~Chapter 23~
The maids who brought in the food wore open sneers on their faces.
“Pretending to be a grand noble, are we?”
Jessie’s lips curved upward. Flexing her fingers quietly, she cracked her knuckles while watching their backs. The maids, oblivious to Jessie’s movements, exchanged knowing glances among themselves.
Just a short while ago, Flora had summoned them and said:
“You girls should serve that woman her dinner tonight.”
“Us? But what about your evening service, my lady…?”
“Go and find out a little about her. For reference, the woman His Grace brought back isn’t a noble. She doesn’t even have a surname. She’s just a commoner—and yet she has the audacity to play at being an aristocrat.”
“Then the reason His Grace brought her here, like a maid…”
“Call it His consideration. He’s always been such a kind, generous man.”
The woman who didn’t even know her place was now occupying the Chandelier Room, and when the maids arrived, she hadn’t even spared them a glance. As if she really were some lofty noble.
Their gazes turned sharp with hostility.
To serve in the Duke’s household, even the maids had to come from families of proper standing. Having a criminal in the direct family line was, of course, disqualifying, and the family needed at least a modest amount of wealth. Serving a lower noble was one thing—not ideal, but tolerable. At least nobles were nobles. But to serve someone of unknown origins, a commoner even beneath them, was utterly insulting.
The room had a separate dining table prepared, but the maids deliberately wheeled the trays to the writing desk instead.
It was against etiquette to eat meals at a worktable. Light tea might be acceptable, perhaps a simple finger food—but not a full meal. The servants were trained to set the food properly at the dining table if their master was working, and then quietly step back to wait. But these maids opened the domes right there on the worktable, smiling all the while.
“You must be hungry. We’ll serve you here.”
“Nobles usually dine alone, you know. Unless there’s a special occasion, each in their own rooms.”
Without waiting for Grace’s permission, they began their mock service.
They didn’t even wipe the table, nor set down mats. They placed an absurdly large plate in front of Grace, and on it—just one lump of meat, charred black and stiff as a rock, no bigger than a child’s palm. Then, without so much as a cloth to protect the surface, they spread out cutlery in a ridiculous display: five different knives, five forks, and two spoons encircling the oversized plate like a parody of formality.
Finally, they set down a champagne glass and poured water into it.
The setting was laughable, and they looked at Grace with mocking smiles.
No matter how dignified she pretended to be, she couldn’t possibly know proper table etiquette. She’d surely drink the water as if it were champagne, use the wrong forks and knives, and eat the burnt, overseasoned meat. If she spat it out, it would be hilarious; if she forced it down, even more so. They planned to watch carefully, then report her gracelessness back to Flora.
But as Grace sat straight-backed, her gaze lowered to the table, she suddenly lifted her green eyes and looked directly at them.
“……”
The weight of her calm stare made them uneasy. Their smiles faltered.
And then Grace spoke.
“Who told you to set the table like this?”
“…Pardon?”
One maid stammered, caught off guard.
Grace didn’t repeat herself. Leaning back in her chair, she said instead:
“I’ll give you another chance.”
“…What?”
“Correct what’s wrong. All of it. The whole room, if you must.”
The sound of their breathing grew louder.
Their instincts screamed at them not to cross this woman—but then Flora’s words rang in their ears.
“That wench will be driven out soon enough. Did you see the way His Grace looked at me?”
Recalling the confidence of Flora and the Marchioness, their brief unease was swept away.
One maid recovered her smile and said sweetly,
“This is the Chandelier Room, where every duchess has resided. What could possibly be wrong with it?”
The others, emboldened, chimed in.
“Yes, everything here is perfect. You must be simply irritable from hunger. The meat will grow cold if you don’t eat.”
“Oh, or perhaps the portion seems too small? But you know, proper ladies rarely finish even this much. Eating too much is considered crude… a habit of the poor, really.”
Their attempt to belittle her was all too familiar, the same contempt Grace had suffered under the Duke and Duchess of Taylor. Disgust welled in her chest.
She had no intention of arguing with them further—it wasn’t necessary.
Grace calmly lifted the correct main fork and knife. While the maids paused in surprise, she cut the meat cleanly in half with flawless posture, every movement refined to perfection. Then she set the utensils down and commanded:
“Clear it away.”
“……”
When they still hesitated, she fixed them with a steady gaze. At last, forced into retreat, the maids whisked the food away—furious that they hadn’t managed to humiliate her with their little trap. They clattered the dishes loudly and left without even a bow.
“Those wretches…!” Jessie muttered through clenched teeth.
But Grace was already thinking.
“Those maids… they’re the same ones who guided us to the Chandelier Room earlier, aren’t they?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
For mere maids to behave so insolently toward the Duke’s companion—it couldn’t be possible unless someone powerful had fed them information and assured them of protection.
“Keep an eye on them. Quietly.”
“Should I just watch, or…?”
“See where they go. Who they meet.”
“…Understood.”
The maids stepped into the corridor—and flinched.
Joseph was standing there, leaning against the wall. As children reflect their parents, servants often mirrored their masters. With knightly families long despised in this household, the maids didn’t even offer him a proper bow—just the barest dip of the head, their faces twisted with disdain, before they hurried off.
A moment later, Jessie slipped out of the room. Joseph spoke in a low tone.
“They went that way.”
“Thank you.”
Her smile deepened.
“Sir Joseph, you look displeased as well?”
“They were insolent.”
Joseph lingered in the hall, his gaze drifting to the window. Twilight had already given way to night, shadows drowning the world outside. Cutting through the darkness was a single figure—a man approaching the main residence.
Even without seeing his face, Joseph could feel it: the thick, heavy aura rolling off Walter was black and oppressive. On rare occasions, Walter shed his mask, and when he did, even Joseph—who prided himself on his battlefield experience—felt his spine turn cold. The sheer ferocity he suppressed was enough to seem mad.
But it was precisely that madness which had kept him alive against the fiends. Without it, Walter would have long since been slain—and none of the knights who followed him would have returned alive, either.
The Richmond knights would storm the imperial palace itself if Walter commanded it. In ten years, he had never once betrayed their trust.
And yet, sometimes, Joseph worried. Could a man swallow down such fury forever without breaking?
With a sigh, he stepped around a pillar and drove off a servant who had pressed his ear against the Chandelier Room door.
“If I catch you eavesdropping again, you’ll live the rest of your life with only one ear. Understood?”
“Y-yes, sir!”
The misty dark that smothered the castle was no hindrance to Walter.
Like the old saying—pain that does not kill makes you stronger—he had devoured agony and grown harder. Fighting the unseen had sharpened him until he could sense even the faintest presence, endure sleepless nights for days without losing clarity. The pampered fools in this mansion, clinging to their wealth and titles, knew nothing of this. That was why they thought to plant spies around him.
He knew precisely how many there were. Six.
The veins on his hand bulged. He longed to drag them out by the scruff and butcher them where they stood. Just as he had slaughtered monsters at the edge of death, he wanted to unleash the madness coiled inside.
Endure. Now is the time to endure.
It felt like swallowing fire.
At some point, without realizing it, he had climbed the stairs to the landing. His reflection glimmered in the vast window: cords of blue veins throbbing along his neck, black eyes burning with inner flames.
He thought of a beast—a man who hunted monsters until he became one himself. The creature inside Walter was already awake, ready to leap out at any moment.
At last, he reached his chambers. His gaze lingered briefly on the Chandelier Room next door before he spoke to Joseph, waiting in the hall.
“See to it.”
Then, without another word, he quietly pushed open the door to his bedroom.
