§ Chapter 15 §
“Fired? Marilyn was fired?!”
But they told me she had just gone to another palace for a while!
Lancel’s shocking words—“The maid named Marilyn no longer works in Lagrange”—hit me like a thunderbolt. I collapsed to the floor and pounded it with my little palms.
“Why fire her? Did Maming do something bad?!”
“Well… that I don’t know either.”
When I asked with tears brimming in my eyes, Lancel just shrugged. He looked completely indifferent to whether I cried or not.
If it had been Marilyn, she would’ve smiled gently and comforted me…
I missed her warm aura that shone like sunlight. Whenever I stayed close to Lancel, his aura always turned pitch-black.
Probably because I remind him of Camille.
“Why are you making such a fuss? She was just a maid.”
“Lanssé, you’re stupid!”
When I shouted at him, Lancel actually looked a little taken aback, pressing a hand to his chest. He moved his lips as if choosing his words, then gave a mocking laugh.
“Oh really? I’m stupid, you say?”
“Yes! Stupid! Lancel, you’re a big dumb fool!”
“Hah? Well, what a shame. I was so stupid that I completely forgot to order your meal for today.”
There he goes again, tormenting me with food. I froze, staring at him with round eyes. He smirked back at me, his lips twisting slyly.
“Looks like you’ll just have to starve today, huh?”
“Wha…?”
He said he’d let a baby go hungry as if it were nothing! Lancel stretched his thin lips into a grin, then slammed the door and walked out of the room.
Why on earth don’t they fire him?!
If they could fire servants, they should’ve started with Lancel—the one who pinches a baby’s soft flesh and withholds meals whenever he feels like it. Why fire kind Marilyn instead?
Losing Marilyn—the only adult I’d managed to win over—left me feeling utterly empty inside.
I’ll have to tell Dietrich.
Since there wasn’t going to be food anyway, there was no need to sit around waiting for Lancel.
“Heave-ho.”
I struggled up from where I had flopped down and waddled out of the room. My short legs worked frantically as I toddled down the halls. After passing two corridors, I reached Dietrich’s room.
He told me not to barge in… but
Dietrich never opened the door even if I knocked politely.
“Dietri!”
I threw the door wide open without asking permission and entered his room. A chill hit me instantly. It felt twice as cold as my own room.
A sharp, icy wind stung my cheeks. Instinctively, I looked for the window before I looked for him.
Why leave the window open when the heating doesn’t even work here?!
The Dahlia Palace was so poor it was hard to believe it belonged to Lagrange, one of the greatest noble houses. We hardly ever got coal or firewood delivered on time.
Lagrange’s winters were infamous for freezing the very ground solid. For children like us, abandoned by Derrick, it was practically a death sentence.
At least Marilyn always managed to sneak some firewood into my room…
Dietrich’s room, however, was even colder than mine. The ceiling and floor were covered in dark ebony, making the place even gloomier.
This place could be haunted.
Shivering, I rubbed my goosebumped arms and looked around.
“Dietri…?”
“Are you here?”
No reply came, but faint sunlight leaking through the curtains helped me move step by step toward the sound of ragged breathing by the bed.
When I hurried over, I found Dietrich lying there, struggling to breathe evenly.
Is he sick?
There were no adults in Dahlia who would take care of an injured child. I just stood there, staring at him as he tossed and turned, not even noticing me enter.
His eyes, closed tight, sometimes twitched with pain. His jaw trembled from the cold, yet he wasn’t even properly covered by his blanket.
“Dietri, are you cold?”
“…What do you want.”
His hoarse voice made it obvious he was ill. His flushed cheeks from fever made him look almost funny to me.
He really is still just a kid.
“You need the blanket.”
“Go away.”
“You speak so prettily, Dietri.”
I struggled to lift the heavy velvet blanket that had fallen near his feet. It took a long time—since it was heavier than me—but at last, I managed to pull it up to his chin.
“Take it off.”
“No! You’re cold.”
Normally, he would’ve sat up long before I managed to cover him. But right now, he lay still, like a crushed leaf pinned under the blanket.
