30
Heivan’s expression cooled instantly. Just a moment ago, he seemed cold and indifferent, but now it was clear—that coldness had only been a prelude. A chill crept across his face, one far more genuine than before.
The Duchess’s expression faltered as she realized it. Caught up in her emotions, she had raised her voice and overstepped the line. Only now did she seem to understand that she had made a grave mistake.
“Heivan, it seems you’ve misunderstood something. I only said those things out of concern. Since the Grand Duke doesn’t have a lady of the house, it must be difficult to properly manage the servants. That sort of environment is bound to breed those who act out of line, without knowing their place.”
“Ah, I see.”
Heivan let out a dry chuckle. It was unmistakably a sneer.
“So that’s why you demonstrated it yourself—what it looks like when someone acts out of line without knowing their place.”
“W-what did you say?”
The Duchess’s face flushed red with embarrassment and fury. It was only natural—being insulted to her face by her own nephew. Heivan shifted his gaze away from her and looked back at Roze. She was patting Plita’s back, but flinched slightly when their eyes met.
“Roze, take the child back to the room.”
“…Yes, Your Grace.”
Roze bowed her head obediently. And this time, no one tried to stop her. On the contrary, the butler stepped aside and even opened the door for her.
“Thank you, Sir Butler.”
“I will have your meal brought to your room, Lady Roze.”
He nodded at her polite words and spoke in a low voice. Roze bowed with Plita in her arms and stepped outside.
Click.
As soon as the door shut behind her, Roze took a deep breath. The atmosphere she had just escaped from had been suffocating. They weren’t strangers, either—they were, in some twisted way, family.
She found herself glancing back at the closed door.
The lavish dining table.
The shattered wine glass.
…For some reason, her mouth tasted bitter.
* * *
Isabella’s golden eyes followed Roze’s retreating figure obsessively. Only after Roze exited with Plita in her arms did Isabella turn her gaze away.
Roze…
She unconsciously murmured the name, then bit her lip. Just saying the name of a lowly maid made her feel as though her mouth had been dirtied. She picked up the water glass in front of her.
Such an insolent maid.
Isabella remembered her now—the maid who had just left with the child. It was rare for Isabella to remember any of her own servants, which made this all the more unusual.
Clearly, the maid had been bothering her for some time.
“Lady Plita hurt her leg, so I offered to carry her.”
How laughable. It had been such a trivial event, she thought she had forgotten it. And yet, the memory returned vividly—especially the sight of that maid daring to meet her gaze directly.
Isabella swallowed a dry laugh and sipped the water. Then, as if nothing had happened, she smiled and spoke.
“That was quite surprising.”
Heivan’s blue eyes turned toward her. Isabella glanced at the maids clearing the broken wine glass before continuing, still smiling.
“I never imagined you’d be the kind of master who’s kind to the help.”
“…”
The sudden change of topic caused Heivan to frown slightly. It wasn’t just the shift—it was that her words themselves made no sense. The Duchess tilted her head as if confused, too.
“Kind to the help?”
“Yes, Duchess.”
“Are we… even talking about the same person?”
The Duchess glanced sideways at Heivan, then asked with a laugh. Isabella flashed a charming smile and nodded.
“Of course. You heard him too, didn’t you? He called her by name… Roze, wasn’t it?”
Heivan had just reached for his wine glass again, but froze at the mention of the name. Isabella did not miss that reaction.
A flicker of defeat flashed deep in her golden eyes. But unwilling to accept such emotions from herself, she quickly closed her eyes and reopened them with a serene expression.
“Calling a mere maid by her exact name like that…”
Twice, no less.
She swallowed the latter part of the sentence. Saying it aloud would’ve made her seem pathetic. But the Duchess, unaware—or perhaps too aware—of her restraint, widened her eyes, as if sensing Isabella’s jealousy.
“Oh my, is that so? I didn’t notice… Well, I suppose she would have more contact with him than other servants, seeing as she’s the young lady’s personal maid.”
The Duchess trailed off, flustered, then managed to recover and turned to Heivan with a question. He looked at them with an impassive expression and nodded.
