Chapter 8

Emeric picked up a flat, small bottle of liquor. There didn’t seem to be a glass, so he handed the bottle directly to Flora.

“Can I drink all of this?”

“If you can handle it.”

She took the bottle from him and gulped it down. Her throat felt like it was burning.

She couldn’t stop drinking, feeling Emeric’s gaze on her.

“Somehow, you seem a bit different from earlier today.”

“Emeric, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

He sprawled on the sofa, arms crossed and legs arrogantly folded, just as he had in the carriage.

“Is witch-hunting common in the East?”

At Flora’s question, Emeric tried to stifle his laughter, but ended up bursting out in a loud guffaw.

It was the first time Flora had seen him laugh so heartily, and she was left speechless.

“Oh, poor Flora. Did Tanya tell you? That if you don’t have a child, you’ll be accused in a witch-hunt?”

“Isn’t that true?”

“Well. I can’t say it’s not. It could certainly be one of the reasons.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Are you afraid of dying?”

There was a sharp edge to his words.

He was probably talking about his aunt, who married into Charllon decades ago and died.

“If you’re human, of course…”

“So did my aunt suffer a witch-hunt in Charllon?”

“No! From what I heard, she…”

“One day, she collapsed coughing up blood.”

“That’s right!”

“So maybe it wasn’t a witch-hunt, but poisoning.”

“What?”

“One thing’s for sure: even if you do face a witch-hunt, Blois won’t be able to protect you completely. Just like Charllon did to my aunt. Always be careful, Flora.”

Emeric tapped her shoulder lightly, then, with a hint of a smile, turned and left the room.

Why had he come to her room tonight, after saying he wouldn’t visit?

While she slept, what deep thoughts had he been having, sitting on the sofa?

* * *

After finishing the liquor in the bottle, Flora slept for a long time.

Until Tanya woke her with a noisy commotion, she was so deeply asleep she couldn’t move a finger.

Tanya said she’d wondered if Flora had harbored dark thoughts in the night, she’d slept like a corpse.

Thanks to the liquor Emeric gave her, Flora had slept soundly.

She even thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep a small bottle in her room at all times.

Time passed, and the hour for the welcoming banquet prepared for Flora at Blois arrived.

As expected, the meal was shrouded in silence.

Flora, feeling thoroughly like an outsider in the midst of the quiet, ate her soup.

In fact, she liked the atmosphere of silent dining.

At least she didn’t have to hear insults about her family and her house.

“The smell of a rat is so strong I can’t eat.”

An elderly woman, draped in dazzling jewels, looked at Flora as she spoke.

She seemed genuinely disgusted, placing her cutlery down on the table.

In an instant, every gaze at the table turned to Flora.

The subject was ‘rat’, but everyone in the room seemed to know it meant Flora.

Unable to swallow her food under those stares, Flora quietly put her spoon down.

She’d only been forcing herself to eat soup anyway, so she was glad she could stop eating, using the atmosphere as an excuse.

“Grandmother. For your health, please finish your meal.”

Emeric responded to the comment with a smile.

She must be his grandmother—the one who’d called Flora a rat.

Knowing this, Flora understood the weight of all those jewels hanging from her head, neck, and fingers.

She could wear such extravagant jewels because she was the mother of Duke Christophe Blois.

Just as Emeric had said, all the women in this house were covered in sparkling jewels.

She instantly understood why dark-colored clothing was so popular in Blois.

If you wanted your jewels to stand out, your clothes had to be neutral.

Vanity, it seemed, was the same everywhere; Flora couldn’t help but smile.

“So the rat knows how to sneer, too.”

The mood at the table grew more hostile.

Ah, how could she possibly survive in a family like this?

She concluded to herself that, like Emeric’s aunt, she would surely cough up blood and die one day.

“Was the journey difficult?”

Duke Christophe Blois, Emeric’s father, greeted her in a detached voice, eyes still focused on his meal.

“It wasn’t difficult. Thanks to Emeric.”

