[Entering the Main Mission Area.]
[Assimilation active.]
[Elise’s instincts are taking hold.]
Comfortably sitting on the wingback chair, Irene exuded confidence and majesty as she waited for the guest. She looked like she just stepped out of the finest painting by the finest artist.
’Focus!’
Eli, anwhile, stood one step behind her right shoulder.
Elise’s role had always been more than just a maid. She was Irene’s de facto bodyguard, albeit weak for now, the fixer, the dealer, and the representative of the heir to House Lagranche, Irene Lagranche.
And Eli had inherited these roles.
’Don’t worry, Elise. She’s in good hands.’
As for the eting, it would soon take place at the parlor of the household, and it was safe to say that the room was immaculate.
Every surface had been polished, every curtain drawn to the precise angle, letting just enough of the afternoon light in to set the tone. A silver tea set sat on the table between two armchairs, white cloud gently wafting from the pot, and there were three porcelain cups, not two.
’I set all of this up, by the way. Good job, team!’
Just then, soone knocked at the door, and with it, ca a weathered voice.
"Young Miss. Your guest has arrived."
"Let them in."
The doors opened, slowly revealing a figure of a man. He was tall, slender, dressed in a dark navy coat with gold embroidery at the cuffs and collar. His dark hair was neatly combed back, and his smile was practiced and relentless.
Behind him trailed a younger attendant carrying a lacquered box.
The butler, Alfred, announced him.
"Edmond Belcourt, heir of House Belcourt, on behalf of Her Grace, Duchess Ambrosia."
’Edmond Belcourt!? What the fuck is he doing here?’
In the Latia Kingdom, the only human kingdom of this world, there existed two factions: the royal faction and the aristocratic faction. The head of the aristocrats was Duchess Ambrosia, known for her ruthlessness and direct opposition to the Latian throne.
Edmond was one of Duchess Ambrosia’s more reliable pawns, and he was the one to orchestrate the deaths of four heroines of the royal faction. It was entirely possible that the attack on House Lagranche had his hand in it too, but because he wouldn’t appear until a much later act, Eli never registered the possibility.
’Irene would’ve been his fifth if he had succeeded.’
House Lagranche’s standing was officially neutral, but the late Marchioness had quietly aligned with the royalists. It was obvious the Duchess wanted to wipe them out before the royal faction could gain an important ally.
Eli clenched his fists.
’I want to kill this bastard right now...’
Of course, that could never happen, so Eli killed Edmond a million tis over in his head. He would have plenty of chances later — Edmond was on his kill list anyway.
anwhile, Edmond bowed to greet Irene.
"Lady Irene. Thank you for honoring our request. House Belcourt is grateful for your consideration."
Irene nodded her head.
"Lord Edmond," she said, gesturing toward the settee. "Please."
Edmond settled into the settee, crossed one leg over the other, and leaned back as he draped an arm across the backrest. It was an extrely disrespectful behavior toward Irene.
"What a lovely estate," he said. "It’s held up remarkably well, all things considered."
Eli’s jaw tightened behind his polite mask.
’This sly motherfucker. What a backhanded complint.’
Irene didn’t bite.
"Elise. Tea, please."
"Yes, my Lady."
Eli stepped forward, pouring Irene’s cup first, then Edmond’s, and finally the third. It was a tradition Irene had started, leaving a third cup for Elise as a display of the friendship between them.
Edmond watched the entire ritual with a faint, amused tilt of his head.
"Three cups? How charming. Is your maid joining us at the table, Lady Irene?"
"She stands. I don’t deprive the people I trust of tea, Lord Edmond."
His smile widened.
"Of course. Forgive . House Lagranche has always been know for its... progressive values."
The way he said progressive made it sound like a disease.
’Don’t you worry, Edmond. I’ll progress you to hell soon.’
Edmond, unaware of Eli’s murderous thoughts, took his cup of tea, brought it slowly to his lips, and sipped loud enough for everyone to hear. He then set it down with grace.
