Chapter 2…
Behind the Rumors
Cedric, who had just brought a half-drunk glass of water to his lips, glanced at Lorelia. At that moment, the attendants brought silver bowls of hot water. Cedric dipped his hands in the water and replied.
“Do you think that’s possible? People live there too, you know.”
“They say there aren’t any people, only ghosts,” she said.
“Ghosts?”
Cedric looked at her while drying his hands with a dry towel. Lorelia, doing the same, continued speaking. The water, infused with scented candles, carried a refreshing aroma.
“Lord Trisen and his wife, along with their heir, died thirteen years ago. Their ship sank.”
“It was a tragic event. May the gods watch over them.”
“So the young second son became the lord.”
“That’s how the succession fell.”
“I’ve heard rumors that the poor young lord was hanged not long after, too.”
The adults fell silent at Lorelia’s words. The sound of the steward approaching with a wine bottle was unusually loud in the quiet room. He filled the lord’s glass first, then gracefully poured wine into the guest’s glass. Cedric spoke while watching this.
“That’s quite an interesting story.”
“Isn’t it?”
“If the lord is dead, who governs the estate?”
“The steward,” Lorelia replied.
“The steward?”
“Yes. That steward is said to be able to meet the ghost of the deceased lord.”
“Oh?”
“An extremely old man, they say, and he knows black magic.”
A northern knight who had heard this far let out a loud chuckle. The steward, with a faint smile, refilled Lorelia’s glass.
“Black magic, huh? Do you believe in such legends, Lore?”
“I think if it existed once, it might still exist today.”
“Our young lady enjoys amusing tales,” Cedric said.
“She’s still just a child,” Marilyn interjected with a smile, but Lorelia paid no mind.
“I don’t take the rumors at face value either. I’m just curious why such things spread. There’s always some truth behind them, isn’t there? Like how the songs children sing carelessly carry the will of the gods.”
Cedric looked at the young lady with interest. He thought the green dress with its white lace complemented her well.
Lorelia’s reddish-brown hair and green eyes were inherited from her father. Hays’ two elder children, in contrast, had black hair and brown eyes like their mother.
“They say the lord of Trisen is one-eyed and hunched. Is that why he never goes outside?”
“I don’t think so, young lady,” Cedric replied.
“So that’s why you met Duke Ferbrante, Cedric.”
Lancelot, who had been quietly listening, interjected. His deep, low voice commanded the attention of those around him.
“I did meet him. He treated me to a most splendid dinner.”
“The lord’s name… was it Theobold?”
“Correct, Lance,” Cedric confirmed.
Lorelia silently listened to the adults’ conversation and quietly mouthed the name: Theobold.
A strange flutter filled her chest. The southern lands—full of light. She had never been to Trisen.
“Theobold Ferbrante el Trisen… the ill-fated young lord,” Cedric said, lightly swirling his wine glass. The red wine sloshed inside the round glass, dark as blood.
“He opened the doors of his estate. After thirteen years.”
Once again, Lorelia felt her chest tighten.
Knock, knock.
The sound of the door roused Theobold from his light sleep. After the cautious knock, silence returned. He closed his half-lidded eyes. All the windows were draped, leaving the room dark except for a single candle flickering on the desk.
“Hmm…”
Exhaling slowly, Theobold lifted one hand. He pushed a book lying on his lap to the floor and wiped his face with his empty hand.
“Come in.”
The voice, hoarse from sleep, prompted the door to open with a soft click. The steward entered quietly and closed the door behind him. Theobold kept his eyes shut.
The sound of water gently poured into a cup was careful, deliberate. The steward placed the glass within Theobold’s reach before stepping toward the window.
Parting the heavy curtains halfway, morning sunlight spilled into the room. A man reclining diagonally on a long couch was revealed in the light. His navy robe and pale platinum hair were a familiar sight to the steward. The hair gleamed brighter than the sun outside.
Theobold, still with his eyes closed, frowned slightly.
“What time is it?”
“A little past ten,” the steward replied.
