Chapter 8
“Being a Doting Father Was Just a Concept, Duke!”
Had we arrived already? When the carriage door opened, Elver gestured toward it.
“Ladies first.”
“…Excuse me?”
Did he just call me a lady?
The awkwardness sent a chill down my spine.
Ugh, what if there’s a red carpet outside the door and servants bowing on both sides? That’d be way too much!
But reality is always stranger than imagination.
The person waiting for me outside the carriage was—
“Shall we, my lady?”
I nearly fell out of the carriage when I saw who extended his hand to escort me—Duke Schlayger himself!
“Y-Your Grace…”
“What’s the matter? Planning to live in the carriage forever?”
“N-No, sir.”
The Duke’s hand, clad in brown leather gloves, was held out right in front of me. I placed my trembling hand on his, just like I’d seen in books.
My hand looked absurdly small atop his gloved one. Where had my once-strong hands gone—those that had handled factory and kitchen work with ease?
…Wait, why is he holding it so long?
“Your Grace?”
“…Ah. Right.”
He had been staring intently at my hand before finally lifting his gaze.
“Welcome to the Schlayger Estate. I hope you become someone who belongs here.”
With that, he released my hand like he was brushing something off. How rude!
While I was fuming silently, a young woman—probably not even twenty—approached us.
“Hello. I’m Linda, a maid of the Schlayger household. I’ll take you to your room.”
“Hold on, Linda.”
Elver cut in.
“I brought Sol here. I’ll show her around myself.”
But that attempt was immediately shut down by a low voice.
“Is that your job now?”
“…Father.”
“I’ll ask again, Elver. Is giving a house tour your job?”
“…No, sir.”
Elver quickly responded, then took a deep breath and said,
“But as her older brother, I believe it’s my duty to ease her anxiety.”
Not just with words—Elver stood protectively in front of me. He was probably younger than me, but his back blocked my view.
Instinctively, I clung to his back. Only his presence stood between me and the Duke’s piercing gaze.
I didn’t see the Duke’s initial expression, but what I heard next was a mocking laugh.
“Hmph… One little girl shows up and my youngest son starts playing the adult.”
“I’m the only one close to Sol in this house.”
When did we become so close?
Still, Elver’s defiance in front of his father was oddly reassuring. So much so that I found myself nodding without thinking.
“…Even your little sister seems to agree.”
“Of course she does!”
“One more question before I allow it. Where were you planning to take her?”
“Well, first the maze garden, then the greenhouse, the attic, the armory, and the underground prison—”
Wait, did he just say “underground prison”?! My eyebrows shot up. The Duke’s expression likely mirrored mine.
“Underground prison?”
“Ah, I wasn’t supposed to mention that—no, but Sol’s family now, so I thought it was fine!”
“Enough. Linda, you take her.”
Elver’s shoulders slumped. Poor guy—he looked genuinely disappointed.
I get it. Back in elementary school, I loved having friends over.
…Though I’ll never forget how one of them recoiled outside the orphanage and asked, “You’re an orphan? Is that even real?”
Damn, it’s been over ten years and I still remember that.
Anyway, I quietly followed Linda. Dining hall on the first floor, Duke’s room and library on the second, sons’ rooms and study on the third.
Linda cheerfully said,
“There’s no such thing as an underground prison in this house. If anyone mentions it, just ignore them. And if you see stairs leading down, don’t look back!”
What is this, an urban legend?!
I just nodded and followed Linda like a duckling through this mansion of a maze.
And then—finally—we arrived at my room…
Whoa, a little warning before opening the door would’ve been nice. This room is amazing.
It looked like a freshly cleaned hotel room—though I’ve never actually been to a hotel. Everything was pretty, spacious, and expensive-looking!
I tried not to show it, but I’m sure the joy was all over my face. Linda smiled warmly.
“I’ll come get you later. You’ll be joining us for dinner.”
“Got it. Thank you!”
“And you’ll be taking a bath before the meal, so don’t be too shy!”
Trying to prepare me, I guess. But that comment was a little much. She left the room.
Ugh. A bath?
That’s when it hit me—I was still a filthy, grubby little kid who hadn’t even washed properly.
