MCFLS 07

Chapter 07,

Adrien de Cassinel Blois was shockingly ignorant for someone who was six years old, the same age as Cyril.
In reality, it was more that Cyril was excessively knowledgeable, but since Adrien was the only one to compare him to, it was natural to think he knew so little.

“The witch is pitiful.”
“What do you mean ‘pitiful’?”
“Still… the witch thought the princess was her daughter.”

Though she had kidnapped her, the witch had acted like a mother, captivated by the princess’s charm.
Cyril assumed it was all a trick to enchant the princess.

It made sense—Cyril’s own mother hadn’t been so kind. Both Duke and Duchess Tezar were like that.
So the witch, clinging to the princess all day, desperate to give her something more, only looked suspicious to Cyril.

“The witch is pitiful… she’s dead…”

But Adrien, who had grown up in the affectionate environment of Cassinel, seemed to see things differently. His perfectly blue eyes drooped, looking sad.
Cyril disliked Adrien when he was annoying, but Adrien looking depressed was even more unsettling. Even if he were a little foolish, it was better to see him smiling brightly.

“…She’s not dead.”
“Really?”
“She was pretending to be dead, so the princess could return and live with everyone else.”

Cyril added a word. It was a bold lie, but Adrien was delighted.
Clapping his hands as if he had expected it, Cyril inwardly scoffed.
So simple-minded.

“That’s it for today. Time to go.”
“Okay. I should tell Dad.”

What would Count Cassinel think if he heard this story?
It was doubtful he would even relay the story Adrien had just heard accurately.

“Has your mother not come yet?”
“Huh?”
“I mean the Countess. You said she went on a trip.”

Adrien, just about to leave the room, blinked out of habit.
He paused for a long time, thinking over a question that had been asked casually.
Instead of answering immediately, he hurried back, even climbing onto the bed.

“What are you doing?” Cyril asked, watching him.
Adrien whispered:
“She hasn’t come yet.”
“When will she come?”
“I don’t know.”

His voice was low from whispering unnecessarily.
Since staying at Cassinel, Cyril had noticed one thing—Adrien was a strange child.

“When did she go on the trip?”
“Six years ago?”
“Six years ago? That’s not a trip…”

Cyril blurted out what she was thinking.
‘She left six years ago, hasn’t returned yet, and nobody knows when she will.’

There was only one answer. Cyril finally realized that Countess Cassinel had died the year Adrien was born.
Count Cassinel had obviously not told Adrien the truth.

Cyril understood the count’s choice.
Adrien was so innocent and naïve that it was better for him not to know his mother had died. He would find out eventually, though.

“…Okay. But why whisper like that?”
“Because it’s a secret.”
“A secret? Alright, let it be a secret.”

Seeing that he called it a secret to a child, it was clear he was very worried. He probably feared someone might tell Adrien the truth.
Cyril nodded, not considering her own youth.

“Don’t tell our Dad.”
“Tell him what?”
“That Mom isn’t coming.”

However, the next words went in an entirely unexpected direction.
Adrien looked at Cyril with an extremely serious expression.
His voice was still soft and a little off, but his face was earnest.

That seriousness suggested one possibility—Adrien might already know that his father was lying.

“You… do you know where your mother went?”

But… this fool?
Cyril, unable to stop doubting, carefully asked:
“Yes. But don’t tell Dad. You have to say I don’t know.”

Adrien came closer, whispering:
“Otherwise, Dad will be sad.”
“It’s a promise.”

He even extended his finger with a determined look.
Cyril, at a loss for words, slowly linked her finger with his.
“Done. Now we have to keep our promise.”
“…Okay.”

Adrien smiled faintly and climbed down from the bed, not looking back this time.
Alone, Cyril thought as the warmth left her fingers:
Perhaps Adrien wasn’t as foolish as he seemed.

But Cyril completely dismissed the tiny possibility she had considered—that Adrien might not be as stupid as he seemed.

“This one is Mignon. This one is Rose. And this one?”
“How would I know?”

Adrien was undeniably foolish.
Otherwise, how could an almost seven-year-old nobleman be playing with dolls like this?

“Look closely. This one is pretty, so she’s Mignon. This one has pink hair, so she’s Rose. But this one has brown hair, so who is she?”

