Chương 8: Chapter Seven: Is There A Recipe For Rewinding Time?

I closed my eyes and refused to open them. He's not here. He's not here. He's not here. If he can't see me...

"I know you hear me, and I know you can talk now!" His squeaky voice isn't lost on me. He's at most ten and at least half that. If I were still me, I'd have thought he was just a spoiled brat in need of a rude awakening one day in the future. Maybe a bit of sandbox politics or a trip to the principal. Now I think he needs a knuckle sandwich. Namely by me.

"…" Inner peace. Violence is never the answer. Inner peace. Wet behind the ears and empty in between them continues poking, "The others won't shut up about you."

"…"

"Hey!" A leather boot met my arm, and I toppled over onto my side. Why is it always me? Niathe was right. Hell, my parents were right in hindsight. The only way these people learn is when you destroy something they love, hit them, or you rob them blind. Pacifism is for those who are ten feet tall with a past written in a Manila envelope next to the words— My hair is yanked at the root and my eyes fly open in shock. Snap. Enraged, I opened my eyes and angled my face so I could see the menace himself.

Burning scalp tightening and a trickle of something wet sliding down my neck in the process. A mini replica of my deadbeat father glared down at me with the sun behind him. Reddened eyes and a ruddy complexion betrayed his seemingly remorseful hunger strike being circulated throughout the house. Derrick. You are a moron. Deciding against my original stance of ignoring him I addressed him with a flat affect, "I thought you were still locked up."

It still sounds hilariously high-pitched and baby-ish, but my lack of expression usually helps others take me seriously.

"Father lifted the house arrest early so I could properly apologize to you." He pulls a little harder and my spine twists along with my head.

"Do you think you deserve such treatment?" I rolled my eyes and stared at the manor walls all around me from the ground. This small courtyard behind the kitchen is the only place besides the library where I can get some much-needed quiet. Now it's ruined. He kicked me in the back and hurled some more insults at me. Surprisingly elaborate ones that he'd clearly learned through observation. Does Druvis secretly have a potty mouth?

"I'm talking to you! Pay attention." He gritted out.

"…" I'm not answering that. I don't answer any questions, officer jerk. I know my rights. Smoothly, I flicked the middle finger at him and huffed at his inability to understand the 'sincere feelings' behind it. A hoarse, crackly voice screamed from behind us, stopping the brat in his tracks.

"What are you doing?!" A teenager rushed out of the kitchen doors and bolted towards Derrick. He snatched him up by his armpit and swung away from me. Successfully neutralizing the situation. Thank god. He must have practiced or something. This kid has serious rage issues.

"Are you mad?! She's a baby!" He pointed at me and I averted my eyes.

"You were just released! How could you?!" Derrick petulantly described my futile resistance.

"She's ignoring me." Cheeks puffed out like a hamster and still watching me like a hawk. Flabbergasted, his voice cracked even further, a testament to his immaturity, "So you kicked her?!" The boys bickered, and I got up to go to the library again. Can't have anything nice. I waddled over to the door and left them behind to argue. Halfway down the servant quarters hallway, heavy footsteps sounded from behind me. pausing momentarily to look behind me, my eyebrows raised, and I turned around to crawl faster.

"Wait! My lady, please! Please wait!" The boy from earlier skidded to a halt in front of me and picked me up from the carpet, Derrick-style. He looked around quickly to see if anyone saw the snatch-n-grab and accosted me after confirming no one was there.

"Where are your handmaids? And your guards?" Looking for potential witnesses? There's so many. Everyone saw and heard everything. Percy's looking through a silver platter placed conviently by the door and the three shadows next to it are undoubtedly him, Matt, and the other girl. You're screwed. Shaking my head to mitigate the ache in my scalp, I whispered, "Stop yelling." He whispered back to me, but I could feel the disturbance in the force from deep within my jellies.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Someone's coming. Someone who's not interested in weaving a fantastic tale of intrigue and dog blood drama. Truly an acquired taste and talent if I do say so myself.

"Do you want your liver fried or boiled?" The nervous wreck legit whimpered.

"Not you too." Right on schedule, Helen rounded the corner, and I groaned. Tossing my head back so as to not look at the bane of my existence. No! He just had to jinx it. My mother has become anal about my security ever since I turned six months old. I, however, have been able to ditch most of the losers she's put in charge of me. They fall for it every time. The old coat trick. Threads. Breadcrumbs. Except this one. Only when she's away can I enjoy my life to the fullest. The perks of being quiet, sly, and tiny.

Helen, however, is a beast. Literally. She's an actual werewolf who can sniff me out if you give her enough time. Juiced to the gills, tall, scary, and has a cool eye scar to complete the look. My personal bouncer.

"Miseria Noxcissa Duccanes." Ooh, she brought out the full name. I'm so scared. She marched towards me with pure anger in her dark brown eyes. Acting clueless, I even dumbed my voice down to something sickly sweet.

"Yes? What's wrong?" She gritted out behind her teeth.

"You know what. How many times have I—Who are you?" She directed her piercing gaze at the boy holding me, and he almost doubled back. Yeah, that's a whole lot of woman. She's easily got an entire foot on him, and she's so ripped you can see it from afar. One could only dream. He shivered and held me tighter to his chest.

"I'm Gillard. The tutor to the second young master." His thundering heart drummed next to my ear. You're going to give yourself cardiac arrest at your young age.

"Him? What are you doing holding her? Why is she so…?" Her eyes roved over me, and she easily crossed the distance to snatch me out of his hands. Within seconds, she was inspecting my chubby body for what was inevitably found. Numbly, I let her do as she wished used to her special way of handling me. Boot prints, bruises, dust, grass stains, and dirt. Sarabse's going to be pissed. I just got this set. She might even take my coins this time.

