Chapter 7
The Two Sons of Voileurvan (1)
Phyllis Meneze, who had left a strong impression on the brothers in early summer, arrived in Bjul along with the beginning of the heat.
Unlike the time she wore long sleeves, her outfit now matched the season. The Marquis Meneze was tall and walked with long strides.
When the marquis strode through the grand corridor of Voileurvan Castle, Phyllis followed leisurely without bothering to match her father’s pace.
The hem of her violet dress slowly swept across Voileurvan’s garden.
“Wearing that color in summer… Her sense of color is terrible.”
“It—it looks elegant, though…”
“Do you even know what elegant means?”
“Yeah.”
“Say it. Go on, say it.”
Marcel poked Timeo’s forehead repeatedly and hard. Timeo staggered back without resistance.
Unlike Marcel, who hated sunlight and hid indoors, Timeo spent all day playing in the corner of the garden, basking in the sun.
Because of that, he grew taller day by day, like corn in a field, and now his eye level was nearly the same as his brother’s.
Marcel noticed this fact before anyone else. Feeling threatened by Timeo’s size, Marcel harassed him even more fiercely.
“Don’t act all clumsy and foolish in front of Meneze’s daughter. I can go to that girl anytime and tell her exactly how lacking and pathetic you are. Got it?”
“…But.”
“What.”
“What if Ph—Phyllis talks to me?”
“As if she’d be crazy enough to talk to you twice.”
Marcel didn’t need many words to dominate Timeo. Timeo, oblivious to the fact that his growing body had become rather cumbersome, hunched his back and dragged his feet as he followed his brother into the corridor.
“Phyllis, aren’t you hot?”
“I have my parasol, so I’m fine. But, Marce, did you get shorter?”
“My height didn’t shrink. It’s just you got taller… I guess you take after your father’s growth. And my name is Marcel.”
“Well, girls grow faster when they’re young. Sorry, Martin.”
“It’s not a big deal. But could you call me Marcel?”
Marcel naturally took Phyllis’s parasol and guided her into the shade. Timeo followed at a small distance, straining to catch the conversation between them hidden under the parasol.
Phyllis kept getting Marcel’s name wrong, and though he couldn’t see his face, Marcel’s expression was surely grim.
Imagining Marcel’s twisted face somehow improved Timeo’s mood. Then Phyllis turned and pointed at Timeo.
“Marcel, I’m fine. Why don’t you give your brother the shade instead?”
“But the sun in Bjul is said to be deadly to a lady’s skin.”
“Well… it’s less harsh than Banyole’s. You told me before that you were guiding your brother, right? Poor Timeo looks like he’s about to get smoked…”
“…Timeo, come here.”
Marcel called out to him like calling a dog. When his brother called, there was no choice but to obey.
Timeo hesitated but took a place between Marcel and Phyllis. Under the narrow strip of shade, he could finally breathe.
“Looking at you two like this, you really do look alike.”
“What?”
Marcel and Timeo answered almost at the same time. Timeo felt as if his heart might burst out of his throat.
Was it an insult? A compliment, maybe? Marcel’s face didn’t show any particular reaction.
The three settled beneath the largest tree in the garden. A maid who had been quietly following the young nobles quickly set out refreshments. Phyllis thanked the servants one by one, while Marcel rested his chin on his hand, watching her intently.
Sensing something was about to happen, Timeo exaggeratedly, more actively than usual, began eating the baked sweets to divert Marcel’s attention to himself. But Marcel’s sharp gaze remained fixed on Phyllis’s profile.
“Phyllis, are you in weak health?”
Phyllis, who was tasting apricot jam, nodded at Marcel’s gentle question.
“But at the recital, I was surprised. Listening to your description of Banyole’s scenery… it didn’t sound like a girl who spent all her time indoors. Would it be rude to say that?”
“Quite rude. If you want to know about me, could you ask our father? Right now, I just want to enjoy the sweets.”
“I see.”
Phyllis set down the sweets without hesitation and quietly stared at Marcel. Timeo, glancing between the two, accidentally met Marcel’s eyes.
Marcel gestured sharply toward the plate, and Timeo had no choice but to silently devour the sweet biscuits. That’s when it happened.
Phyllis picked up a handkerchief and gently wiped the crumbs from Timeo’s lips herself.
“No wonder Marcel’s so overprotective of you.”
“Overprotective? Who?”
“You really are like a child, Timeo.”
Well, I am nine years old… The words rose to his throat, but Timeo swallowed them. His vision blurred, and his head spun.
