Chapter 41
“A witch?”
“Yes. The kind you hear about in fairy tales. Ellie sometimes calls her a fairy, too.”
Ailesia was undeniably someone with an extraordinary appearance.
Skin like white jade, radiant golden hair that flowed all the way to her waist, and deep blue eyes—so mysterious that she hardly seemed like a person of this world.
“Come to think of it, even in my youth, I never saw a beauty like her in high society.”
“Her true worth lies not in her looks, but in her magic.”
“I heard a bit from Sir Dayfold. He said she’s Upper Mage–class.”
“Judging by what she’s shown so far, she may be even beyond that.”
“Hmm.”
Having someone like that show goodwill toward the Letis family was certainly welcome, but from Iolene’s standpoint, it wasn’t something she could accept without reservation.
She had investigated Ailesia in her own way—digging through the library for records related to the Chernil Forest, and even sending discreet retainers to quietly question nearby villages.
‘The witch of the western forest from the legends…’
In ancient times, women who inherited magical power through bloodlines were called witches. Because they were such a secretive group, public perception of them had been distorted, turning them into unfortunate, misunderstood figures.
But in the present era, that lineage had already died out. It wasn’t exactly taboo, but it was a word no one had any reason to use anymore.
“Do you know why she calls herself a witch?”
“Well… she usually uses it just to tease me.”
“…Tease you?”
“……It’s nothing.”
Under Iolene’s questioning gaze, Termion awkwardly gulped down his tea.
* * *
“Wow, what a view.”
Ailesia was sitting atop the watchtower roof, swinging her legs casually. She looked completely unfazed by the biting winter wind.
Since it was more than ten meters higher than the inner walls, the entire grand duchy spread out clearly before her eyes. She could even see the distant edges of the Guardveil Mountain Range.
Across the night sky above the mountains, massive curtains of green and blue light rippled vividly—an aurora, something said to appear only near the polar regions.
‘It’s actually a bit different in reality.’
Ah… seeing that reminded her of something she had completely forgotten—her master’s final words.
‘You did say it would take a long time, but still…’
Did I ever imagine time would pass this much?
She kept telling herself “just a little longer, just a little longer” while waiting for Eleonora, and before she knew it, several hundred years had passed.
“I’m sorry, Master. Hehe.”
Just like she used to when Rubia was still alive, Ailesia stuck out her tongue slightly and smiled cutely toward the distant mountains.
It was a secret weapon she only ever used on her master whenever she’d done something wrong.
She finally stood up after more than an hour had passed, having sensed Termion moving somewhere inside the main building.
‘Looks like their conversation is over.’
Snap!
With a snap of her fingers, Ailesia returned to her assigned room. In the adjacent room, Eleonora was sleeping peacefully, her breathing slow and even.
“Ailesia, are you inside?”
“Just a moment.”
When she opened the door after hearing the knock, Termion was standing there. It seemed he had something to relay after finishing his talk with the duchess.
“You’re still awake. I apologize for disturbing you so late.”
“It’s not even 11 yet. I was just sightseeing from the terrace.”
“Aren’t you cold?”
“A witch doesn’t feel cold, you know?”
For some reason, upon hearing that, Termion stepped back slightly with a sullen expression.
“…The duchess has requested tea with you.”
“Now?”
“If you don’t feel like it, you don’t have to go.”
That was unexpected. Normally, when someone of the duchess’s standing called, it wasn’t something you could easily decline.
Curious about what was really on his mind, Ailesia tilted her head, pretending innocence.
“Really? I don’t have to go?”
“We can just say you’ve already gone to bed. There’s no need for you to be dragged there unwillingly.”
“Hmmm, are you worried about me?”
She asked jokingly, but unlike what she expected, he answered seriously.
“There’s no guarantee the duchess will view you favorably. She’s a very cold and blunt person—it could end up being an uncomfortable situation for you.”
“…Do you not get along with the duchess?”
She thought she’d asked carefully, but Termion flushed slightly and replied sharply.
“What nonsense is that? She’s the person I respect most in this world.”
“O-oh. Right.”
