“People cannot live alone. I once knew the most miserable person in the world. Someone who hated giving to others, who couldn’t stand even the slightest loss, and who treated compassion like a joke.”
Roxana spoke sincerely, putting her heart into each syllable.
“……”
“He held jewels and gold in both hands, but he was unhappy in the end. He brainwashed himself into thinking he was happy, but his end was miserable. Because no one stayed by his side.”
Silence fell. A now calm Frey asked in a low voice,
“Who are you talking about?”
“My father.”
“……”
It was an unexpected answer. For the first time, Frey was at a loss for words and listened to Roxana.
“Is he… gone?”
“Yes. Both my mother and father.”
Just like her. Frey, feeling an odd sense of kinship, fell silent. Encouraged by her silence, Roxana reached out and gently took Frey’s hand.
“My lady. If you keep doubting, hating, pushing others away, and hurting them, one day everything will come back to you like a boomerang. But if you show compassion, that too will return to you.”
—
—
Robert returned to the estate late at night. While Curtis was away dealing with a border dispute, he too had a mountain of work and barely any time to sleep. The first thing he did upon his return was summon Roxana to the steward’s office.
“I heard today was a rough day for you.”
“Pardon?”
“You did well, especially for your first day.”
She had braced herself for a reprimand, so the compliment was completely unexpected. Roxana simply blinked in surprise as Robert offered a calm smile.
“Being the first day, I expected something to happen. Lady Frey is difficult to serve. You have no idea how many maids have come and gone, including her previous one, Alice.”
So when Curtis suggested assigning the daughter of his enemy, Roxana, as Frey’s personal maid, Robert could hardly believe it. Even if Frey had miraculously fallen asleep in Roxana’s arms, it might have been a fluke.
If Frey turned against her, Roxana’s life could end that very day. Robert even suspected that Curtis might be using this as a pretext to get rid of her. That was, until he saw Roxana standing up to the senior maid who tormented her. In that moment, a sliver of hope entered his mind—and he realized Curtis must’ve seen the possibility before him.
Maybe that wasn’t the deciding factor, but Curtis had taken a significant gamble.
“Actually, I haven’t served the Count for long myself. Believe it or not, Lady Frey was once cheerful and bright. She was showered with love from both parents and adored almost excessively by her older brother, the Count.”
“…I see.”
Roxana listened intently to the unexpected story.
“Yes. But the day their family was destroyed… she went blind from the shock. You probably know that already.”
“Yes…”
The one responsible for the downfall of the Russell family was none other than her own father, Marquis Dalton. As Roxana’s face dimmed, Robert carefully continued.
“Later, Lord Curtis worked hard to have the Russell family reinstated. He succeeded, but Lady Frey had already closed off her heart. She now pushes everyone away, convinced they mean her harm. She’s trapped in paranoia.”
That was why she had suddenly stormed into Roxana’s room before. Roxana recalled their first meeting—Frey, trembling like a wounded bird. Despite not even knowing who she was at the time, Roxana had felt sorry for her and wanted to hold her. She had sung a lullaby from memory to soothe her. Frey’s trembling had slowly lessened, and just as Roxana was gently stroking her back as she drifted off to sleep, the door burst open—Curtis entered with fury in his eyes. Only then did she realize who Frey was.
“Why… did the Count assign me as her personal maid? Even if you appointed me, surely he had to approve it.”
Curtis disliked her. He occasionally looked at her with an unreadable gaze, but it had always felt like disdain.
Robert simply returned her question with a smile.
“Who knows?”
It was an ambiguous answer—perhaps telling her to find the reason herself. As Roxana fell silent, Frey’s frail shoulders and thin frame came to mind.
“Has Lady Frey been eating properly?”
After the chaos that morning, Frey had seemed drained. She hadn’t thrown any more tantrums, but her appetite was minimal. She barely touched her lunch and rejected most of her dinner, eating only thin oatmeal porridge. Roxana had tried encouraging her to eat more, but was firmly turned down.
Robert blinked at the sudden question, then sighed.
“We’ve changed chefs three times, but nothing’s worked.”
The meals Frey rejected were elaborate and luxurious enough to make anyone’s mouth water—lamb stew with basil, melted butter, rare spices, beef broth, and diced turnips; roast pheasant glazed with honey and olive oil and finished with red wine.
“She says some dishes are too greasy, others don’t taste right.”
Curtis had spared no effort or expense to cure her pickiness, but to no avail. Even the doctors said it was a psychological issue.
“…Maybe… just maybe…”
Roxana, quietly listening, suddenly raised her head as an idea struck her.
“Sir Robert. May I prepare her breakfast tomorrow? I’d like to ask Alice for help too, if possible.”
“Breakfast?”
Robert tilted his head at the unexpected request. Roxana clasped her hands and pleaded earnestly.
“Yes. I won’t need many ingredients or much help. Would that be alright?”
“…If Alice helps you.”
At least then, she wouldn’t be able to slip anything harmful in. Hiding his lingering doubts, Robert gave a nod.
“Alright. There’s nothing to lose.”
—
—
“Count Russell! What in the hell are you doing?!”
At that moment, Baron Derek Otis roared, his neck veins bulging in anger. His knights were already poised for combat.
“Wait.”
Curtis calmly held Greg back and replied nonchalantly,
“What do you mean, Baron Otis?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know! You’re cutting down trees on my land!”
“Well, we need farmland to feed our people, don’t we?”
Yawning in boredom, Curtis calmed his excited black steed. Derek’s breathing grew even heavier with rage. The moment he heard trees were being cut on the border, he had rushed over with a squad of fully armed knights.
In contrast, Curtis had only brought three knights, dressed casually for a routine patrol of his estate. It was infuriating—clearly a provocation, and yet Curtis still wore that uninterested look.
Despite being lower in rank, Derek was five years older and, more importantly, a royal bastard.
“Have you forgotten you’re on my land?”
Curtis smirked and picked his ear mockingly. Derek’s sword trembled, ready to be unsheathed. Feeling insulted, Derek yanked his reins violently. His horse neighed, raising its front hooves threateningly.
“Get lost, or I won’t let this go.”
“Oh dear. That’s a bit difficult.”
“So you want bloodshed?!”
At his signal, Derek’s knights exchanged tense glances. Greg also gripped his sword, preparing for a clash. At that moment, Curtis pulled something from his coat and tossed it to the ground. Derek’s eyes widened as his squire picked it up.
“This is…”
“You can see for yourself.”
“…‘Twenty acres of forest adjacent to the southern Blecker River shall be granted to Count Curtis Russell. All rights, including cultivation, residence of tenants, hunting, and other privileges, are fully conferred.’”
It was a royal decree.
Grinding his teeth, Derek glared.
“This is my land.”
“It’s my land now.”
“That fortress you’re playing king in—!”
Derek spat bitterly, cursing under his breath.
“That was supposed to be mine.”
“No.”
Curtis furrowed his brow and corrected him.
“It has always belonged to House Russell. You were just borrowing it.”
After the Russell family was falsely accused of treason and slaughtered along with their vassals, the king had given all their land to Derek, the nearest noble by proximity.