’Tch. Everything he does is just to get into people’s heads.’
"Louise, the gift."
At Edmond’s beck and call, the attendant handed over the lacquered box, which Edmond presented to Irene.
"I ca bearing a gift, Lady Irene. I believe a woman of your standing deserves far more, but consider this a beginning."
’A beginiiing!? You have so nerve!’
Irene’s expression remained unamused.
"I appreciate the sentint, no matter how insignificant it is."
Edmond’s practiced smile slightly cracked.
’Yes! Get him, Irene. Show him your fangs.’
In a matriarchal society of the Latia Kingdom, n like Edmond thrived on one thing: the rare pleasure of making a noblewoman feel small. But this was Irene Lagranche. Irene... freaking... Lagranche — a genius mage with two Songs at the age of 20.
To keep the montum going, Eli imdiately stepped forward and took the box from his hands.
"I’ll take care of the gift, Lord Edmond."
Edmond turned to Eli, expression soured.
"What is this insolence?"
Irene swiftly chid in.
"This is standard procedure, Lord Edmond. Surely you know servants inspect gifts before presenting them to their master."
Edmond couldn’t refute and coughed. He straightened his coat to hide his embarrassnt.
"I trust the Duchess’s letter arrived well?"
Irene nodded.
"Unexpectedly, but yes. I have read the contents."
"Then I’ll be direct, Lady Irene. Your people have endured a great deal under your father’s rule since the Marchioness’s passing. A union between our houses would bring stability to your House and Sienne. A strong partner like myself, with the backing of Her Grace, would ease your burden considerably."
’I knew it. A political marriage to put House Lagranche under the Duchess’s thumb.’
Edmond paused, letting the grim reality of House Lagranche linger as he eyed Irene like an object.
"And I must say, eting you in person... the Duchess’s praise hardly did you justice."
’He’s not even hiding his lust, despicable rat.’
Irene titled her head, as if genuinely curious.
"A strong partner, you say. With the backing of the Duchess."
She briefly let the words sit.
"Tell , Lord Edmond. I have been thinking — if the union requires the Duchess’s backing to hold weight, what exactly are you bringing to the table?"
Edmond’s jaw tightened.
"I beg your pardon?"
"It’s a simple question. You speak as if your House holds any weight in the matter. I could swear allegiance to the Duchess right this second and receive the sa backing, and so more."
Irene uncrossed her legs, sat forward, and looked him dead in the eye.
"I am Irene Lagranche, daughter of Navia Lagranche, heir apparent to the Marchioness of Sienne. Show respect in my presence."
The room went cold, and Edmond’s mask slipped completely, showing an ugly, twisted expression for just a second.
"You are right, of course, Lady Irene. Forgive my carelessness. I rely wished to express—"
"You’ve expressed enough, Lord Edmond."
Irene picked up her teacup.
"I’m afraid my answer is clear. I suggest you inform the Duchess that if she wishes to negotiate with House Lagranche in the future, she send soone worthy of the conversation."
’IRENE! IRENE! You’re so cool!’
Eli was screaming internally. This was the fearless Irene he knew from the ga!
Edmond stood up. The charm had vanished, replaced by a voice cold and flat:
"You speak boldly for soone whose House can barely keep its own doors open, Lady Irene. Your father drinks himself to ruin, your coffers thin by the month, your people leave in search of a better lord."
He buttoned his coat as slowly as possible.
"The Duchess’s offer was generous. I hope you rember that. It would be a sha to see your House fall into ruin."
He bowed, deeper this ti, turned for the door, and left.
’Did he just threaten her?’
Eli had been holding back with the patience of a monk. That sentence confird everything he needed to know. A threat against a Great House was a perfectly reasonable justification for him to snoop around and prepare for what was to co without arousing Irene’s suspicion.
’I’ll survive, Edmond, and when I do, I’ll make sure to send you to your grave.’
User Comments
0 comments from readers