Chapter 47

Rosaria wanted nothing more than to pivot on her heel and slip back to her room, but there was no escaping now.

Clutching her rag doll like a lifeline, Rosaria followed the servant into the dining room.

“Ah, Rosaria, you’ve arrived,” Duke Rampez greeted her with an almost embarrassed smile.

Following Simon’s advice, Rosaria gave a polite nod and took her assigned seat. Immediately, the duke, duchess, and both princes turned their attention toward her.

Were they all here just to stare at me?

This dinner felt less like a meal and more like a showcase—the entire table was gathered just to see her.

Suddenly, Rosaria remembered the rag doll beside her and placed it next to her plate.

“What is that?” asked Everett, the youngest prince, who had been watching her every breath.

Rosaria froze. The duchess snapped at him sharply, but the young prince—clearly spoiled—ignored her.

“Is that a doll? I’ve never seen such an ugly thing… Did you find this in a dump?”

“Why don’t you look in the mirror before you speak?” Rosaria replied dryly, then began eating, focusing on the food rather than the exchange.

She hadn’t eaten well since arriving—stepping into the dining room pleaded to her roaring hunger.

Even if they think I’m unwell, I still need to eat.

Just as she began transferring food onto her plate, she heard a small laugh. Blake.

He looked up at her, no longer dazed—the Blake she remembered was back, though he seemed amused.

You find my doll funny, huh?

Both he and Edmund were irritating enough to suspect their noble status came with spoiled attitudes. Rosaria shot a temperate glare at Blake before returning her focus to dinner.

The dining room was eerily silent—until Blake spoke:

“You should pay more attention to your books, not mirrors. You’ve been failing daily and retaking exams.”

“Big brother…” Everett’s voice cracked; he visibly deflated under Blake’s reproach.

“Blake, that’s unkind to say in front of guests. Apologize.”

Duke Rampez scolded Blake, though Everett was the one who’d been rude. Rosaria looked around in confusion. The dukedom seemed to be siding with Everett.

Even the duchess avoided Blake’s gaze, as though he didn’t exist.

“…Sorry,” Blake muttered.

“It’s fine—it wasn’t exactly wrong. Compared to you, brother, I’m much worse,” Everett forced a grin, defusing the tension easily.

Duke Rampez quickly shifted the topic. “Lady Rosaria of Valencia, is the food to your liking?”

“Yes, it’s delicious.”

“Indeed—it’s richer than Valencia’s fare. Our lands are more fertile, with bountiful seas. Even the same dishes taste different here—eat as much as you like.”

Is he boasting again?

Rather than listen to the duke’s comparison, Rosaria simply focused on her plate full of nourishing, flavorful food.

Duke Rampez and his duchess took turns boasting about their territory’s fertility and the pride he had in it—all the while ignoring Blake entirely, leaving him sitting alone.

Blake, however, seemed unbothered. Even bored. He yawned and nodded off at the table—looking like he could fall asleep right where he sat.

Rosaria, seated next to him, had the urge to hold his head steady but managed to restrain herself.

Everett seized the moment and asked, “Is it true that your holy power is unmatched—even compared to the priests?”

“What? No—I don’t have anything like that.”

Everett’s eyes warmed with admiration at her supposed holy power, only to dim in confusion a moment later.

“But… I heard you were adopted from some filthy place. That must mean you’re someone extraordinary.”

Rosaria paused at Everett’s misinterpretation. “…Filthy place?”

“Yes!”

Everett repeated what he’d heard from his parents, unaware of its inaccuracy. Mirroring adults, children can parrot anything.

Rosaria interrupted before the duke could. “Yes, I once lived in back alleys.”

Everett flushed, ashamed of his vague memories of “filthy places.”

Rosaria casually continued her meal, surgically precise as a low-born girl—

“It was horrid. There was no clean water, not even for drinking. One time, I pressed my face to a fountain, not knowing if someone had spat in it, just to have something to drink. I begged for scraps of meat clinging to bones, flat on my face in the mud.”

Silence fell.

“And what of it?” She set down her cutlery with deliberate calm. Her gaze swept over Everett, the duchess, the duke—one at a time, locking eyes.

“Do you think it’s shameful?”
She swallowed a breath.
“How is being born without parents shameful—so shameful that I starved in filth? But what’s more shameful is the way you look at me now.”

She could see it: pity mixed with superiority, like seeing a strange bug.

“Do you feel sorry for me?”

No matter the clothes she wore or the hint of sainthood suffixed to her name, their eyes looked down on her as they would any pitiful noble in the marketplace.

They said they wanted me to be close to them—but they don’t treat me like an equal.

She knew the look of someone dead set against you. They’d seen her as something less than human.

“Everett, did you think seeing Rosaria would mean talking like that?” Blake’s deep voice cut through the hush. Everett, posture collapsing, teared up—

“Waaa!” —and fled the room.

The duchess followed to comfort him. Duke Rampez turned to Blake with an ice-cold glare:

“Blake, don’t act like a child. You are his elder—set an example.”

In that single sentence, the hall emptied of tension.

“Idiot.” Blake muttered under his breath, exhaustion and disgust twisting his features.

Rosaria stared at him quietly.

Blake continued in a low voice, mocking.

“I hate dumb kids who cry at everything… my little brother, who cries whenever anything happens, wonders if they even want to see me…”

Rosaria recognized what he meant—who his brother compared him to.

“You said before you liked me because I don’t cry.”

She had once made it clear they weren’t close—but now she spoke to uproot any fondness he might have.

“Crying when trouble comes means you think tears could solve it.”

She thought of Everett, humble, fragile, prone to drowning in tears.

“I don’t cry because I know my tears mean nothing.”

There was no reason for Blake to like her—they were nothing alike.

“Real fools don’t cry. They smile every day—even when that’s all they can do.”

Tears wouldn’t make him angry. If someone had comforted Everett instead of punishing him for crying, she wouldn’t have had to swallow her own.

“You also said you hated crybabies—but in the end, you and I are both still children. You think you are a perfect adult? Don’t say you are—I remember how messily we danced.”

“…You still think I’m a child?”

Rosaria met Blake’s incredulous gaze. Before he replied, he looked as if he’d understood without words.

“Obviously. You’re a minor—you haven’t even had your coming-of-age ceremony. You read advanced books but it seems you forget basic facts.”

Her frown grew deeper at his retort.

“Have you been living believing you were an old grandpa or something?”

“…Sometimes I feel that way.”

He sounded incongruous.

Rosaria rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, breakfast is over—I’m leaving. You seemed unable to eat before, so now that we’re alone I’ll leave you to enjoy the meal.”

She hopped off her chair mid-sentence and began to walk away.

Blake watched silent and still.

“Here… no one sees me that way,” he muttered under his breath.

Before him sat a plate filled with more food than he could eat—and with it, his soft exhale.