READING GUIDANCE
" This is a direct sentence in the present time."
" This is a direct sentence in the past time."
' This is a character's inner thought in the present time.'
' This is a character's inner thought in the past time.'
[ This is a direct sentence in sign language in the present time.]
[ This is a direct sentence in sign language in the past time.]
HAPPY READING!
.
.
"My Lady, the carriage is ready," said her butler, standing in front of her as she stared into the large mirror in the front hall of her mansion. The mansion itself was a masterpiece of the empire's elegance: high vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate gold filigree, polished marble floors reflecting the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, and tapestries depicting the empire's legendary victories draping the walls. Every detail whispered wealth, refinement, and the subtle power of generations past.
With her usual emotionless expression, she ignored the old butler for a moment, her solemn blue dress perfectly in place. She adjusted her neatly arranged bright brown hair, the strands falling in careful waves, while her orange-tinted eyes—bright and vivid even under the muted light—stared into nothing, lost in thought. Even amidst the grandeur surrounding her, she seemed both a part of the mansion and quietly apart from it, a figure of poised contemplation against the empire's lavish backdrop.
"...Don't forget to give Raya's daily medicine," she said.
"Yes, My Lady." He offered his hand as she stepped into the elegant carriage. The coachman galloped the horses toward the luxurious front gate, passing the garden that had once been her imaginary world.
She could almost see herself running around there with her brightest smile.
.
.
.
"Lady Cordelia, over here," Lady Sara called as she arrived at the tea party. Cordelia glanced toward the children running nearby, their laughter and joy filling the manicured garden. Each child was dressed in miniature versions of noble attire: boys in crisp waistcoats and tiny boots, girls in frilled dresses with delicate ribbons and tiny gloves, their curls bouncing with every skip. The sunlight caught the embroidery and polished buttons, making the scene sparkle with wealth and refinement. Servants moved gracefully between tables, carrying silver trays of tea and pastries, while ornate parasols and gilded chairs dotted the garden, completing the picture of a carefully curated aristocratic gathering.
"Please, have a seat," Lady Sara said, her voice gentle.
She nodded. "Yes, thank you, Lady Sara." She was greeted politely by the others as tea was poured. Taking a moment, she stared at her reflection in the surface of the tea. Even without looking, she understood why the other ladies smiled awkwardly whenever she met their gaze—she was quite aware of her emotionless expression.
But then a thought came to her:
' I don't even remember the last time I truly smiled.'
She didn't know why she was here, at a party she never enjoyed.
' It is what a noble lady should do,' she reminded herself. Yet, no matter how much she questioned it, her deceased mother's lessons echoed in her mind. ' I still do it.'
Even if she remained alone at the tea party, unnoticed and unbothered, no one dared complain in front of her. After all, she was the daughter of the first General, Marquess Derik Farguso, and the only child of the wife of the first commander of the elite Holy Knights—both of whom were far away on the battlefield, leaving their daughter and grandson behind.
"The war is quite tense, so the capital has become hectic. My children are anxious since their father is still not home," one lady said.
"Well, at a time like this, a simple tea party is a refreshing change for the children," another added.
"Then perhaps we might hold another child's gathering in the future—how about that? They can draw, play, or even sing as much as they like," she said excitedly. "My daughter is quite a singer, you see; she is really clever."
Her beautiful smile flickered toward Lady Cordelia, who calmly listened to the conversation. Suddenly, her expression shifted to discomfort. "Ah... please forgive me, Lady Cordelia, I didn't mean—" she stammered, and the whole gathering fell silent.
Lady Sara smiled faintly at Cordelia. "Well, I have prepared desserts from the East. They are quite unique and delicious," she said. "Lady Cordelia, you like mustard-flavored desserts, right? You might enjoy this one."
Cordelia smiled faintly in return, and the atmosphere lightened again. Yet she knew well that behind her back, the ladies would continue gossiping about her son. That thought made her anxious, perhaps more than ever—she had never truly adapted to these kinds of gatherings, but she endured them so no one would speak ill of her child.
"The Heir of the Farguso Family can't hear anything."
"He is disabled."
"What will become of the future Farguso Family?"
"It is surely a disappointment."
Some even dared to suggest, in front of her as his mother, "Perhaps it's better to have another child?"
She could not show her anger. ' It is for the sake of the Farguso Family,' she reminded herself.
But... was it?
She could not grasp the essence of it. Her entire life as the sole daughter of the Farguso Family felt like a burden, weighed down by the vague notion of 'family sake.' Every expectation, every command, every polite smile she had to force onto her face—it all felt suffocating, a chain she could neither see nor break. The very air of her home seemed thick with judgment, each wall whispering the weight of duty she had never chosen.