He must really be sick.
When you’re sick and there’s no one to take care of you, it feels unbearably lonely.
“Don’t you have medicine?”
“Don’t… need it… Just leave.”
I looked down at him, unable to even speak properly from weakness, and smiled faintly.
“I don’t wanna.”
When he’s sick, he doesn’t seem scary at all.
Noticing his sweaty bangs stuck to his forehead, I reached out. He quickly pushed himself halfway up just to smack the back of my hand.
It didn’t hurt, since he had no strength, but my thin, tender skin reddened immediately.
“…Get out. My head hurts.”
He glanced at my pink-tinged hand, then bit his lips until they cracked and bled.
I sighed, staring at this boy who couldn’t even admit he was struggling.
“Fine. I’ll leave soon. But let me help a little first.”
I shrugged helplessly, then glanced around. Luckily, I spotted a basin of wash water a maid had left that morning.
They left water for washing but ignored a sick child?
Didn’t they know how dangerous a fever was for kids?
I grabbed a towel lying nearby, praying it wasn’t too dirty.
Plop.
I laid the damp towel on his forehead. Dietrich groaned irritably and opened his eyes.
“S…sorry…”
I couldn’t help it—my little wrists weren’t strong enough, and the towel dripped water onto his pillow.
But he needs this to bring the fever down.
Dietrich glared at me with eyes sharp enough to kill. Then he grabbed the towel and flung it away.
“…Thanks.”
I picked it up again, wrung it out as best I could, and gently laid it back on his forehead.
Apparently, that wasn’t what he meant, but I pretended not to notice his sigh and leaned closer.
“Heave-ho.”
I crawled carefully from his feet toward his head until I was right beside him. He whispered, his voice hoarse.
“You still here?”
“The water’s dripping—you’ll get colder.”
“Holding me… is warmer.”
He was basically asking me to be a human heater. So I opened his limp arms and tucked myself against him.
“If you do this when it’s cold, it’s warm.”
“If there’s no one to hold you, you do it like this.”
I demonstrated by hugging myself with both arms. On lonely nights, I’d comfort myself that way just to fall asleep.
Dietrich watched silently, then suddenly sat up with a sigh.
“Hweh?!”
Before I could react, he carried me across the room and plopped me onto a sofa.
“Stay put. My head hurts with all your noise.”
I sat there blinking, watching his back as he returned to bed. Then I got up hesitantly.
“Then I’ll move really quietly, okay?”
I couldn’t just sit still. I had to at least bring him some firewood.
I told her to be quiet.
His head throbbed dully.
Dietrich sighed deeply as the sound of the child’s footsteps echoed down the corridor, followed by the rustle of dry leaves she had gathered from somewhere.
Even though she tried to walk on tiptoe near his door, his ears were as sharp as a wild animal’s.
“Dietri, did you lock the door…?”
He could even hear her soft mumble through the thick wooden door.
That was the whole point of locking it—so she wouldn’t come in. Yet Annette refused to leave.
“…Haa.”
The rustling noise grated on his fevered head until he finally forced himself up.
“What now.”
When he yanked the door open, Annette’s wide eyes darted nervously. She hadn’t expected it to open and was squatting down.
“You’re up?!”
“I warned you not to make noise.”
“But I was being super, super quiet…”
She muttered excuses, a dark red leaf dangling from her soft pink hair.
“Why are you carrying that around?”
Without thinking, Dietrich brushed it out of her hair.
“For firewood.”
Annette beamed proudly and stood up. Only then did he notice the pile of dry twigs and leaves she had gathered beside her.
“Dietri, you’re cold.”
They were barely fit for kindling, let alone real firewood. And yet it hadn’t been easy for her to collect them; her white cheeks were smeared with dirt.
Through his fever-blurred vision, Dietrich was at a loss for words.
He could barely manage his own life, between freezing and starving.
Is she just stupid… or…
His fever-clouded mind refused to think any deeper. He couldn’t even stop Annette as she bustled right past him into the room.
