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~Chapter 33~
My voice shook without meaning to. I remembered how much of a mess we retainers had been last night.
“N-no, it’s fine.”
“Yes, we still got at least two hours of sleep.”
Rene forced a dry smile as she spoke, but Selena quickly tapped her arm. Only then did Rene realize she’d said too much and lowered her head.
“It’s alright. I don’t mind. You don’t need to hold back your words around me.”
At that, Rene glanced nervously at Selena.
“Rene, could you bring me a cup of honey water?”
“Ah—yes, right away!”
She hurried out of the room. I rubbed my throbbing temples as if trying to hold my head together.
A strange thought popped into my mind—the myth of Athena, born from Zeus’s cracked skull.
When Zeus’s head split open, was this the kind of pain he felt? I felt like I understood his suffering completely now.
“Your Grace, are you alright?” Selena asked with concern.
I nodded, even though I felt anything but fine. I didn’t want to show more weakness to people who already had to take care of me all night.
“Selena… what exactly happened yesterday?”
“…You don’t remember?”
Her words made my blood run cold. ‘You don’t remember?’ was one of the scariest questions I could ever hear.
“…No. I don’t.”
“Ah…”
An awkward silence fell over us. Finally, I forced myself to break it.
“Selena, I’ll be fine. Please just tell me everything that happened last night.”
“But…”
“I mean it. At the very least, I should know what happened in my own home.”
My tone was grim, almost dramatic. Selena hesitated, but finally sighed.
“…How far back do you remember?”
“Up until Sir Creedman collapsed face-first into his plate.”
“…Do you remember tapping wine glasses with a fork and singing?”
“…What?”
“So you don’t remember that part.”
She brushed my pale cheek gently, and her words echoed in my ears.
“W-what do you mean?”
Apparently, after Creedman fell asleep, I had gotten into an excellent mood.
“At first, Viscount Idnaers started singing. Then Your Grace began tapping glasses to keep the rhythm.”
“…And then?”
“When he finished… you sang alone for about thirty minutes.”
“…What?”
“I don’t remember the lyrics exactly, but… things like: ‘Love is for everyone, even dogs and cows,’ or ‘Life’s second act begins now,’ or *‘Come nest inside my heart’… songs like that. Anyway, the Viscount was delighted.”
Oh no. I really had done it.
“After that, even the drunk retainers sobered up enough to join in.”
“…So we drank until people started sobering up again?”
“Then you handed the Duke a spoon, made him sing with you, and even put your arm around his shoulders.”
“…Who did that?”
“…You, Your Grace.”
I flopped back on the bed like a tragic heroine. Not only had I embarrassed myself in front of the retainers, but I’d also dragged Apollyon into my drunken antics.
“At least… I didn’t throw up on the floor, right?”
“No. But you kept stumbling and falling over. The servants tried to help, but you insisted you weren’t drunk and could walk on your own.”
Of course. The worst kind of drunk—claiming, “I’m not drunk!” I hated that type. And now I had become it.
“In the end, His Grace had to help you back to your room.”
“…Apollyon?”
My eyes widened. Him? Helping me? Maybe because I was his wife? Or maybe… did he want to bring me to the bedroom for other reasons?
“…Although, he also slipped a few times himself. You nearly both rolled down the stairs.”
Her words killed my hopeful fantasy immediately.
“…Nothing else happened, right?”
“No. Once you reached your chambers, the maids washed you and changed your clothes. That was around ten o’clock.”
“…So I drank until ten?”
“The retainers didn’t leave until almost eleven.”
Selena gave a bitter smile. I didn’t even need to imagine how much trouble the servants had gone through cleaning up.
I was still at a loss for words when Rene returned, carrying a tray with a steaming cup.
“Your Grace, I’ve brought honey water.”
“Thank you.”
I took the cup, blew on it, and sipped slowly. The warm sweetness slid down my throat, soothing my upset stomach a little.
