HBM 18

chapter 18

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I’m doing this right.”
Grace fiddled with it for a long time, finally shaping it into something she found satisfactory, and stepped back.
At that moment, Lucas’s wandering hand behind her could finally retreat naturally.
Fortunately, Grace’s face showed that she had seen nothing.
The unfortunate part was that everyone else present—except Grace—had witnessed the entire scene.

“…Pfft.”
A deflating sort of laugh came from somewhere.
Even without looking, he could tell.
Haem was laughing.
‘Damn it.’
Lucas subtly turned his head, keeping Grace out of view, and glared at Haem.
Haem quickly lowered his head to hide his smiling face.
But he couldn’t hide the slight trembling of his shoulders.

“Uh, I hope you like it.”
“Like it… ahem, hmm. I like it very much.”
“That’s a relief.”
Grace smiled brightly, unaware of what had just happened around her.
Before her smile, Lucas felt a heavy sense of guilt.
‘I can’t believe I’m such a lecher…’
Truly, Grace Oelin had revealed sides of himself he hadn’t even known existed.

After several silent reminders to keep himself composed, he spoke again, returning to his usual polite and formal demeanor:
“I… I will treasure it, Grace.”
“Yes? Ah, yes.”
“Then, shall we finally begin our meal in earnest?”
“I’m really looking forward to it.”
Grace gave him a smile that was pure, clear, and utterly innocent.

The meal went smoothly.
A gigantic music box, the size of which no one seemed to know when it had been brought out, occupied one side of the garden.
Delicate music poured down continuously like rain, setting the mood.
Champagne with cassis cream from Apartife was smooth and sweet, enough to whet the appetite.
Fragrant flowers, soft lighting, and exotic dishes made the dining experience nearly perfect.

The salad with salmon was Grace’s favorite.
The soup that followed was rich and savory, loosening even her lingering tension.
Delicious food had power.
It naturally relaxed the diners and sweetly stimulated the senses, lifting the mood.
Everything was perfect.
Even if the person in front of her were the emperor, this atmosphere would make her smile through the meal.

Just as she let her guard down, “it” appeared.

“Now! Today’s highlight! The masterpiece of Cottiamont! I present to you a bison dish aged with special spices! A barbecue I smoked personally from the early morning!”
Cottiamont proudly introduced the dish, holding a large covered plate like it was a secret weapon.

“Cottiamont’s bison dish was even approved by His Majesty the current king. When he was crown prince and visited the Black family, he always enjoyed this dish.”
Lucas encouraged Cottiamont’s confidence.
The bison dish had a unique and rich flavor no one else in the kingdom could replicate.
Even Lucas, who preferred vegetarian meals, sometimes enjoyed its remarkable taste.
Cottiamont’s pride showed, lifting his shoulders and ears in delight.

“Now, let me present the dish!”
He raised the plate high.
“I give you… Coching Quirus!”
With a grand gesture, he lifted the lid.

“Ta-da!”
Grace, unable to contain her curiosity, looked under the lid—and instantly went pale.
Jully, watching from behind, also froze in shock.

“This is one of our country’s finest dishes. Bison is rare and tricky to prepare, only huntable by hand. Here! You just pierce the meat thoroughly with these long skewers!”
Cottiamont shouted, raising one of three skewers next to the charred meat.

Grace couldn’t help staring at the tip of the skewer.
Her head spun.
‘I—I shouldn’t look.’
But the fear coursing through her didn’t allow her to close her eyes.
Her vision alternated between white and black.
The queasiness rising within her peaked when Cottiamont plunged the sharp skewer into the meat.

“…!”
Grace’s sight whirled.
She couldn’t endure it and squeezed her eyes shut.
But the sound—thunk! thunk! thwack!—was unstoppable.
It played like a video in her mind, lifting her whole body and crashing it to the floor.