Was that really worth getting that defensive over? Anyone watching might think she’d insulted him.
‘Still… I am curious what kind of person she is.’
From the moment Termion arrived at the castle, Iolene had been unusually warm toward him.
Touching his face casually, patting his shoulder—those things were routine. Even during dinner, she asked in detail whether the food suited his taste or if he needed anything, attending to him with great care.
You’d believe he was her long-awaited biological son rather than an illegitimate child—or even that she doted on him more than her own granddaughter, Eleonora.
‘That didn’t feel like an act for appearances… no matter how you look at it.’
The expression Iolene wore whenever she looked at Termion was consistently gentle—like someone who felt content and full just by seeing him.
“So, what’s your answer?”
“Sorry. Not tonight. I’m a bit tired.”
After a brief moment of consideration, Ailesia gently declined.
Getting into a battle of nerves with the lady of the house on her very first day at the grand duchy sounded exhausting just imagining it.
‘Not yet. I don’t even understand the atmosphere of the castle.’
Besides, she was still immersed in memories of her master. Right now, she simply wanted to linger in those feelings a bit longer.
As if he’d expected this, Termion nodded calmly.
“That’s fine. The duchess didn’t seem especially pressed, either.”
“Won’t she be offended?”
“Not at all. Even if you are Ellie’s tutor, you’re not one of the duchess’s subordinates.”
He himself felt the request had been a bit excessive. He didn’t want to burden Ailesia over something like this.
“You are an honored guest, Ailesia. Everyone in Letis owes you gratitude and respect. That will never change.”
“Oh, stop it—you’re embarrassing me.”
“Will you be joining us for breakfast tomorrow morning?”
“Of course. If I don’t, Ellie won’t let it slide.”
“I understand. Then, I wish you a good night.”
“Yeah, good night.”
Termion bowed slightly and turned away at once. Watching him leave down the corridor, Ailesia went back inside and reflected on the original story.
‘There’s no doubt he cherished Termion even more than a biological son.’
Whatever things were like before the previous grand duke’s death, based on what she’d seen today alone, it felt almost excessive.
There had to be some hidden story between the two.
‘It’s definitely possible. Our Ellie is about a hundred million times cuter than the novel version anyway.’
A smile full of anticipation spread across Ailesia’s face as she headed for bed.
* * *
It was the fourth day since arriving at the grand duchy. Signs of a cold wave were beginning to sweep across the entire northern region.
Unlike the imperial capital, which still held some warmth at midday, the ice here didn’t melt even under the bright sun. They said it would grow even colder once the real cold wave began.
‘So that’s why Termion tried to bring Ellie separately.’
The servants, already accustomed to the cold, moved about calmly, though their cheeks and ears were slightly red. Most wore thick fur vests or scarves as a matter of course.
As Ailesia rested her chin in her hand and gazed out the window, Eleonora—who had been practicing her writing beside her with tiny hands—asked,
“Teacher, is it very cold outside?”
“Seems like it. See the icicles on the window?”
“Whitey and Blanky are outside too. Aren’t they cold?”
“They’ll be just fine.”
“Really?”
Fine? Please. Those two would happily run around even if you dropped them in the middle of a snowy mountain at minus thirty degrees.
“If you want to play with the wolves later, you should focus on your writing first, right?”
“Yes!”
Eleonora turned her attention back to her notebook. Not long after, she shot her arm up and shouted,
“I’m done!”
“Let me see how neatly you wrote.”
“Here, Teacher!”
“Oh my…”
On a page of the notebook—about half the size of standard parchment—were rows of small, neatly arranged letters. It was impossibly clean and clear handwriting for a child barely five years old.
‘She’s gifted. This isn’t something you can achieve with practice alone.’
Eleonora had copied down words she liked from her fairy tale book. Ailesia planned to later turn those words into a simple magic incantation for her.
“How did you write so beautifully? I should be the one learning from you.”
“Ellie did a good job, right? Hehe.”
What surprised her even more was the page beside it. Though a bit unpolished, someone’s name was written there in an ornate cursive style typically used by adults.
“Whose name is this?”
“This one’s Mom, and this one’s Dad!”