"As the sole daughter of one of the distinguished Knight families, you should find a proper Knight as your partner," her mother had told her before passing.
"But I want to be a knight—"
"What?! You are a woman, a noble lady! How could you maintain our family honor while doing that unladylike work?"
Cordelia closed her eyes, trying to calm her racing heart. The words tasted bitter in her mouth, echoing the countless times she had been reminded of her "place" as if her dreams were nothing but foolish whims. Perhaps it would be better to leave... maybe she should.
Yet before she could even rise, Lady Sara stood, looking confused. "Excuse me, is there something I could help with?" she asked, glancing toward Cordelia, who met the gaze of a brunette woman standing near the garden where the party was held. It was someone she had met long ago, in an uncomfortable situation.
' Why are you here alone?'
The woman smiled, a little confused, as Lady Sara approached her.
"...Is she your guest, Lady?" another asked.
Lady Sara looked puzzled. "...No, but—mm, excuse me, may I know your name?"
Instead of answering, the woman began opening her bag, piquing the curiosity of everyone nearby.
"Is she trespassing?" someone asked.
Lady Sara, however, thought further. Even she found it strange that a commoner could appear in a place like her tea party.
"...She cannot hear you," Cordelia said finally. "Just wait; she might be trying to write something."
Lady Sara frowned for a moment, but noticed that the woman did not glance up even as people spoke loudly about her.
"Do you know her?" asked the lady who had mocked her before.
Lady Sara nodded. "Yes."
She smiled faintly. "Lady Cordelia will likely be familiar with someone like her son, yes?"
"What do you mean by that, Lady Blanche?"
Blanche frowned. "Am I wrong? Your expression is quite... unpleasant," she said, smirking. "I am just speaking the truth. Lady Sara, you might as well ask your servant to remove her. I do not know how someone like her managed to get here."
Ignoring the fact that Lady Cordelia's face had changed, Blanche continued her tirade.
Lady Sara was clearly uncomfortable with the woman's behavior, yet in the end, she could do nothing but follow protocol and support her family's honor. She was merely a countess compared to Lady Cordelia and Lady Blanche, the latter being the wife of another marquess—both from highly esteemed families.
Fortunately, before Lady Cordelia could lose her composure, the woman handed her a paper, offering a way to avoid further chaos. Lady Sara read it carefully, her eyes widening in shock. "You are... Ms. Irisha?!" she exclaimed, recalling how her husband often mentioned the name.
"Ms. Irisha will be angry if I don't finish this,"
"Sir Higrid and Ms. Irisha told me to do it,"
"I have a meeting with Ms. Irisha,"
Lady Sara remembered how her husband had described the woman—central to government operations for her work stabilizing the nation's finances—yet he had never mentioned her condition. Lady Sara hesitated, unsure if this was truly the same person, but then recalled how her husband had been learning a sign language to communicate with her.
"Please wait a moment, I will call my husband," Lady Sara said, quickly looking to her servant. Before she could move, she was handed another paper, explaining that Irisha could neither hear nor speak and had asked that messages be written down.
"Ah, pardon me. I will write it down for you," she said, beginning to respond carefully on the page.
The other ladies frowned, whispering among themselves. "Why is Lady Sara so concerned about that woman?" Lady Blanche asked, clearly bothered by the situation.
Even Lady Cordelia felt a twinge of annoyance, yet she focused on the woman's gentle smile, as usual.
"Ms. Irisha!" Lady Sara's husband hurried toward her, greeting her politely. His hand movements drew curious glances from everyone, though Cordelia recognized them. "Please forgive me. I just arrived and was preparing for departure. Do you wish to leave now?" he asked, speaking normally while gesturing with his hands.
[Ah, before that... could you send someone to help with my carriage? We're having some trouble.]
"Ah, I see. So you walked all the way here? Our estate is a bit hilly, so—" he turned to his servant. "Send someone immediately."
[Sir Higrid and Sir Asthon are on their way as well. Their dragons will need a place to land.]
"Sir Higrid and Sir Asthon too?!" He paled in shock. "I will prepare the necessary arrangements," he said, turning to Lady Sara, who looked confused. "Dear, ask the cook to prepare something carefully—or buy something fine. Make sure it is ready before we—"
Whoosh!
Dragons suddenly flew overhead, startling the children who screamed in excitement. One landed smoothly in the front yard, while another struggled.
"Sir Bernard, I can't find a proper place to land!" Sir Asthon shouted as he perched atop the roof.
"You can land it in front of the yard. Please follow my servant!" he said, glancing at his bewildered attendant. Dragons were certainly not personal transportation for nobles, let alone commoners like his servants.
