Chapter 46….
Lorelia’s Role
“By the way, this is an incredible library. How many books do you have?”
The woman, who had been hesitating, shifted the topic. When the man didn’t respond, she seemed unable to bear the awkward silence. Flustered, she eventually pulled a book from the shelf and opened it.
“Oh… it’s Trisenar.”
Then she started babbling incoherently.
“Could you perhaps teach me Trisenar? I could learn from Butler Rénier, but he must be busy, and I’d feel bad bothering him. No, of course, I don’t mean that you have nothing to do. I just… I’m asking if you could spare me a little time, even if only for a few days.”
The woman, who had been chattering without thought, gradually quieted down. A flush spread to her neck. Theobald’s eyes fell on her pale neck. The scent rising from it struck him with sudden awareness.
That same scent had been present that night.
It smelled like flowers, but it wasn’t flowers. Like sugar, but not sugar. A scent he had never smelled before and could hardly describe in words.
The desire stirred by that scent resembled appetite. Saliva pooled in his mouth immediately. The urge to bite, taste, lick, or suck—it was all akin to appetite.
That was why he had stared at the woman on the bed for a while: to study the reactions of his own body more closely.
Theobald knew everything. About what was needed to complete a marriage, about the structure and mechanics of the two bodies. A man and woman’s union was like a bolt and a nut. If you wanted it to go smoothly, lubrication was essential. But when he finally entered her, he was surprised by sensations he had never anticipated.
No book described that feeling. No scholar had ever recorded it properly. Contrary to his expectation that it would be over quickly, he lost control at a certain point.
It was incomparable to masturbation.
Naturally, he wanted to experience it again, but that would not be a wise action. His sexual desire, like appetite or the need for sleep, was something he could resolve on his own. There was no need to create a troublesome situation to satisfy it.
By “troublesome situation,” he obviously meant pregnancy. Theobald did not want that to happen.
The woman would soon die by his hand.
“I want your time. Your lifetime.”
Lorelia would be the first among the Red Foxes to die. Theobald planned to cut off her head, place it in a box, and send it to Castle Mendel.
When Lancelot saw his daughter’s head, he would rage and lead his army outside the castle. The lord would lose the battle, but he would not die easily. He would only die after witnessing the slaughter of his blood and retainers—drowning in deep, cold water. Theobald’s blueprint even accounted for the painful drowning of the head of House Hayes.
Death would be met with death. Drowning with drowning.
The plan was perfect, like all of Theobald’s designs. It was composed of delicate mechanisms, with Lorelia Hayes at its core.
When force is applied to an axis, the machine works. A well-made machine can lift a massive rock with minimal force. Theobald knew how to construct such machines.
Once a woman entered his design, there was no way she could escape.
“That won’t do.”
Having completed his thought, Theobald spoke. His voice echoed through the silent, dark library. They stood facing each other on the balcony of the second-floor shelves. He looked down into her round eyes and continued.
“Find an appropriate teacher. There are many who could teach Trisenar.”
Her long eyelashes fluttered in surprise. The yellow light of the candle illuminated her, her eyes shimmering as if wet. Theobald silently hoped a clear tear might fall from those soft eyes.
“When your business here is finished, step aside.”
Lorelia twitched her lips as if to say something, but remained silent. Her eyes darted around but she never shed tears. He felt a faint twinge of regret.
“…Yes, sir.”
The woman obediently accepted his command but neglected to thank him for allowing her to leave. She had probably forgotten in her fluster. Theobald graciously overlooked his wife’s rudeness.
He returned his gaze to the open book, letting his eyes drift without focus while listening. He concentrated on the fading sound of footsteps—their intensity, intervals, and speed—and drew his conclusion.
The woman likes me. Still.
After the unwelcome guest left, the door closed. The large, dark library fell silent again. As usual, Theobald was left alone. The motions of the heavens, constellations, and the timing of the morning star—all these occupied his mind.
