APR Ch# 11

They arrived at the castle more smoothly than expected, but maid duties awaited her immediately. Under the brief instructions of the butler, Robert, Roxana was assigned a room—a cramped and shabby double occupancy one.

The scale was different, but the work was much the same as what she had done at the convent: cleaning thoroughly and preparing ingredients. Roxana had braced herself for hard labor and harsh treatment under Curtis’s orders, but the man who brought her here seemed to have cleanly forgotten her existence. He hadn’t shown his face once.

Aside from Robert and a few others, no one knew Roxana’s identity, so her days passed more peacefully than she had anticipated.

About two weeks later, a letter arrived from the convent. Roxana held the letter close to her chest and picked up a sponge. She was carrying heavy buckets of water and scrubbing the stairs.

Just as she was nearly done, someone approached and deliberately kicked over a water puddle.

With a shrill scream, Roxana jumped up. Her roughened hands and frayed skirt were drenched in cold water. The person who kicked the bucket looked smug.

“What are you doing here? Already done cleaning the west stairwell?”

“Yes. I just finished and started on the front hall steps.”

It was Lizzie, her roommate and a senior maid five years her senior. From the start, Lizzie had shown displeasure at having to share her previously solo room with Roxana. She constantly picked on her, even going as far as to throw away Roxana’s meals when the butler wasn’t around.

“Ha, already? You didn’t just brush off the dust, did you?”

“If you don’t believe me, feel free to check it yourself.”

Roxana answered without changing her expression. She had expected this level of hostility. Lizzie, displeased by her calm response, pouted and picked another fight.

“Be honest. Who pulled strings to get you in here?”

“Pulled strings?”

“Don’t act stupid. No recommendation, not even from this estate—how did you get in?”

The master of this castle could be considered a “connection,” Roxana thought as an unwelcome face flashed in her mind. She quickly shook her head.

“There’s nothing like that. I swear.”

“As if! You think I’ll believe that? And besides—!”

Lizzie, who had no clue about the circumstances, glared at her. She had worked so hard to be accepted here. This girl had appeared out of nowhere with a pretty face and ended up next to the young lady of the house. Lizzie had hoped that bullying her would make her leave, but unexpectedly, Roxana had a persistent side.

What made her the angriest was what she overheard passing by the butler’s office.

“That drifter, and she gets the room next to Lady Frey? She must have something going on! Does he think I’m a fool?”

“The room next to Lady Frey?”

It was news to Roxana. She looked stunned, repeating the words. Lizzie, who stared at her with disgust, kicked the bucket down the stairs.

“Oh, playing dumb again, are we? What did you whisper to the butler to get in his good graces? Stop pretending to be so innocent!”

That was the limit.

Roxana took a deep breath and calmly pointed to the bucket.

“Pick it up.”

“Wh-What?”

“I said, pick it up.”

Lizzie’s eyes widened. Roxana had always accepted everything quietly. This was the first time she had seen such firmness from her. Flustered, Lizzie stammered.

“Did you just… What did you say? Are you serious?”

“You caused the mess. You should clean it up. If you keep acting like this, someone will eventually notice.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Roxana’s tone was like scolding a child, which only made Lizzie angrier. She raised her hand.

“You—! Agh!”

But before she could strike, Roxana caught her wrist. The grip was much stronger than expected. Lizzie frowned.

“Ow, let go!”

“If you promise to retrieve the bucket and clean up the mess, I’ll let you go.”

“You think you’ll get away with this?!”

Lizzie struggled to pull her hand free, but Roxana had built strength from years of convent life and chopping firewood. Lizzie couldn’t overpower her. After a long struggle, she finally gave in.

“Fine, fine! Just let go already!”

Nearly in tears, Lizzie shouted. As soon as she did, the firm grip loosened. Shaken, frightened, and furious, Lizzie ran down the stairs to retrieve the bucket.

“Wipe up all the water too. I’ll help if it’s too hard.”

“D-Don’t need your help.”

Lizzie’s tone was much weaker than before. She turned her gaze away. Roxana simply shrugged and walked away to change clothes. The gaze that had been observing her from a distance also disappeared.

—

—

“Did the inspection go well?”

At Robert’s question, Curtis, removing his heavy cloak, nodded.

“Well enough. Tomorrow, I’ll inspect the outer wall with Greg and check the security.”

“Is it because of Viscount Otis?”

“Our lands border each other, and he’s always trying to cross the line.”

It was a busy time. The date to pay the kingdom’s defense tax was near, and as lord, Curtis had no time to rest.

Yesterday, he spent the entire day with the peasant council discussing customary laws and taxes. Today, he visited farmlands at dawn to assess the harvest, spoke with the vintner about production issues, and checked on the forest slated for clearing and a newly proposed smelting facility. He used to delegate half of these duties to Robert, but ever since Robert’s strength began to fade last year due to age, Curtis had taken it all on himself.

“Anything else to report?”

“Nothing major, but there was a quarrel between Roxana and another maid.”

“Roxana?”

He was surprised. She wasn’t the type to argue—couldn’t even kill an ant. Yet she’d fought with someone? Curtis’s interest was piqued. Noticing the slight change in his expression, Robert smiled inwardly.

He had been keeping an eye on Roxana, because of Curtis’s ambiguous attitude toward her. He had saved his mortal enemy’s daughter and locked her in a harsh convent. Then, just when she was living peacefully, he brought her here as a maid.

“Use her as a servant. Doesn’t matter how rough the work is.”

From their first meeting, Robert had felt a strange sympathy for Roxana. Upon quietly digging into her background, he found that despite being the only daughter of the infamous Marquis Dalton, most of the peasants in the fief spoke well of her.

“Lady Roxana? She’s kind and pitiable. I hated her once, but… it never stuck.”

“She helped us hide food from the Marquis’s eyes all winter. She knew medicine well, like her mother. Helped us a lot.”

“How could someone so good come from such a monster? When I heard she died, I couldn’t work for days.”

She had no trouble at the convent, and her courage in coming here for the sick children was admirable. Now, as a maid, she did her tasks quietly and without complaint.

Robert thought she would make a fine mistress—if only she weren’t the daughter of Marquis Dalton.

Shaking the thought away, Robert focused on what mattered most: Roxana was the only woman who visibly unsettled Curtis, who was otherwise cold and indifferent toward all women.

Proving his point, even while pretending not to care, Curtis’s entire attention had shifted to Robert’s story.

“The other maid raised her hand. I was about to step in—”

At the mention of that, Curtis instinctively looked over.

“—but Roxana grabbed her wrist. Who knew such strength could come from that slender body? The other maid gave up.”

“So, her temper hasn’t dulled.”

Curtis muttered, and Robert gave a faint smile.

“From what I heard, the maid had been bullying her for some time.”

That ended the report. As if he had never shown any interest, Curtis turned away, dried his damp hair with a towel, and changed into fresh clothes the maid had brought.

The muscles of his back stood out beneath his broad shoulders, and faded scars briefly revealed themselves.

Sitting heavily on the couch by the fireplace, Curtis pulled the cork from a wine bottle. Robert, watching with concern, stepped in.

“You should refrain tonight.”

“This won’t even make me tipsy.”

“It’s not good for your health.”

At Robert’s continued protest, Curtis finally put the bottle down. Robert signaled the maid to clear it away and cautiously sat across from him.

Curtis stared at the roaring fire. The flames reflected on his sharp features, painting his face in a flickering, crimson glow.