The tall mirror in the room reflected me too clearly.
Ordinary black hair, faintly pigmented brown eyes. My eyes were big, but it was the hollowness from age and starvation, not anything cute.
Six years. And beyond that—how do I survive?
I can’t be the cherished protagonist of some child-rearing romance fantasy. I need another way. I refuse to be sacrificed as political bait.
Right. Time to think.
How can I prove my worth to that ill-tempered villain of a Duke?
* * *
After the little black-haired girl followed Linda, the youngest son cast one last rebellious glance at his father before heading to his room.
The mansion fell into a deep, immediate silence. Exactly as its master, Latiger Alt Schlayger, preferred.
It must be silent. Never unpredictable.
Everything here was under his control.
It was so normal to him, he seemed to have forgotten what “satisfaction” even felt like as he entered his study, his face expressionless.
Latiger Alt Schlayger.
Duke of House Schlayger, Lord of the border territory of Flogel. A man who, before twenty, had mastered the power of a Silver Dragon.
Though his wife was dead, and his eldest son had run away in rebellion, no one would dare call Latiger a “failure.”
Not unless they wanted their jaw broken and a lifetime of eating gutter scraps.
But peace in his domain couldn’t last forever.
Latiger thought of the girl he’d brought back—Sol. The first thing that came to mind was the back of her tiny head as she toddled along earlier.
…What goes on in that little head?
And not just her head—everything about her was small.
Earlier, when he’d called her a “lady” as a test and she placed her hand on his glove, it was tiny.
Smaller than a hunting dog’s paw, maybe.
Having had almost no physical contact with his sons, he’d forgotten how small children’s hands were.
Hands that looked like they might melt like the first snow if held too long.
…Which is why he’d ended up letting go roughly, without properly escorting her.
And her feet—tiny enough to fit in his palm. How could she even walk on those without falling?
A slight pang of regret crept in.
Did I bring someone too small?
The most important thing in any group is hierarchy. Even family is no exception.
That’s why Latiger had wanted a child younger than his youngest son, but old enough to understand words. Ten seemed ideal.
But… are ten-year-olds usually that small?
He tried recalling his own sons at that age. No luck. They just seemed bigger every time he saw them—
…I’ve never actually touched my sons, have I.
He hadn’t hugged them, held their hands, or even patted their shoulders. The only time he’d held them was as babies, briefly, at his late wife’s insistence.
Tiny, fragile beings he’d handed right back, afraid they’d break in his arms.
Well, at least she’s not the size of a newborn.
Aside from that, things weren’t bad. She seemed to get along well with the youngest.
And she’s quite clever.
The girl didn’t seem keen on being adopted. When he’d asked what she was good at, she’d replied, “I can burp really well.” That kind of quick wit was rare.
And her black hair—he liked it. Resemblance to the family was a plus.
Would she do well in society, too?
Latiger imagined her future briefly, then shook his head.
That’s years away. Even dressing her up in his mind just made him picture her trailing long skirts through the halls.
…Just as Latiger cracked a faint smile at the thought, someone knocked.
“Father, may I come in?”
It was his fifteen-year-old second son, Benen.
“Enter.”
The boy came into the study.
Black hair, blue eyes. A typical Schlayger boy. But with long limbs on the verge of puberty, and unusually sharp eyes, his presence was completely different from his younger brother.
Benen smiled at his father.
“Welcome home, Father. I hope your trip went well.”
“It did. Everything was fine at home?”
“As you entrusted, not even a rat slipped past us. However…”
“Yes?”
“…We weren’t prepared to receive a young guest.”
Fair enough. Sol’s adoption hadn’t been part of the plan. Still, Benen trusted his father never expanded the household without reason.
“What do you intend to use her for, Father? I heard from the servants who greeted her—she’s not particularly cute.”
“…Not cute?”
“That’s what they said. Objective evaluations from rational staff.”
“She’s tiny. Very tiny.”
“‘Tiny’ and ‘cute’ aren’t synonymous, Father.”
“…”
Latiger knew he lacked the ability to judge “cuteness.” Better to leave that to his clever second son.
“Then at dinner, take a look for yourself and tell me what kind of child she is.”
