Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Though she had brought dresses from her family, she couldn’t ignore their kind gesture.
Isabella suppressed her magical energy as much as possible and slipped into the red dress Flenn had offered her.
“I’ve never worn something this bright before.”
The crimson gown flowed softly from just below her chest, harmonizing beautifully with her dark hair.
“Do you like it?”
At Flenn’s question, Isabella responded as she placed a black veil over her head.
“Yes. It’s beautiful, almost like it was modeled after an amaryllis flower.”
“…That’s correct. You have quite the keen eye, my lady.”
She’d simply voiced her impression, but it seemed she’d guessed right by chance. Flenn’s pupils briefly widened in surprise before he smiled, clearly pleased.
“Heh. Well then, allow me to escort you to the dining hall. Please, follow me.”
“All right. Ah, Baal, let’s go.”
As she turned to follow Flenn out of the room, she called for Baal over her shoulder. But Baal turned his back to her and responded coolly.
“I believe they’ll guide you well enough without me. I’ll stay here.”
‘Huh? Why the sudden mood?’
Isabella tilted her head, puzzled by the way Baal seemed to pout, his lower lip sticking out ever so slightly. Still, she dismissed it as mere fatigue from their long journey.
“Okay. Just rest until I get back.”
As she stepped out of the room, just before the door shut behind her, Baal’s voice floated out like a sigh.
“At this rate, I’m going to grow old… real old…meeh…”
Isabella’s steps faltered at the sound.
‘He must really be tired… Should I share some of my blood with him today?’
For contracted demons or monsters, their main sustenance was their master’s magical energy. But when they were weakened, they sometimes craved their master’s blood instead. Baal had never once asked for blood before, but seeing him so listless made her worry.
“My lady? Did you forget something?”
Flenn asked curiously as she stood frozen in place.
“No, it’s nothing. Let’s go.”
Isabella shook her head lightly and resumed walking.
Before long, they arrived at the dining hall under Flenn’s guidance. When the doors opened, she saw Cedric seated at the far end of an enormous dining table that looked well over three meters long.
“Oh? Am I… terribly late?”
She was certain she had arrived on time, but the way Cedric sat with his arms crossed, staring directly at the door, made her feel oddly intimidated.
“Not at all. Please, have a seat.”
Cedric didn’t betray a single emotion, simply gesturing to the seat across from him.
She sat cautiously, gauging his mood, which seemed decidedly unwelcoming. But that was only the beginning of the real ordeal.
Clink. Clatter.
Sumptuous dishes were set before her, but the only sounds in the room were the clinking of silverware, no breathing, no words.
‘I’ll get indigestion at this rate. Isn’t there something I can talk about?’
She had already sensed that he wasn’t very talkative, but she hadn’t expected complete silence. Isabella’s eyes darted about in search of any possible topic of conversation.
“The chef is quite skilled. The seasoning is perfect. I envy you for being able to eat like this every day.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Haha… Ah! The room is very comfortable, too. The people you assigned to me are so kind. You’ve helped me out of a tough spot. I’m already wondering how I’ll ever repay you.”
“There’s no need.”
“No need? But you helped me in a difficult time—”
“It was merely an empty room. Think nothing of it.”
“Still…”
Was conversation really this uncomfortable for him?
Every word she managed to get out met an unyielding wall. The emotional distance between them felt as vast as the length of the table.
Isabella took a long drink of water to ease the tension. The attendants standing by the walls cast her pitying glances.
‘Ugh, maybe I should’ve just camped outside…’
She couldn’t even tell whether the food was going down her throat or up her nose. Still, she tried her best to lighten the mood.
Forcing a smile, she stared at the lone candlestick on the table and ventured another topic.
“Do you… happen to have a flower allergy, Your Grace?”
In the Empire, it was common to decorate dining tables with flowers. Yet there were none here, not in the hall, not anywhere in the mansion. Her curiosity got the better of her.
Cedric’s hand, which had been cutting into his steak, came to a sudden stop. After a short pause, he replied.
“…No, I don’t.”
‘Was that the wrong thing to ask? It’s just a flower…’
Sweat gathered in her palms as she wondered if she’d just stepped on a landmine.
‘Gah! I should’ve just shut up and eaten!’
Cedric’s expression grew darker, the lines in his brow deepening. Isabella inwardly screamed. Then…
“Do you… want flowers?”