Sighing deeply, I stretched out my arms like a starfish to facilitate the process.

"…" Her nostrils flared, and Gillard took a sharp intake of breath. Here we go.

"Come with me at once." Uh oh. Helen held me close to her and marched me to my doom. I meant my room. The second bane of my existence. My avoidant overprotective mother and my laissez-faire deadbeat slore of a father. We briskly made our way to my mother's portion of the house. It's two halls and a staircase away from the kitchen and a hall away from my room. Helen inquired as to what room she was presiding in and was informed swiftly.

Helen turned on her heel and promptly interrupted with a sharp rap of her knuckles against the study's doors.

"Madam. I seek an audience at once." It's not really a question when she says it. A muffled voice came from inside, "Can it wait?" Helen spared no one.

"Someone has assaulted the young miss."

"…" I reared back like I'd been slapped, and it took a second for me to comprehend she's talking about me! Woah! Helen! What are you doing?! That sounds like it can be taken a very different way. The door slammed open, and both my parents came out of the room. Their clothes were in disarray, and they smelled different. Different bad. Sour and musky. Please don't be what I think it is. Gross! I wrinkled my nose and squirmed when my mother tried to take me. No! That's so unhygienic! Get away from me!

She pried me from Helen's clothes that I had been desperately hanging onto and inspected me herself. Her eyes went completely white, and she growled low in her throat. What the fuck! I recoiled and stopped struggling. Gillard got on his knees and explained everything truthfully to the Duke, who had already drawn his sword. Decorative as it is I'm sure it has a practical use. I couldn't see his face, but I could hear his somber, disbelieving voice. I think this is the angriest I've ever heard him.

Can't imagine what he looks like. Niathe held me close to her and ordered the guards to assemble. They slipped out of the shadows and began to assemble around us. Have they been there the entire time? Are they always there? Like in my room or in the library there?

"You're saying that you witnessed my son.... Kick my daughter. Behind the kitchen…because she ignored him?" He glitches and the sword scraps the ground.

"El," Niathe uttered a single word. That was all it took.

"Arrest him." Goddamn it. The guards in black armor moved to arrest Gillard, and the Duke shook his head. His shoulders bunched together, and his voice became hoarse. The Duke bellowed.

"Arrest that disgrace!" The guards stiffened before turning around. They searched high and low for Derrick until they found him. And they found him. Practicing the ways of the sword leisurely with his brothers, who had no idea what had occurred moments prior. Meanwhile, on my side. Mother and everyone else moved in sync to the throne room. Niathe refused any of my father's attempts to hold her or me. Shrugging him away or brushing the wall just to get away from him. In her eyes, I could see nothing but white.

But I could tell something was clawing at her. Waiting to come out. Something hungry and excited. She seemed secretly jubilant to me. Like she had just caught the prey that had been eluding her. We stalked towards a part of the mansion I had never ventured into. But I recognized enough of it to understand where I was. The throne room is part of the main wing of the house. Only Dorothea, the Duke, and Erichean live inside of it. It's an etiquette thing, apparently.

Only the first wife and her children are supposed to live there. I live in the smaller east wing with my mother and Hadrian. Meng Jialin and Druvis live in the west wing together with their children. Everyone has a place, and it's not like we're on top of each other. I've ventured into at least ten unused guest rooms in my area. There are too many guards around here, so I've never actually ventured into this particular area before. But this room is on another level.

There are at least thirty guards in this room, lined up against each of the walls like dominoes. Mother walked into the throne room with Helen guarding her back and walked up a long stairway to a black throne. Even from afar, it seemed daunting, and the entire room was filled with tension as she stood at the top. Dozens of men crowded around carved molten volcanic rock tables and fractured orange glass decorating the entire article. Parchment rolled, and quills halted mid-motion.

In a single movement, she manipulated her ball gown and sat down on the throne. Gasps echoed throughout the room. I don't think she was supposed to do that. What a hot seat. Round tables filled with vassals below us erupted into chatter and chaos.

"Silence!" The Duke quieted anyone who would be foolish enough to voice a complaint in this situation. The vassals bowed their heads, and the Duke ascended the stairs to the throne. He then stood next to it and waited like a lap dog. Eagerly awaiting orders and discreetly glancing at the woman occupying his throne. The first to arrive was, of course, Dorothea. She lives here and probably received the news the fastest. Milk tea locks bounced as she rushed into the room in a hurry and demanded answers upon seeing us.

"Husband! What does that matter? Oh my—?!" She caught sight of the throne and gasped in shock. Her hand clutched her chest. So dramatic. What? Do you have a problem with my mother sitting on the throne? Now's so not the time to bicker over chairs.

"Why is the eighth covered in green stains? What are those marks? She needs proper clothing!" Dorothea snapped and uttered orders to one of her panting ladies-in-waiting. She then lifted her pale peach dress and proceeded upstairs.

"Husband, what happened?" Her pouty lips asked in such a way that it felt like her very soul depended on the words he spewed. The Duke explained slowly in a somber voice, and Dorothea's expression turned grave. Still on the fence, she inquired, "The evidence?"

"Arriving." The entire room waited in tense silence. Due to the echoes in the room. Everyone knew what had happened despite their bad attempts at whispering. Great. Should I say something? This isn't a big deal. I opened my mouth to de-escalate, and Niathe covered it with her sleeve. I narrowed my eyes and turned to face her. Jesus. She still looks like a demon. You know what? I'll tell her later. When she's less… possessed-looking. What I'd do for a Time Machine.