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Chapter 12
The Hidden Left Hand
The Duke of Étrangère was deep in thought.
When he returned after the ball, he had clearly heard from the maids—
that Anastasia had moved back into her original room on the third floor of the estate.
“…Hmm.”
There was no justification to drive her out.
To begin with, Anastasia was nothing more than a puppet who only needed to stay alive. There was no real reason to expel her either.
In truth, it had been a long time since the last war. The world no longer needed magic.
Only a single mage remained in this era—and even if that one disappeared, it wouldn’t cause any great problem.
For the world, at least.
But for the House of Étrangère, losing its title as the last and only mage family would mean inevitable decline.
Yes, they still held vast lands befitting a ducal house, but the duke himself lacked true prestige.
The only thing preventing territorial wars from erupting was the deterrence of Anastasia’s overwhelming power—and the fact that he held her leash.
There was also the loyalty of their vassals…
‘But they were never to be trusted in the first place.’
The duke rose from his seat. He needed a countermeasure.
Just then, a knock sounded.
“It is Hein, the head butler. May I come in, my lord?”
“…Come in.”
A young man with neatly combed black hair entered the study.
“What is it?”
“Ah… nothing major. I wish to hire a new maid. As instructed, Diana has been dealt with.”
“Good. Someone who can’t even handle a simple task is useless. And you don’t need my approval for every maid you hire, Hein.”
“However… there is one thing that concerns me.”
“What is it?”
Hein handed over a document.
“She previously served the daughter of Count Gerlant. The reason she wishes to change employment is because she wants to stay close to her grandfather—Sir Enoch.”
The duke clicked his tongue.
“Hah. So Anastasia that wench moved Enoch back into the butler’s position, and now she’s even been given authority over personnel?”
“…Shall we refuse?”
The duke shook his head.
“No. Refusing would insult Count Gerlant’s recommendation. I may be a duke, but he is a margrave. Not someone to be disregarded—even if only indirectly.”
The duke interlocked his fingers, resting his chin on them, then came to a decision.
“Assign her as Anastasia’s personal maid for now. That must have been Enoch’s intention as well. There’s no other vacancy.”
“Understood. I will handle it as you instructed.”
The man bowed deeply, and the Duke of Étrangère smiled in satisfaction.
He preferred people who knew their place—those who willingly lowered themselves.
In that sense, this young man was well-suited for the heavy responsibility of head butler at such an age.
“Good. You may go.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Early morning, in the estate’s dining hall.
A long table stretched across the room, usually accompanied by only three chairs.
Until the owner of the fourth chair arrived.
“S-so, miss…”
“Miss?”
Anastasia’s brow furrowed slightly.
The head chef broke into a cold sweat and quickly bowed his head.
“My—my apologies, my lady!”
“Good.”
Just a few days ago, these people wouldn’t even bother bowing to her—let alone show respect.
She understood.
The family’s power lay with her father, and she was merely a half-blood child locked away in a tower.
But not anymore.
“What is your duty, chef?”
Anastasia pressed the man—who looked four times her size—without hesitation.
“To prepare and serve food for those of noble blood within the House of Étrangère…”
“And yet you said ‘that won’t be possible’? So… you’re saying you don’t acknowledge the ‘Étrangère’ blood in my name?”
“N-no, that’s not it!”
“Then go back to the kitchen and bring me the best two dishes you can make with what you have right now.”
The chef fled immediately.
Only then did Anastasia take her seat—
after having the maids bring in a fourth chair.
“…Do you really need two plates?”
Artorius asked quietly from behind.
At that moment, the bustling of servants was heard again.
Without even turning around, Anastasia replied:
“Artorius. One is for you.”
“…I don’t eat. Especially during the day. I cannot remove my helmet.”
The servants carried in a large armchair—one that should have been in the reception room.
A sturdy piece made of mahogany, strong enough to support Artorius’s massive frame during the day.
“Still, sit down for now.”
“What kind of knight would sit at the same table as his lady?”
Artorius firmly refused.
Until Anastasia drove the final nail in.
“And what kind of knight speaks casually to his lady?”
“…That’s…”
She shrugged lightly, then glanced at the cream pasta being brought in.
“I don’t exactly call you ‘Sir’ properly either. But you can at least stay by my side, can’t you?”
“…Fine.”
Knight and lady.
Their relationship wasn’t something that could be denied—
yet it was far from typical.
At that moment, a voice rang out from the kitchen.
“Why is the armchair from the reception room missing? I heard it was brought to the kitchen—this is absurd.”
It was Hein, the duke’s head butler.
