Chương 82: “A Refused Collar”

The cake was good today. It was a layered confectionary today, light sponge alternating with cream and thin slices of preserved fruit. The frosting was whipped, which the girl preferred. She sat at a small round table near the window, her posture relaxed, one ankle tucked behind the other beneath the hem of a flowing one-piece dress. The teacup in her left hand was porcelain, pale blue with a gold rim. The room around her was large and well-furnished. Bookshelves along one wall. A writing desk by another window.

A canopied bed with silk curtains drawn open. And portraits. A great many portraits, all of the same person: the girl sitting at the table. In some she was younger, seated formally with her hands in her lap. In others she wore riding attire, or stood before a garden backdrop, or held a parasol at an angle. She took a bite of cake and chewed slowly. Knock. Knock.

"Come in." The door opened. A tall man entered, his grey-templed hair combed neatly back, his butler's uniform pressed and spotless. He carried a small stack of papers in one gloved hand. He crossed the room, set the papers on the table beside the cake plate, and stepped back.

"Thank you, Sebas." He inclined his head and withdrew. The door closed behind him with a soft click. The girl picked up the papers with her free hand and began to read, taking her time to read each one. The room was quiet, and the only sounds were the shuffle of paper and the occasional clink of porcelain against the saucer when she set her cup down to turn a page that required both hands.

"Hmm." She turned another page.

"Hmm." This continued for some time. The tea cooled. The cake sat half-eaten on its plate. The sunlight through the window had visibly changed its angle as the minutes passed, moving from the edge of the table to near the center. After perhaps what seemed like several hours, she set the last page down on the stack and squared the edges with her fingers. She looked up. Across the table, seated in the chair opposite, was a figure in a cloak. They had been there the entire time, silent and still.

The hood was drawn forward, covering the upper half of their face. The figure was small. The cloak hung loose around narrow shoulders, and the hands looked slender. The girl in the dress picked up her fork, cut another piece of cake, and ate it. After swallowing, she dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

"Fine," she said.

"I will give you what you need for your revenge." The cloaked figure's shoulders moved slightly, and it looked like there was a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Imperial Princess Maribelle." Maribelle picked up her teacup, found it cold, and set it back down.

"Sebas will help you with the arrangements. Make sure my name does not appear in any conversation you have with anyone outside this room." She tilted her head.

"You understand what happens if it does, yes?" The cloaked figure raised her head. Beneath the hood, a young face looked back at Maribelle. Youthful, with a hardened gaze that did not match the rest of her features.

"I won't betray you," the girl said.

"I am quite sure you won't." Maribelle's tone was pleasant.

"Seeing the grievances you hold towards the Reingarde house, I believe your interests and mine are sufficiently aligned. You can leave now." The cloaked girl stared for a moment longer, then stood. She pulled the hood further forward and walked to the door. She opened it and left.. The room was quiet again. Maribelle looked down at the papers on the table. The top page had been turned face-up during her reading, and on it, clipped to the upper corner, was a small portrait. A detailed drawing in ink.

Platinum-blonde hair. Crimson eyes. An expression that managed to look imperious even in a sketch no larger than a playing card. Celestia von Reingarde. Maribelle traced the edge of the portrait with one finger.

"Your past is coming back to haunt you, Celestia." Celestia had made enemies. Quite plenty of them, but there was only so much they could do to retaliate against the Reingarde name. However, there were still a scant few who would be willing to do anything. Maribelle had simply provided an opportunity. Whatever Celestia had become since the annulment, that infuriating performance at the ball and tea party… to dare disrespect her and the Imperial blood? That required correction.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. She pushed the papers to the side of the table, aligning them neatly with the edge, and pulled the cake plate back toward her. She picked up her fork. The cake tasted sweeter than when she first sat down. * The feast was well underway by early evening. One of the office's large rooms had been cleared and lined with long tables. Food covered every surface: roasted meats, bread, stewed vegetables, rice, and fruit.

Ale, cider, and juice were poured freely. The thirty-four slaves who had returned from Floor 10 that morning were scattered along the seats and the room, happily chatting about their experiences. All thirty-four, every single one had returned alive. A few had pushed themselves too far during the trial and had come back battered for it.

Paimon stood near the wall with a mug in her hand, chatting with a few of the slaves she had gotten close with during training, grinning at each other, bumping elbows, and laughing with their mouths full. Further down the table, Jade had wedged himself between two of the older slaves and was goading them into a drinking contest. His sleeves were rolled up and he was already on his third cup.