He didn’t turn the pages of the book for a while, keeping his gaze on the part he had already read.
A week had passed since the wedding, yet the mansion remained filled with guests. Nobles who attended the ceremony were staying until the Sun Festival, which would be held in three days.
The Sun Festival was Trisen’s largest and oldest festival, beginning on March 1. People celebrated spring for a week with food and drink. In the south, flowers bloomed and greenery remained even in winter, though the days were shorter than in other seasons. From March onward, the days grew longer again, marking a blessed return of the sun for southern worshippers.
Lorelia diligently learned all its traditions and origins. She also knew that the mansion would host a grand banquet on the first day of the festival. Since it was the first celebration since the Era of Seclusion, everyone had high expectations.
The “Era of Seclusion” referred to the past thirteen years when the gates of Isen’s inner castle had been tightly closed. Now the gates were wide open, and the Trisen mansion was bustling with people once more. The lord had grown to maturity and reclaimed his dignity amid this splendor, as if returning to a courtly era.
The significance of this Sun Festival was immense. As the mistress of the mansion, Lorelia naturally thought she should oversee the preparations.
The mother of Castle Mendel had always prepared banquets herself—hiring chefs and assistants, ordering ingredients according to guest numbers, and ensuring no waste in decorating the banquet hall and rooms.
While the steward and head maid managed the staff, the mistress commanded them.
However…
“The weather is so nice today, madam. Shall we take a walk in the garden?”
What on earth was this?
Lorelia pursed her lips and shook her head. She ignored the maid’s effort to cheer her up, knowing that she couldn’t afford such distractions.
“You need some leisure time too. You’ve been so busy with marriage studies, and after the wedding, you’ve had to entertain guests every day. Isn’t it wonderful? Let’s take a few days to relax, madam.”
The woman forced a smile at her cheerful words.
A week after the wedding, Lorelia no longer entertained guests in her drawing room.
The routine of nobles—especially the tasks assigned to women—was limited. Social activity was considered the most important and prestigious duty.
With so many guests in the mansion, Lorelia had to spend time with them as their hostess, demonstrating interest and fulfilling her responsibilities. She was now Lady Perbrante.
But at some point, Lorelia noticed a shift in how the nobles treated her.
The subtle condescension could not be hidden by polite address. The title “madam” felt almost mocking. Though young and inexperienced, Lorelia was not naive; she could perceive how others regarded her.
“Being loved by your husband involves many things, but refined attire is important. Wearing bright, colorful dresses is only permissible in girlhood.”
“You are already beautiful, madam, but even a rose can be adorned more beautifully.”
“Perhaps you should change your tailor? You didn’t bring one from the central region, did you? Who is making your dress now?”
They were clearly looking down on her. From the moment she realized this, Lorelia felt apprehensive in social interactions.
Why? Because I haven’t fully adapted yet? Because I’m not from the south? Because I seem incapable?
What exactly is my role here?
It was natural for her to feel self-doubt. Her role, at most, was occupying the lady’s quarters. Moving from the second-floor guest room to the third-floor residence was the only right she had gained after marriage. She had no authority over the mansion’s affairs and knew nothing of the upcoming festival preparations.
“The household affairs are my responsibility. Financial management is handled by you through me, and the staff is managed by the steward and head maid under my supervision. There is nothing you need to do.”
The steward’s words were true. The mansion ran smoothly, having hosted a grand wedding and cared for 2,000 guests flawlessly. There seemed little room for Lorelia to interfere, and she doubted he would allow it.
“Managing such a vast estate is a tremendous power. Naturally, the steward would dislike you.”
Therefore, Lorelia believed she needed to find her role in areas the steward would not handle, tasks he could not do.
“The duty and greatest task of a lady of the house is to produce an heir. Please always remember and devote yourself to it.”
But how exactly was she supposed to exert such power? The thought only deepened her sense of helplessness.