"I saw your carriage stopped. Are you alright, Ms. Irisha?" asked Sir Higrid, the elite official, approaching her immediately. He used fluent sign language as he spoke, then glanced at the party, who looked confused. "Oh, are we disturbing the ladies' gathering? Please, forgive us, and continue. We will not bother the party any further," he added.
Irisha bowed gracefully, surrounded by the elite officials, who seemed deep in discussion about urgent matters. Even the duke, Sir Higrid, watched her carefully.
"...Lady Sara, who is that lady, actually?" asked one of the curious onlookers.
Lady Sara, still speechless from the situation, took a moment to respond. "She is the right-hand of Sir Higrid, and she was hired under the authority of the Crown Prince," she said, astonished. "My husband mentioned that she contributed the most to the country's financial matters."
She added, "Please excuse me for a while; I need to attend to something important," before calling her servant to follow. She seemed intent on preparing what her husband had asked of her.
The other ladies were left speechless, and Lady Blanche could not even close her gaping mouth.
Unlike them, Lady Cordelia observed the little woman—who could neither hear nor speak yet commanded people with inspiration and charisma, her eyes filled with quiet expectation.
'If it is her, then... my son—'
The walls Cordelia had built around her heart slowly crumbled, and the dark, stuffy emptiness began to lighten as she saw a glimmer of hope.
***
.
.
"Brother Ash! Brother Ash, where are you?! Please don't hide in a place I cannot reach you," shouted Arisha while holding a big picnic basket with both hands. It was too big, and she had a hard time walking. "Ah—" but before she could fall, hands hugged her from behind, and she smiled brightly. "I found you!" The second prince, Ash Isaac Malum, prevented her fall with both hands.
He frowned. "You are too small! You cannot carry a big basket like this," and easily picked it up from her.
"I made it with my sister! She told me to eat this with you," she said, frowning at him and pointing her finger. "And don't ever try to play in a dangerous place!"
He chuckled. "She is so fussy."
"You once almost fell from a tree, you know."
"I slipped!" It was one of a thousand possibilities for it to happen again, yet that dramatic moment—when both of them accidentally had lunch under the tree he usually slept on—he slipped. The moment he woke up, both of them looked at him worriedly, as this chubby human cried so hard, thinking he might die.
And Ash, just being Ash, brushed it off and glared with the intention to kill. Yet, instead of running, the big woman wrote down something that said,
[Let's go to the infirmary and check yourself first.]
He crumpled the paper and threw it at her face before walking away, annoyed by her persistence.
"Hold my hand," he said to Arisha, taking her hand and letting her jump over a small mound. As usual, she started singing and humming while they went to their favorite place—the place where they first met, which had now become their favorite hangout.
And yes, he was indeed becoming attached to both of them, as they were so stubborn. Especially this little one, who always came to him whenever she pleased and asked him to play with her whenever she had free time. Even though he ignored her, glared at her, or showed her the killing intent, she would just lean against his tree and start talking, sometimes playing, sometimes sleeping.
"I might kill you, you know," he said, looking at the chubby human who seemed sleepy, leaning against the tree.
"You are still a child. Don't die..." she replied.
"You are the child here!"
And she giggled. "We are children."
He frowned, blushing. "...You are so strange," he muttered, crouching and resting his head. "People run away when they meet me."
"...Bad people?" she muttered.
Poking her chubby face, he asked, "Are you not?"
And she smiled in her sleep. "I am not." She was so cute, so lovely, with her blushing cheeks.
"She is so tiny," he muttered, sitting down beside her and closing his eyes, knowing her head would not fall over but rest safely against him. Just as the sun started to dim, he opened his eyes to see the woman he had thrown the crumpled paper at, quietly reading a book. He then realized he had been sleeping on her thigh, as well as beside the chubby girl. Both were covered by a warm blanket, and a delicious smell lingered nearby.
When the woman noticed he had woken up, she handed him a paper. [I am deaf and mute, so I use this to have a proper conversation.] She swiped through the papers she had prepared. [Thank you for taking care of my sister. Do you want to eat lunch with us?]
After that, he ended up in this routine, spending time with them.
"Where is Irisha going?"
"Sister said she has to check a factory!" she said while opening the basket.
"Humph. She should just ignore my brother. He just uses her so much."
While biting into a big sandwich, she looked at him. "...Why is Brother Ash hiding whenever Your Grace is there?"
"...Just shut up," he said, wiping crumbs from her cheeks and sighing. "What would happen if I am not with you? You are so clumsy," he added.
Arisha giggled, and they continued their picnic in their favorite place.
***