Chapter 29.
On the outskirts of Ludença, in a small village mostly inhabited by commoners, there was a little teahouse.
A young lady, wearing an elegant dress far too luxurious for the place, sat awkwardly in one corner.
To shake off her nervousness, she kept lifting and setting down her teacup, fiddling with her clasped hands. But none of it calmed her racing heart.
“Will they really come here?”
Mariné Bastille.
This was her first time in this village, let alone in a teahouse this small.
“What if it’s some strange person’s trap? Ugh, what on earth was I thinking, following the instructions just like that? Stupid.”
Anxious thoughts crept in.
But she was already here, sitting inside this unfamiliar place.
At least it wasn’t some ominous hideout where murders or kidnappings seemed likely to occur.
Worried she might run into someone she knew, she had come wearing a wide-brimmed hat pulled low. But in truth, no noble of the capital would ever set foot in a place like this.
Perhaps the person who summoned her had deliberately chosen such a location.
And at this point, worrying about appearances was laughable anyway. No—was there even anything left to care about?
The Bastille family, once respected as a count’s house, was now little more than beggars in name and reality. Locking the doors against debt collectors could only work for so long. Soon, everything would have to be given up—even the home she lived in.
Mariné quietly sipped her tea. No matter how often she wetted her lips, they remained dry.
Who could have imagined that the Bastille family would fall into such ruin? Once, they had enjoyed a life more prosperous than any other house. At least, they had—when the previous Count Bastille still lived.
A gold mine had been discovered in their lands, making taxation unnecessary and the territory enormously wealthy. People suffering in other regions flocked to the Bastille domain. During her great-grandfather’s time, the count of that era, their western lands had even been called the most livable territory of all.
But everyone—including Mariné herself—knew that those days were over.
The gold veins had begun to dry up, and in this changed environment, the current count—her father—had not done his duty.
Before long, he even turned to gambling. The family’s fortune vanished with frightening speed, until nothing was left.
Even the loyal butler who had served the house for decades finally departed. With no one left to restrain the count, the last of their heirlooms and luxuries were all sold at auction. When he even pawned off his late wife’s keepsakes, Count Bastille finally realized he was penniless.
And from there, things only grew worse.
Claiming to know “reliable contacts,” he began meeting suspicious people. Then, just a few days ago, he appeared before Mariné carrying a mysterious box.
It was wrapped in a rich, high-quality fabric—something fit for the imperial palace, not for a man who could barely pay his tavern debts.
“There will soon be a banquet at the palace to celebrate Prince Licht’s return, Mariné.”
His face was oddly flushed with excitement.
When Mariné looked at him uneasily, he hurriedly thrust the box into her hands.
“They said if you present this to Prince Licht on my behalf, my debts will be forgiven.”
“What? What are you talking about? What kind of item could it possibly be?”
After months away, he had returned not having paid anything back, but with his debts multiplied several times over.
Mariné had already heard he was practically living at the gambling halls. His eyes were clouded, his expression vacant—he hardly seemed to recognize her as his daughter at all.
“That’s none of your concern.”
“Not my concern? How can I present a gift to His Highness without knowing what it is?”
He dodged her questions, refusing to explain.
Nor would he allow her to unwrap the package.
“I told you—I’ve checked it all myself! It’s a chance to gain favor with Prince Licht. Someone like us would never be invited to a palace banquet otherwise!”
“Father, please…! If anything goes wrong, our family could be executed for treason!”
“We’re already starving. If that’s the alternative, death might be better.”
Even when she dropped to her knees and begged, he wouldn’t listen.
In the end, she was forced to take the box he shoved at her, along with a dress far beyond her station and an invitation to the imperial banquet, and head for the capital.
The place she was brought to was a shabby townhouse of unknown ownership. The servants there, with their cold, watchful gazes, seemed less like attendants than prison guards making sure she didn’t escape.
Whenever she tried to step outside, no carriage was provided. It was a prison without bars.
Then, two days ago, a letter arrived.
The name written on the envelope was one she knew well:
“Iris Leyden.”
Iris was a young lady she had often shared teatimes with during the social season in the capital.
“Could she have heard I was here?”
When palace banquets were held, it was customary to arrive in the capital two weeks beforehand for smaller balls and salons. Many connections were made during this season.
She recalled Iris’s bright, innocent face.
But once rumors of the Bastille family’s debts and impending bankruptcy had spread, all contact from Iris had ceased.
Puzzled, Mariné opened the envelope.
“Huh?”
What she found inside was nothing like she had expected.
In fact, it was clearly meant for someone else.
Still, she forced a calm expression as she read. Something told her she mustn’t let the strange maid by the door notice.
Taking her tea to the window, she sat down and carefully examined the letter.
“To the beloved Lady Mariné Bastille. I want to help solve your troubles. I am a small and lovely fairy. Do not be afraid, and come meet Lady Iris Leyden at three o’clock on Thursday afternoon at ‘Café Fairy.’”
Too frightening a letter to simply take at face value.
The writer seemed to know everything about her situation.
“Who on earth…?”
Her grip on the paper tightened. At the bottom was a postscript:
“P.S. Please ride comfortably in the carriage sent for you by House Leyden.”
It clearly wasn’t Iris—but it told her to ride in the Leyden family’s carriage?
And yet, two days later, just as the letter had said, the Leyden carriage appeared. The family crest was plainly displayed on its front.
When a maid who introduced herself as a servant of House Leyden stepped out, Mariné had no choice but to climb aboard.
The servants at the townhouse eyed her with suspicion, but they didn’t dare send away a noble house’s carriage.
The carriage carried her carefully out of the city center and onto unfamiliar roads.
Their destination: this very place, Café Fairy.
The maid had silently guided her inside, then returned to the carriage.
Left in a daze, Mariné had been served a cup of tea by the café’s owner, who said simply:
“They’ll be here soon. Wait.”
His casual tone felt strange, addressing someone clearly of noble birth so familiarly. But in her current bewilderment, she couldn’t even be offended.
So, she waited.
And then—
Ding-ling.
The sound of the bell above the door. Instinctively, Mariné turned her head toward it.
Footsteps—light, yet confident—approached.
A cloaked figure walked straight toward her table.
“You’re already here!”
The voice was unexpectedly bright and cheerful.
The figure sat across from her.
Silver hair peeked out from beneath the cloak.
“A child?”
“Ah, one iced tea, please!” the girl called to the owner, waving her hand.
Mariné sat frozen, unsure how to react.
The girl, as if noticing her gaze, casually threw off her cloak.
