The Confusion Continues (1)

As if everything before had been a lie, the days passed by leisurely and peacefully.

…Or so it seemed, at least, to Marguerite alone.

After the banquet ended, Marguerite changed back into the plain dress she had brought with her and took her meal together with the servants.

By now, the servants were doing their utmost to hurl insults at Marguerite, but—

“You’ve got the stupidest face I’ve ever seen on a noble lady!”

‘Oh, right—Natt said the other day that his secret savings were found out and his wife got angry. I wonder if everything turned out all right.’

“What suits you isn’t Lord Lucien, it’s scrubbing the floors!”

‘Dorea said Ferris’s sweets were delicious. I’d like to try them myself someday.’

“When you’re done eating, get down on your hands and knees and polish the floor!”

Marguerite, well accustomed to being shouted at, did not mind at all.

Having shared meals at the same table, she had learned to match the servants’ faces to their names, and she had also overheard the careless bits of conversation they let slip when no master was around.

That was why she knew they were, in a good sense, utterly ordinary servants, living their lives while grumbling over trivial matters with their coworkers.

‘House Clavel used to be like that too… but the servants who stood up for me were dismissed one after another.’

It had turned into a place like a demon’s den.

“…Hey! Are you even listening!?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, scrubbing the floor. Please lend me the tools.”

Anna slammed her hand on the table with a bang, and Marguerite looked up.

She had been made to scrub floors at her family home. Since no one here would scatter mud right after she cleaned, it would probably be finished quickly.

“I’m sorry. I’ve gotten into the habit of thinking about other things when someone yells at me. So—where are the tools?”

“…!!”

Her face turning bright red, Anna stiffened her shoulders and stormed out of the kitchen.

“…Shouldn’t I be cleaning the floor?”

When Marguerite turned to ask the surrounding servants, they averted their eyes and hurried away.

Left all alone, Marguerite tilted her head in confusion. After clearing away the dishes she had finished with, she returned to the northern annex.

There was a gaze fixed upon her.

It was Lucien.

After the banquet ended, Lucien had been observing Marguerite’s behavior.

And he arrived at a conclusion that was almost unbelievable.

‘She doesn’t seem to care at all about the concentrated hostility from House de Broy?’

Having been raised strictly from childhood as the heir of House de Broy and taught to stand above others, Lucien could not comprehend how Marguerite could smile while being treated so roughly by servants.

At the same time, his calm reasoning was also attempting to infer Marguerite’s intentions.

The expectation imposed by the royal family upon House de Broy and House Clavel was that, through marriage, the two houses would resolve their longstanding friction and join forces to become an unshakable fortress on the border.

To carry out that expectation faithfully, the current state of constant antagonism could only be a liability.

By sacrificing herself and reporting an idealized situation to the queen, was Marguerite trying to convey the emptiness of House de Broy—how it produced nothing of value?

From Marguerite’s perspective, it was her own family, House Clavel, that was empty—but Lucien did not know that.

—Lord Lucien speaks with me.

Marguerite’s buoyant voice as she had spoken to Emilenne tightened Lucien’s heart, because he could not confidently say, “That’s true.”

As things stood, Lucien felt that he was effectively lying to the royal family.

‘—I must speak with her, so that her words can become the truth.’

With that resolve in his chest, Lucien headed for the northern annex.