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~Chapter 51~
He remembered sticking his head out of the carriage on the way to the royal palace, staring outside in a daze.
“Looking was fine. But the shock came when I actually set foot there…”
If she went to a crowded banquet, she might panic. He added this thought to the list inside his mind.
Then, he began investigating the Argen Marquis’s family again.
He had already searched countless times, but this time, he focused on a different angle.
“Master, why are you suddenly looking for Argen’s illegitimate child?” Luke asked.
“Even if one existed, the Argen family must have hidden it so thoroughly that they lived completely unrelated to them.”
If only that were true. But Noxian knew otherwise.
“Dig deeper. And… find every blond man who was in the Argen castle at the time.”
“…What?”
“No matter if he was old or young, high rank or low, whether he lived there or just visited once. Find them all.”
How are we supposed to do that? Luke bit his tongue.
Most of the blonds in Argen—especially the direct family members—had already been killed by Noxian himself. Including the Marquis, his sons, and his daughter.
“What is this about?” Luke asked carefully.
Noxian ignored the plaza, the tearoom—none of that mattered. What bothered him most was the last thing Nixia had told him.
“She suddenly ran out, saying she saw someone she knew. But her expression wasn’t exactly like she knew him… Anyway, the knights said it was a blond man.”
Blond. Man.
Someone worth running after at the mere sight.
Even if it was someone already dead, the urge to erase every trace of him surged violently inside Noxian.
It could have been just a customer Shariette met at the Willowhill herb shop. But his instinct pointed not to “White Crow,” but to her days as Shasha.
Shasha.
Shariette.
“…Luke. What do you think?”
“About what, Master?”
“If someone tries to hide their past, why would they do it?”
“Well… Because they’re ashamed. Because they feel guilty. At the very least, it’s not something they’re proud of.”
Noxian thought deeply, then asked again.
“Imagine it’s you. You owe someone a huge debt, the kind where you could demand anything as repayment. Would you still hide it?”
“…If I’m the one who owes the debt, not the one who was owed? Then I should brag about it as much as I can. Ah! Unless… maybe they just want to forget the past completely. Cut ties clean, debt or no debt.”
That must be it.
Noxian slowly nodded.
“Yes. That must be it.”
Her time at Argen wouldn’t have been happy memories anyway.
At the thought of those underground chambers, he felt the choking sensation around his throat again. He loosened his tie slightly.
“Shasha? What’s that? A person? Or a medicine?”
The way she jumped in surprise whenever he poked at her and then tried to cover with clumsy lies—it was cute.
If she wanted to forget her past, he should pretend not to know.
But.
“Save me… No… I don’t want to…”
He remembered her tossing and turning in nightmares, drenched in cold sweat, whispering endlessly.
“Who are you so afraid of?”
He promised to act like he didn’t know, but that didn’t mean he would actually remain ignorant.
He couldn’t let remnants of her past, shadows or scars, continue to harm her.
Her past.
Her weakness.
He would uncover what she wanted to hide, what she wanted to run from. He needed to know what to touch and what to avoid, so that this cautious little crow could finally feel safe in his nest.
Meanwhile, Luke, still troubled by how to track all those “blond men,” spoke up.
“Master, isn’t there a maid you brought from the Argen castle? Perhaps that girl knows something?”
“Ah. That maid.”
The bold child who had lied, saying she hadn’t seen Shasha even when she clearly had.
“Well, what now… Until now, I’ve never spared anyone who lied to me.”
A Rubellot servant who had secretly remained loyal to another master.
‘…That alone is enough reason to keep her close.’
He waved his hand.
“Forget it. She’s just a child. How much could she even remember properly?”
What nonsense, Luke thought, shaking his head.
“For us, even one witness is important.”
Noxian rested his chin on his hand, thinking, then smiled softly.
“Shariette treasures that maid. If we frighten her, she won’t like it. My personal doctor is scarier than you think.”
Don’t say it with a smile. Luke flinched and lowered his head.
True, Lady Shariette had once knocked out this man with just a single spray bottle.
Luke admitted to himself—he had no wish to do anything that Shariette disliked.
“…I see. Then I suppose we must go there ourselves.”
“Yes. I’ll leave it to you, Luke.”
To my dear Lady Shariette,
How have you been? This is Hailey Perez, the one you met at Rosa Bloom.
I heard from Nixia that you will attend the Crown Prince’s birthday banquet next month.
Before that, I plan to gather some friends for a small meeting. I would love it if you could come too. They’re all good people, so you won’t feel uncomfortable.
There will be fragrant tea and sweet desserts. If you have anything you especially like, please write it in your reply—I’ll prepare it for you.
Of course, nothing will be made with Flua flowers, so you can rest assured.
I’ll wait for your reply.
—With friendship,
Hailey Perez
P.S. Is it true that Viscount Caiel Genoa asked you to be his partner?
This was the second letter Shariette received. She opened it more naturally than the first one.
“The Viscount Genoa… why is Hailey asking about Caiel Genoa?”
Shariette showed the whole letter to Mia, who was curiously peeking at it.
“Ah! That guest from before! He’s very popular with the young ladies of Caldeon society. Even our maids went to see him last time.”
Shariette remembered. The strange sight of people crammed along hallways and stairs.
“The really important part is usually written in the postscript.”
“Did Lady Nixia tell you that?”
“No. Noxian Rubellot did.”
“The young duke?”
“You said you would send Genoa a refusal?”
“Yes. He said he was waiting for my reply.”
His lips had curled into a strange smile, hard to read—whether pleased or displeased.
“And what reason will you write?”
“I’ll say I already have someone to escort, so I must decline.”
“…Pfft!”
Then, with a refreshed face like someone who had slept for ten years, he had given her this advice:
“Keep the main body short and simple. Flowery words, if written poorly, are worse than useless. Most of the real feelings usually go into the postscript—those little thoughts you hesitate to say, added as if they’re nothing.”
That was why Shariette, after much hesitation, had added the long list of allergy-triggering foods—thinking, “I saved him once, might as well let him live longer.”
Nixia had laughed until she cried reading it.
Now, hearing the story, Mia also laughed awkwardly, finally understanding why Shariette’s postscript was longer than the main letter.
“I don’t know society rumors like Lady Nixia or the Duchess’s maids, but I’ve heard things. That young Lord Genoa is said to be the most perfect groom after His Highness the First Prince.”
So that was why Hailey asked.
Shariette tried to recall Caiel Genoa’s appearance. She remembered nothing clearly, except his eyes—purple, like the color of irises or monkshood flowers.
“Will you attend the tea gathering?” Mia asked.
“Nixia already asked me to go with her.”
“That’s wonderful!”
Mia beamed, her face glowing with half excitement, half pride.
“Actually, I’ve always thought it was wrong that you—Lady Shariette, the Marquis’s daughter—were stuck only in the pharmacy. You’re so beautiful! You should dress up, go to parties, even go boating!”
Mia almost let “Shasha” slip but swallowed it just in time.
Shariette, bewildered by the nonsense—something she had never even imagined for herself—answered flatly:
“Party? Boating? Mia, only you think of things like that.”
“No, it’s true! Many people thought so. Especially those who survived thanks to Shasha. They all said the Marquis was the bad one. Why should Shasha be the only one to take the blame?”