The maids moved between the tables, refilling drinks and clearing plates, chatting easily with the slaves they had gotten to know over. Anna sat at the end of one bench with a small kit beside her, checking a boy's shoulder, as he was complaining about the pain. Martha circled the room, making sure nothing was running short. Somewhere beneath the tables, a small creature waddled between the legs of chairs and boots, carrying a flat wooden tray strapped to its back.

On the tray sat two mugs of ale, neither one tilting. The slaves had seen this animal before. It belonged to their patron, and they had spotted it around the building several times in the building. It was a strange-looking thing. Small, stocky, flat-faced, with bulging eyes and a curled tail. None of them knew what kind of beast it was, and since no one had told them whether they were allowed to touch it, they had originally kept their distance. Tonight, however, it appeared to be busy.

The creature waddled up to a slave at the end of a bench and stopped. The slave looked down. The creature looked up. Its face was scrunched into what appeared to be a permanent state of displeasure. A low grumble came from somewhere deep in its throat. The slave carefully lifted a mug from the tray. The creature grumbled again, louder this time, and shook its head once as if offended. The slave then slowly reached down and scratched behind the creature's ears. The grumbling stopped. The creature's eyes half-closed.

Its curled tail wiggled once. Someone at the table tossed a piece of roasted meat onto the tray. The creature sniffed it, ate it in one bite, and waddled off toward the next table with its remaining mug. The feast went on. But the one person who had started it was no longer in the room. Celestia had made her appearance at the beginning, said a few words, raised a glass, and then left. That had been over an hour ago. After the feast, the slaves would have a free day tomorrow.

The day after that, they would enter Floor 11 for the real work. Their patron had told them that much before the feast began. By the time another hour had passed, the tables were mostly empty. The slaves had retired one by one, full and drowsy, some to their quarters, some to the training yard to sit under the stars. Martha directed the maids in clearing the tables. In the office down the hall, Celestia was busy working. Scritch. Scritch. Celestia sat behind her desk, writing.

The lamp beside her cast a warm circle of light over the documents. The sounds of the feast had faded to silence. Knock. Knock.

"In." Jade entered. He closed the door behind him and slowly crossed to the chair opposite Celestia's desk. He sat down. As Celestia continued writing, Jade silently waited. She finished after a few more minutes, set the pen down, and looked up. Jade's expression was different from his usual one. From what Celestia could tell, his eyes gleamed with a certain sense of expectancy.

"Lady Celestia." He cleared his throat.

"I've been studying up on formalities, but my words may still come out rough. I apologize for that ahead of time." Celestia did not respond. Jade took a breath and continued, "These past few months have been fulfilling. My wife is happy with our new home. My child will be born soon. The money we've saved in just this short time is more than my family could have spent in our entire lifetime." He looked down at his hands.

They were large, calloused, and scarred across the knuckles and palms from years of gripping weapons.

"I was a vagrant. A soldier. A mercenary. An adventurer. My life has been on the battlefield, and even after all I have experienced, I still enjoy battle. I enjoy wielding weapons and testing myself against opponents." He raised his head.

"I am proud to have worked for you. And what we have now… I was hesitant, but I know that I will regret not stepping forward right now." He looked at Celestia's eyes. The scarlet eyes that had terrified him the first time they met, when he had walked into that place and found a young noblewoman who looked extremely prideful, as if the world belonged to her. He had thought those eyes were cold. But for some time now, he knew he was wrong. She was fierce, yes, and she commanded without hesitation.

But she had taken thirty-four slaves that everyone would have forgotten, and she had given them a future. And even as a noble, the city she was building was one where it was for the people. Jade stood up. He stepped to the side of the chair, lowered himself to one knee, and unsheathed the short sword from his belt. He held it out in front of him, blade flat across both palms.

"My Lady, Celestia von Reingarde, daughter of Duke Armond von Reingarde and Duchess Evelyn von Reingarde. I, Jade, wish to pledge my allegiance to you. I ask not for knighthood. I ask not for glory. My honor may matter little, but it is the only thing I can offer." The office was quiet except for the sound of flickering flames. Creak. He heard her stand, her chair scraped softly against the floor. She walked toward him. And he waited. The footsteps stopped in front of him.

He kept his head bowed, the sword extended. However… seconds passed, and she did not take it. A few more seconds. And yet she still did not take it. Jade raised his head. Celestia stood over him, her crimson eyes looking down into his. She opened her mouth.

"I refuse."