The naming was… surprisingly intuitive.
Cyril’s sharp mind shouted the answer: “Maroon,” but his self as a precocious noble child recoiled.

“You don’t know.”
“…”
“It’s okay, I’ll tell you. Brown is…”
“Maroon. Maroon. Got it.”

However, even his noble self couldn’t bear being ignored. Cyril’s face twisted in frustration as he gave the correct answer.

“Do you want to greet Maroon?”
“No.”
“Do you dislike Maroon?”
“Yes. So please go play outside.”
“But she doesn’t like you either.”

What could you do…
Maroon was a doll with brown hair neatly braided into two pigtails.
What would it matter if the doll disliked him? It was better she didn’t like him anyway.
Even so, Cyril glared at the doll once.
How dare it dislike me when it isn’t even driving its owner away? Ridiculous.

“Cyril, will you read me a book later?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, so maybe you’ll read it for me.”

Adrien, nonchalantly, went back to playing with the dolls.
Why he insisted on playing on his bed was beyond reason.
Of course, it was absurd that Cyril allowed him to, yet she herself didn’t stop him.
Why not just make him go? But Cyril decided to tolerate it.

Pondering this strangely irritating fact, Cyril found the answer quickly.
‘…He’s a little slow. I should be the mature one.’

Thinking this way, she felt at ease.
Though they were the same age, Adrien’s thoughts were much younger, and Cyril decided not to worry about how he played.

“…What are you doing?”

However, her firm resolution didn’t even last a minute.
She glanced at Adrien’s doll play instead of her book.
Is this really doll play?

The two dolls, dressed in fine clothes, held model swords.
Adrien was skillfully moving the dolls’ wooden arms to clash swords.

“Battle.”
“Battle…?”

The small parasol and tiny table next to the dolls seemed meaningless in comparison.
Cyril, lost for words, stared, and Adrien replied briefly:
“It’s camouflage.”
“Where did you learn that?”

Cyril was amazed that a child who didn’t know what he should know could use such difficult words.
Adrien moved the dolls slightly apart and said:
“Muet said that. To not get caught, you have to camouflage.”

Muet was one of the knights protecting Cassinel. It wasn’t strange for him to teach tactics—but Adrien? That was unusual.

“Are you the heir?”
“The heir?”
“Will you become the count?”
“No, that’s my dad.”

There was no point in calling him an heir—he wouldn’t understand anyway.
Cyril shook her head and turned back to her book.

Time passed like this.

“Adrien, really… how will you live?”
“Huh?”

Cyril couldn’t hold back her frustration and asked seriously.
If her parents had seen him, they would have been shocked.

Though she herself didn’t have proper lessons as a formal heir due to poor health, Cyril never neglected her studies even on the bed.
Adrien wasn’t an heir, but for Cassinel’s future… she had to say something.

“If you play like this every day, you won’t be able to marry when you grow up.”
“Marry?”
“Marriage between families, you know.”
“Marriage?”

Adrien tilted his head repeatedly, confused.
“When you’re old enough… no, when you become an adult, you’ll have to live with a man, right?”
“I live with Dad.”
“Not the count. Another man.”
“Cyril?”
“…I’m a man too.”

Cyril had inadvertently agreed and was startled.
She nearly shouted, ‘Why would I marry you!’ but held back.

“When you grow up, you’ll meet a man from another family. To do that, you have to be smart.”
“Ahh.”

Finally understanding, Adrien’s voice brightened.
Just as Cyril was relieved that he got it,
“It’s okay. I’m pretty.”

An absurd answer.
While Cyril doubted her hearing, Adrien added as if to confirm:
Because I’m pretty, everything’s fine.

“Who told you that?”
“Everyone said I was pretty.”
“Who?”
“Emma, Lena, Mila, Dad, and….”
“Stop. Got it.”

Before she could hear every name of everyone in the castle, Cyril raised her hand.
‘Even if he’s a child, how can he believe such nonsense…’

Even so, Adrien was a noble, and nobles were supposed to have certain virtues.
And yet he had such an optimistic view, even though he had been criticized by the Marchioness Parte!

Cyril seriously considered her own over-mature upbringing while worrying.