She thought that was the proper thing to say as a wife, but Emeric, sitting across from her, shrugged as if holding back laughter. He was definitely mocking her.

“Your father said so.”

At the mention of her father, Flora was startled and waited for Christophe’s next words.

“He asked me to cast you aside mercilessly if you struggle with married life.”

It wasn’t exactly what Flora wanted to hear at this table.

She was left speechless.

Here, surrounded by people who disliked her, even her own family seemed to have abandoned her.

She couldn’t breathe. She felt her face flush with humiliation.

People seemed momentarily flustered, then began to chatter noisily, each one taking turns to insult Charllon. She even heard someone call her family ‘a house without roots’.

“Flora.”

Emeric’s low, heavy voice reached only her ears.

“What will you do now?”

A heavy question spilled from his lips.

“I don’t know. But somehow, it feels like the ending is already decided.”

“You never know. I don’t think the ending is set yet.”

“Why? Everyone seems to want me cast out and dead.”

“Try not to die here, and endure as best you can.”

Emeric spoke as if he were telling her a simple truth—like, ‘You’re holding a spoon.’

It was easy for him to say, since he wasn’t the one suffering.

“You talk so easily since it’s not your problem.”

“How is it not my problem? You’re the woman who’ll be my wife.”

With those words, Emeric straightened his voice, stood up, and spoke loudly to the banquet guests.

“I know everyone is eagerly awaiting our marriage. Let’s hope this brings only benefit to us all. Let’s have a toast together. Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

At Emeric’s words, everyone at the table stopped talking about Charllon and resumed their conversations with laughter. It seemed the earlier silence wasn’t a family custom, but rather caused by Flora’s presence.

“You’d better get on my good side.”

As he sat back down, Emeric’s earlier lively expression vanished, replaced by a blank look.

“How do I get on your good side?”

“Just don’t do anything to annoy me and live quietly.”

“What annoys you? If you tell me, I’ll try my best to be quiet.”

“Don’t beg for a child.”

“What?”

“When I need one, I’ll come to your room. Otherwise, don’t come into mine or try to seduce me.”

Flora couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief.

He must have thought her approaching in her chemise last night was some sort of seduction. Well, it wasn’t entirely untrue.

“And?”

“If you want, you can have a lover. Just don’t do it right after the wedding—wait at least half a year for appearances’ sake. This is all advice for your own good.”

He seemed to be referring to a paramour. In Devilleon, noble marriages were business arrangements, and most enjoyed affairs with their own lovers, so it wasn’t exactly surprising.

“How many lovers do you have?”

“None yet, but that’s a rude question.”

She’d expected he’d already have several women, so it was a bit unexpected.

One of her brothers, Victor, had married the daughter of a founding Duke, but since the woman was a country bumpkin, he’d kept several lovers for years.

“I thought you must have a lot of lovers since you told me not to beg for a child. Sorry.”

She’d assumed someone with Emeric’s aura would have several lovers even before marriage.

“What’s that look for? You don’t seem sorry at all.”

“My brother has a lover. So I thought you’d have one too. And I really am sorry.”

“Disgusting.”

It was unclear whether he meant her thoughts were disgusting or lovers themselves were disgusting. It was ambiguous.

“If it was disgusting, I really am sorry. But in this country, for nobles, lovers are common…”

“Do you have one? A lover?”

“How rude!”

With Flora’s response, the atmosphere at the banquet table instantly grew quiet.

Ah, she’d forgotten that she and Emeric were having this conversation at the banquet table. Whenever she was with him, she felt like she was always dancing in the palm of his hand.

Flora looked around at the suddenly silent table.

People were wondering why she’d just shouted ‘how rude’ at Emeric.

“I don’t particularly feel like apologizing. I don’t see how it’s a rude question.”

“What?”

“You were rude first.”

Emeric stopped whispering, drank the last of the wine in his glass, nodded to the people at the table, and stood up from his seat.