When Phyllis called it “overprotective,” it felt as though all of Marcel’s cruelty toward him had been neatly wrapped up as some kind of tender care. Truly.
The maid clearing the empty plate suddenly screamed. It was because a badger that had been hiding in the bushes suddenly poked its head out.
It didn’t just look around, it charged straight toward the tree where the three children sat. And unfortunately, the badger’s target seemed to be Marcel.
In that brief moment, with the weary mind of a nine-year-old, Timeo imagined the beatings and curses that would fall on him if Marcel were injured by that little creature. Should he block it with his arm? But the badger was too fast.
“Young Master!”
Just as the lunging badger was about to pounce on Marcel, Phyllis calmly slid both hands under its armpits. The badger, caught midair, wore a blank expression as foolish as Timeo’s. For the first time, the corners of Phyllis’s eyes softened.
“Cute. It would look good around Mother’s neck.”
Sensing Phyllis’s predatory gaze, the badger wriggled in panic. Then she handed it over to Timeo without hesitation.
“Want to hold it?”
Unconsciously, Timeo grabbed the badger. He even forgot to check what kind of position his brother was left in after falling backward.
❤︎.꒰ ⑅:†· ❤︎ ·†:⑅ ꒱.❤︎
“She’s insane.”
“…Why?”
“What kind of noble girl touches a wild badger with her bare hands? It’s crawling with germs…”
“But…”
If it was a germ nest, then Marcel was the same. Timeo couldn’t say it out loud and simply shut his mouth.
“…Marcel, did you thank Phyllis?”
“What? Why would I?”
“She saved you from getting bitten by the badger.”
“Idiot. Why would a badger bite me? It was just trying to hug me. Meneze’s daughter went crazy on her own and grabbed the poor badger roughly, that’s all…”
Yet Marcel’s voice trembled noticeably when he said Phyllis’s name.
“…She’s probably not even a noble.”
“That can’t be…”
“Would a marchioness wear badger fur? They usually wear something more extravagant.”
Maybe she just prefers something modest… Timeo swallowed that, too, and nodded reluctantly at Marcel’s absurd reasoning.
Marcel might have acted like a worldly little adult, but in truth, he’d never set foot outside Bjul, a fool who only thought he knew everything.
To Timeo, Phyllis was the perfect noble. Her manners were far too polished for a ten-year-old, and even the way she walked beside the Marquis Meneze was graceful.
Whatever Marcel imagined “nobility” to be, Timeo simply liked Phyllis. If he could walk with her in the garden tomorrow and the day after, maybe he could endure Marcel’s torment.
Fifteen days passed in a blink. Beyond her brief summer visit, Phyllis often came to Marcel’s recitals, where she handed out pamphlets of the Honoré Theater, and once, she strolled through the blooming garden with Timeo alone, without Marcel.
When he looked up, he could see Marcel standing at the window, his face flushed with heat and twisted in a scowl as he glared at them.
They walked aimlessly, letting the cool breeze from the forest wash over them, and even witnessed the servants of Voileurvan Castle secretly meeting among the thick trees.
“If we saw something like this twice, Father would scold us…”
“So what. The actors on stage perform things much worse than this.”
“On stage?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never seen that.”
“Winter’s too cold, but maybe in spring, you and Marcel can come to Banyole. If we’re lucky, we might get the best seats.”
“Really?”
“Why not? You’re the sons of Voileurvan.”
“You–you’re also the daughter of the Marquis Meneze.”
“…Right.”
“Can we… leave Marcel behind?”
Phyllis burst out laughing at his bold question. Her laughter gave Timeo courage. He made up his mind, he would tell her everything.
He began to explain, fumbling with hands and feet, the long history of torment, how cruel his brother was, and how he bullied him. Phyllis forgot about the lovers in the forest and listened with a serious expression under the bushes.
“Did you tell your father?”
“The adults like him more than me.”
“But you’re both his sons. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Marcel… he’s sick. Very sick.”
“Timeo, sick people in bed don’t make faces that ferocious. He always looks at you like he wants to eat you alive.”
“That’s not it, Marcel is…”
Maybe Timeo had been longing to tell someone all this. It was dark around them, and Phyllis didn’t rush or doubt him. She simply waited for him to speak, with those mature eyes and gentle murmurs drawing him in.
How much had he told her? By the time he finished spilling out everything about Voileurvan’s terrible hereditary disease, their mother’s death, his brother’s two-faced nature, and his violent fits, a long shadow suddenly stretched over their heads.
“What are you two talking about?”
It was Marcel.