At the unexpected question, Isabella blinked, dumbfounded, before hastily stammering a reply.
“N-No! I just thought the table was so white that any kind of flower would make it look prettier… no, tastier. I mean, more appetizing! Ugh, that’s not what I meant to say…”
Flustered, she rambled without even knowing what she was saying, her face turning bright red as she bowed her head.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she added, “It was just… simple curiosity. I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“…”
No answer came.
The silence stretched on, growing heavier with each passing second.
Strictly speaking, she hadn’t said anything truly wrong. But Cedric’s cold, razor-sharp presence made her skin crawl. Even with his constant scowl, she couldn’t tell if he was angry or simply deep in thought.
‘Sigh… I want to go home.’
She was just beginning to think that a good scolding might actually be better than this oppressive silence when…
Scrape.
The sound of a chair dragging back echoed through the room. Cedric rose from his seat.
“I have matters to attend to. Please enjoy your meal.”
“Huh? Y-Your Grace?”
His sudden departure caught Isabella completely off guard. But without giving her a chance to protest, Cedric strode away on long legs and threw open the dining room doors.
Just before stepping out, he spoke without turning back.
“You are free to act as you wish while staying here. If you need anything, speak with Mrs. Peterson or Cellios.”
With that, he left the hall entirely. Isabella stared blankly at the closed door, then turned to Flenn, who had been standing off to the side.
“Did I… do something wrong?”
“N-No, not at all… I don’t believe so…”
Flenn stammered awkwardly, unable to give her a straight answer.
Sensing something was off, Isabella looked toward him with growing suspicion.
‘Huh? What’s going on with them?’
The staff were all wearing expressions like they’d just seen the sun rise in the west: shock, awe, confusion. Unable to hold back her curiosity, Isabella pressed further.
“Mrs. Peterson? What is it? Did I really make a big mistake?”
Flenn jumped and shook his head furiously.
“Absolutely not. Please don’t worry. Ah! It’s about time for dessert. Chef, what are you doing? Bring out the next course!”
“Oh my! I lost track of time! I’ll have it out right away, just hold on a sec!”
The burly, bald-headed chef dashed back to the kitchen, his rustic dialect in full swing. Moments later, Isabella nibbled at the carrot cake now placed before her while casting furtive glances around.
‘Huh… What is this weird atmosphere?’
Everyone was watching her like proud parents seeing their baby bird eat for the first time. It was incredibly uncomfortable. And then…
“Is the cake not to your liking? Shall I bring out a different dessert?”
“Ah, no, that’s not necessary.”
“No need to be shy! I’ll make you whatever you want, on the pride of a former Imperial chef!”
“Hans, the young lady is present. Please refrain from speaking in your native dialect.”
“Aw, come on, Butler! You’re so uptight.”
As the staff began fussing over her one by one, Isabella had no choice but to put down her fork.
Just half a day ago, they had only circled her from a distance, silently observing. Now, their sudden shift in attitude was hard to digest.
“I’m full, so I’ll be heading back now.”
“What a shame! We made all this delicious food for such a lovely guest…”
“Hans!”
“Chef!”
Hans’s dialect slipped out again, prompting both Cellios and Flenn to shout in unison. Scratching his cheek sheepishly, the chef mumbled.
“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t even fix this speech habit in front of the Duke or the Emperor himself… Miss, if I offended you, I apologize.”
Despite his imposing size, he looked like a bulldog chastised for misbehaving, which made her chuckle despite herself. Isabella found Hans’s boisterous, harmless demeanor rather endearing and waved it off.
“It’s fine. My family isn’t big on formalities anyway, so this is actually more comfortable for me. I’d prefer if you called me by name. Please, don’t stand on ceremony. Well then, I’ll be going.”
Leaving the dining hall, she returned to her room. Waving off the maids who tried to follow, she leaned against the door with a long sigh once she was alone.
“Haa…”
“You’re back, milady? Was the food to your taste?”
Fortunately, Baal seemed to be in a much better mood now, idly filing his hooves on the sofa.
“Yeah, it was delicious. Just…”
“Just?”
She trudged over to the bed and collapsed onto it.
“It just reminded me that… people really do come in all types.”
“Meeh?”
Baal looked at her like she was speaking nonsense, but she turned her head and added softly.
“I’m not even sure how to talk to people anymore… Wait, flowers?”
At that moment, her eyes fell on a small bouquet resting gently atop her pillow.