Seeing this, Isabella hastily added,
“Now that I think about it, I remember. She’s the woman who saved Plita, right? She was promoted to personal maid for that.”
“That is correct.”
Heivan turned his gaze from the Duchess to Isabella. His tone was indifferent—no different from discussing the weather.
And yet… why?
Why did it leave such an unpleasant aftertaste?
“She’s lucky. To be promoted to the position of personal maid to the lady of the house—such an honor.”
Isabella forced a smile, trying to scrape away the sludge-like emotion clinging to her chest. She was just a maid. A lowborn maid. Feeling anything at all toward her was ridiculous.
It’s only because she reminds me of that woman.
Green eyes. Darker than Plita’s, but still reminiscent of foliage. That alone had been enough to get under her skin.
Not to mention the way the maid had dared look her straight in the eye and defend the child.
“Saved Plita?”
At that moment, the Duchess chimed in. Apparently, she hadn’t been in the capital at the time and was unaware of the incident. Isabella smiled and turned to her.
“It wasn’t anything major. Just a little accident during the late king’s memorial service…”
Plita’s life had been in danger, but Isabella downplayed it as if it were a minor mishap. Heivan sneered at her petty attempt to diminish the truth. Then he glanced toward the door.
Tap. Tap.
His fingers drummed lightly on the table—so softly he didn’t even notice himself doing it.
* * *
“I don’t like great-aunt…”
Plita whined in Roze’s arms. Roze gently set the child down and wiped away the tears clinging to her swollen eyes.
“If you keep crying like this, my lady will end up with frog eyes.”
“Hing… Frog?”
Plita rubbed her eyes and sniffled, then blinked curiously at Roze’s strange remark. Roze laughed softly and brushed her fingertips along the girl’s puffy eyelids. Plita winced slightly at the sting, but didn’t resist—on the contrary, she even tugged on Roze’s arm with her tiny hands, as if wanting more affection.
That innocent gesture—so hungry for warmth and love—made Roze’s heart ache.
The child didn’t ask for much. A kind word. A gentle look. That alone would’ve sufficed. And yet, even those small things had been denied to her.
Roze recalled the cold gazes that had always been cast upon Plita. She also remembered the way the girl had reacted earlier when the butler had announced Heivan’s summons.
“T-Together? With great-aunt and stepmother?”
The girl had laughed so brightly at the prospect of simply eating alone with Roze. And yet, just hearing she’d have to dine with the others made her tremble in fear. Even as they descended the stairs, she’d continued to shake.
It spoke volumes.
That their neglect hadn’t been a one-time thing. That Plita had grown up receiving such treatment from those under the name of Guenters.
“I can’t become a frog…”
Plita pressed both hands over her eyes and muttered. It was an unbearably cute and endearing sight.
How could anyone treat such a lovely child like this?
Roze held her tightly, laughing through the sting in her heart. Plita rubbed her nose against Roze’s neck and asked in a worried voice,
“Am I a frog?”
“No, of course not. Is there such a pretty frog out there?”
“But… I’ll turn into one if I keep crying…”
“When you cry too much, your eyes swell. Like… ribbit, ribbit. Like a frog.”
“Th-that can’t happen!”
Plita’s eyes grew wide. She quickly wiped her eyes with her sleeves. Roze chuckled.
“You’re fine now, my lady.”
“I’m not a frog?”
“No. Hmm… Honestly, even if you were, you’d be the cutest frog in the world.”
“No! I don’t want to be a frog! What if Daddy doesn’t like me…”
At Roze’s teasing, Plita panicked and waved her little hands—but her words trailed off at the end. Roze looked at her again, this time with deeper concern.
“Daddy’s mad, right? He’s embarrassed because of me.”
“No, he’s not. Why would he be embarrassed because of you?”
“Because… because I acted like a fool.”
Plita’s mood dropped again. Roze opened her mouth to comfort her, but before she could speak—
Knock knock.
A knock came at the door. Roze and Plita both turned toward it at once.
“Just a moment, my lady.”
Roze stood and walked to the door. Expecting the nanny, she opened it—
And her eyes widened in surprise.