“Hhh…”
A strange sound slipped out as my body relaxed. The tension in me loosened, and I realized how sore my body really was.
I lifted my skirts up to my knees. My legs were covered in bruises.
My elbows were dark purple, and my forearms had red scrapes as if I’d fallen onto something rough.
“…You kept falling down yesterday,” Rene murmured.
No wonder. These were the typical wounds I always saw the day after drinking too much.
“Should we call the physician?”
“No, it’s fine.”
Bruises would fade on their own, and scrapes would heal with a little ointment. Besides—I couldn’t bear to explain these injuries to a doctor.
If a noblewoman showed up battered like this, the doctor would surely ask what happened. And I’d have to admit I’d gotten blackout drunk. How humiliating.
“You may not think so, but these look painful,” Selena said softly.
“Yes. Especially your elbows… people might be shocked if they saw them,” Rene added.
“It’s nothing.” I finished my cup and placed it back on the tray, then stood.
But as soon as I moved, the honey water churned in my stomach.
“Urgh…”
I clapped a hand over my mouth and leaned against the wall. So much for feeling better.
“Your Grace?” Rene quickly held me steady while Selena fetched a basin.
“If you feel sick, please use this—”
“I’m fine—ugh!”
Before I could finish, I bent over and vomited straight into the basin. The sound of my heaving filled the room.
The maids quietly rubbed my back as I retched out the honey water. When it was over, Rene handed me a handkerchief. I wiped my mouth and collapsed on the floor, exhausted.
“Perhaps we really should call the physician now,” Rene said.
“…Yes. I suppose so,” I admitted weakly, staggering back to my feet. Then I rushed into the bathroom again.
If nothing else, I needed a prescription for hangover medicine.
***
Meanwhile…
Apollyon woke up fresh and clear-headed.
They say drinking until you pass out is bad for your body, yet strangely, he felt lighter than ever.
“Maybe… alcohol suits me?” he wondered.
Nonsense. In reality, Apollyon was always exhausted. He rarely slept more than six hours a night, living in constant fatigue without realizing it.
Last night, he had finally gotten long, deep sleep thanks to the alcohol knocking him out. Since he hadn’t drunk much at all, he had no hangover.
But he didn’t know that.
Having never been truly drunk before, he thought: So this is what it feels like. Not bad.
He was even impressed by how fine he felt.
“Must be all my training. Exercise really does keep you healthy.”
If Petunia had heard, she would’ve laughed in his face.
He got dressed, picked up his well-kept sword, and went to the training yard. If he wanted to truly enjoy fine wine in the future, he thought, he’d need the stamina to match it.
He arrived and took a swig from his water flask. The cold liquid poured down his throat, and he drank and drank until the flask was empty.
Only when the last drops trickled onto the ground did he realize he’d drained the whole thing. The water tasted unusually sweet today. Was he just that thirsty?
Strange…
He frowned at the flask, then began his drills. His sword sliced the morning air, the rhythm of steel mixing with the distant crash of waves. Dawn was breaking.
He moved gracefully, spinning and striking, but then—
“Urgh…”
A wave of dizziness hit him. He grabbed his forehead, barely steadying himself by tightening his core muscles.
“…?”
This was new. He had never felt so unbalanced, not even as a child training for the first time.
Why do I feel like this?
He hesitated, but then shook off the thought and continued. He leapt toward a pillar at the edge of the yard, ready to vault and strike.
But again, the dizziness returned—this time with nausea. He landed, steadied himself, and forced his sword into the ground for balance. Only a trained eye could have noticed his misstep.
What’s happening to me?
Behind his mask, his brow furrowed. It had been a long time since he’d felt frustration.
Finally, he sheathed his sword. Training was over for today. He grabbed his empty flask and a towel.
“…Thirsty.”
His mouth was parched, his throat dry. He quickly gathered his things. If he didn’t drink water soon, something felt dangerously wrong.