“Though it may seem violent, plunging it like this releases the juice trapped inside…!”
“Wait, wait a moment!”
Grace jumped up, unable to endure any longer.
Cottiamont, who was excitedly explaining the dish, stopped.
Lucas and Haem, shaking their heads at Cottiamont’s excessive explanation, also froze.

Grace clenched her trembling fists, trying to steady her voice:
“I-I’m sorry… please, excuse me for a moment…”
She couldn’t speak further. If she did, she feared she would be sick.
Biting her lips hard, she rushed out of the table.

“Grace…!”
Lucas sprang up to follow, but Jully, Grace’s maid, stopped him.
“Your Highness! Please, wait!”

Lucas’s face stiffened, seeing Jully blocking his way.
He couldn’t understand what was happening.
“Why? What happened to Grace all of a sudden…?”

Jully sighed, gazing at the skewer sticking out of the delicious meat.
‘Ah! If only that wasn’t here, it would have been a perfect dinner…!’
She regretted not asking Haem or the chef to remove sharp objects in advance, but it was too late.
‘What should I do?’
She hesitated briefly, then made up her mind.
She wondered if revealing the young lady’s flaw here was appropriate, but leaving it unexplained might worsen the situation—or cause misunderstanding about Grace.

“Your Highness… are you familiar with the term ‘phobia’?”
“Phobia?”
“Yes. In fact, I only learned about it through our young lady. Some people experience intense fear of specific things.”
“Fear? You’ll have to explain more.”
He lowered his voice slightly and listened to Jully.
His blue-flame-like eyes constantly searched for where Grace had gone.

“Some people can’t bear to see clustered circles, others fear clowns. Such specific fears are called phobias.”
For someone who had spent his life as a strong, attacking, or protective figure, this was completely foreign.
The idea that someone could fear mere shapes or clowns was unimaginable.

But Lucas was not the type to dismiss what he had not experienced.
If he were, the exotic and eccentric chef Cottiamont could never have become the head chef of this mansion.
He listened attentively, encouraging Jully to continue.

“Our young lady…”
Jully took a deep breath and spoke courageously:
“…suffers from a sharp object phobia.”

She had said it. There was no turning back.
Jully continued, her lips trembling:
“She is especially sensitive to sharp and pointed objects—like syringes, needles, or knife tips.”

She looked at Lucas, who pressed his fist against his forehead, swallowing hard.
He looked troubled, though it wasn’t yet clear by what.

“Oh no… If I’d known, I would have prepared a different dish!”
Cottiamont, pale, covered his mouth with a gloved hand, almost in tears.

“No. Our young lady won’t blame you or His Highness. She will probably blame herself for not speaking up in time, and feel embarrassed.”
Lucas said:
“She shouldn’t blame herself. The fault is mine for not considering her condition.”

Jully covered her mouth, thinking:
‘This is him! This man!’
Despite his stern face and piercing eyes, he was far more admirable than the thin, unattractive marquises she had known.
Ah, perhaps virtue and beauty are proportionate?
Yes, she had heard that somewhere—that a great character is accompanied by great appearance.
She had thought it nonsense, but seeing him now, she realized it wasn’t.

‘With him, perhaps my lady’s world could be a bit warmer.’
Jully sincerely wished for her young lady’s happiness.
She had fed her when she was sick, cheered her on when she picked herself up—her young lady.

“Your Highness. The young lady’s phobia has not been made public. The marquis forbade anyone from speaking of it as her flaw.”
Jully said firmly:
“As a result, Grace has received almost no treatment for her phobia.”

‘I am not tattling.’

“Treatment… is it necessary? Can it even be treated? Then why didn’t the marquis take it upon himself to help Grace…”

This was… a revelation of the psychological abuse the young lady had endured.

“The marquis thinks her phobia is a mental illness. And treats his own daughter accordingly.”

Jully, calming her trembling breath, spoke strongly:
“At times, he even treats her as if she were half-mentally ill.”