worry.”

Her innocent malice shone through her bright smile. Ninia met the smiles of both the marquis and the young lady with one of her own. It was the best she could do.

Mierne’s words were subtle probes, like the light scratch of a nail.

A scratch that left a wound only hurt if you let it show. As long as Ninia kept her composure, no greater harm would follow.

She blinked slowly, willing away all feeling—and then felt a steady gaze upon her.

Count Anterno?

When Ninia turned toward Reid, he narrowed his eyes slightly, as if he had been waiting. His clear brown eyes shone, intent and bright.