He did not ask if Theobold had slept late, a question that could easily be assumed. Instead, he conveyed a slightly unusual piece of news.
“We have received a response from Mendel.”
At this, Theobold slowly opened his eyes. The drowsy haze vanished as the light touched his deep blue irises. Before the light reached him, the steward handed over the letter. Fine paper with delicate borders, uncreased, sealed with a deep red wax stamp.
“It arrived at dawn. I arranged accommodations for the messenger outside the castle walls. He will return tomorrow morning.”
Theobold took the letter. There had been no prior contact with the lord of Mendel Castle, so this was the first exchange of correspondence. The messenger had traveled over twenty days to deliver it.
Lancelot Hays el Lorelia.
Theobold scanned the signature on the envelope. The handwriting, elegantly penned with a quill, was precise. A fox face was stamped in the wax. Theobold broke the seal; the fox shattered along with the wax.
He leisurely unfolded the letter, eyes scanning its contents. The drowsiness had completely vanished.
“They’re coming,” he muttered, handing the letter back to the steward. His expression was calm, as if it were no surprise.
He picked up the water glass on the table and drank slowly, returning the empty glass to the steward in deliberate motions. Theobold never rushed.
“Send an invitation to Kingsburg.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The rest will follow in five days.”
“Yes.”
“All preparations should be fine.”
“Do not worry, sir.”
Despite the precise reply, Theobold’s expression remained unchanged. There was no smile of satisfaction, no frown of displeasure. Only his lips, damp from the water, appeared particularly red.
“Prepare breakfast.”
“Light, sir. And—”
The steward leaned in carefully.
“I will go hunting.”
“Understood. I will prepare so you may depart at noon.”
Theobold made no gesture of acknowledgment. Rising from the couch, he left the steward to retreat. The space fell silent again, broken only by the sound of water running from the tap.
No other sounds disturbed the stillness. Neither the attendants nor the maids stirred. Even the gardeners’ shears or carts were quiet. Theobold’s quarters were always tranquil.
Trisen Manor was always tranquil.
From Lorelia’s home to the capital, Kingsburg, it was a four-day carriage ride. Except for attending royal events, Lorelia had rarely left her father’s estate.
Two years ago, she had reached adulthood on her eighteenth birthday. Unlike her sister, she was a capable horsewoman, but she had never once left the estate gates without a carriage. Naturally, no noble family would allow a daughter to ride freely beyond the estate.
When a noblewoman traveled, a large carriage was required. Maids were needed to maintain her elegance, and a separate carriage was needed for their transport. Another baggage carriage was necessary for clothing, accessories, and personal items. Preparations were extensive.
“Honestly, I was so excited last night, I couldn’t sleep a wink!”
Lorelia dreamily gazed at the empty air. The late afternoon sun lit the study where she received lessons from her tutor.
“It still feels unreal. Like a dream.”
When her godfather had handed her the invitation last month, Lorelia nearly squealed in delight. When her father broke the golden seal and read the letter aloud, her heart pounded. If the lord of Lorelia’s estate and his lady accepted, it would be a great honor. She wanted to shout:
“I got invited too! To Trisen Manor!”
The elderly tutor lifted his gaze from the book, watching the blushing young lady on the cusp between girlhood and womanhood.
“You seem very excited.”
“Of course I am! We leave next week. Can you believe it? I’m leaving Lorelia!”
“You’ve been outside the estate before, haven’t you?”
“This is my first time in the south. I went to Windberg once, but it was freezing. Ugh, I hate the cold.”
Lorelia shivered as she recalled her sister’s wedding. Even in spring, Windberg saw heavy snow on the wedding day. The northern folk considered snowfall on a wedding day an auspicious sign.
“Lady Glen liked winter very much while she was here.”
“How fortunate for me! Imagine if I were the eldest.”
The elderly tutor chuckled. His purple priestly robes hung loosely on his lean frame.
“Have you ever been to the south, Father Holtman?”
Before answering, he smoothed his neatly kept white hair with his palm. Though well over eighty, his hands remained fair and smooth. The youthfulness of priests, regardless of age, was remarkable.
