The Elf I Want to Be in a Relationship With (2)

“Dremes.”

I looked at the witch with undisguised disapproval.

I had agreed to speak with her on equal terms, disregarding our respective stations. But there were limits. After speculating that I was attracted to men, she'd gone so far as to ask whether I'd struck my head.

That was not something I wanted to hear, especially from someone I'd met only twice.

“Choose your words carefully.”

My voice was low.

Dremes stopped smiling.

I was normally a mild man, but I was still the head of a viscount's house, one whose standing had endured for seven generations. Count Leonberg trusted me as well. I wasn't accustomed to wielding that authority against a guest, yet the warning was enough to make even Dremes falter.

“Ah. Well…”

Her heart was pounding. It wasn't merely a fear of losing a customer. The sudden force of my displeasure seemed to make her own skin sit uneasily upon her.

“I'm sorry,” she said at last. “I wasn't trying to insult you.”

“Weren't you?”

“No…”

She was sweating. I regarded her for a moment, then sighed.

“I'm not asking you to abase yourself.”

“…Then?”

“Whatever you mean by something, avoid words and behavior that would needlessly offend the other person. If we've agreed to set rank aside, shouldn't we show each other some ordinary courtesy? Especially in a conversation like this.”

It wasn't an unreasonable request. Dealing with ruthless nobles had perhaps made Dremes too ready to strike first with her tongue.

She nodded vigorously.

“You're right. I'll be more careful.”

“I'm glad we understand each other. Now, to return to our business: I'd like to buy the aphrodisiac you mentioned.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. One moment.”

Dremes rummaged in the bag hanging from her shoulder and drew out two small bottles. Thick liquid gleamed inside each.

One was pink.

The other held a blue liquid.

“What's in the blue bottle?”

She went on searching through her bag as she answered.

“A medicine for stirring the heart. It magnifies the wicked inclinations you already have. I heard you took something like it when you were spending time with Lady Ashley. I have some left over, so I'll give you this as well. Ah, here it is.”

She produced a small quill and a square name tag, which she set on the table.

The tag was blank. A sharp pin was fixed to its back.

Why bring out a name tag now?

Dremes noticed my look and smiled mischievously.

“Business has been good for you lately, so consider this a gift. It adds a faint sense of impropriety. It's very simple to use: you attach it to your slave's nipple.”

“…What?”

What kind of indecent device was that? I wasn't at all certain the elf would appreciate it.

Dremes slid the vials and tag toward me.

“Don't worry. It won't draw blood or hurt her. It's a magical tool; it fastens without damaging the skin. I guarantee it.”

“…Magic has advanced astonishingly, but can a device really do something so specific?”

“Why would it sell if it couldn't? If you don't believe me, I can demonstrate.”

She smiled and toyed with the ribbon at the neckline of her open robe, deliberately drawing attention to her chest.

I'd just told her to stop making improper remarks, and here she was offering an improper demonstration.

I remembered something I'd read: witches were not a people whom either wealth or rank could tame.

Perhaps that was true of Dremes, at least.

I had no desire to fasten a name tag to her nipple in my own drawing room.

My frown must have told her as much.

Only then did she straighten and clear her throat.

“I'm joking. Really. There's nothing wrong with the device, so you needn't worry. As for the price—”

“Let's settle it with goods. I'll pay double.”

“…Really? Why?”

“Beynon told me that money has been tight for you. And we've received more goods at the mansion than we can easily store. This is simply a way to help. I've already told the chamberlain; he'll guide you when you go out.”

“Oh! Thank you!”

Dremes rose with a broad smile and left the drawing room, practically buoyant at the prospect of receiving twice her asking price.

He's a good man, she thought.

Other nobles usually tried to bargain a merchant down to the last coin. Theorad had been generous, but he'd also drawn a clear line when she crossed it. There was something gentlemanly in that.

Perhaps we could even become friends.

Beynon had spoken well of his young master, and she was starting to see why.

His mouth may run away with him, but Beynon does know how to judge people.

She had known the former mercenary for years. Now he kept a quieter life as a knight of House Deharem, but the man she'd known before had been extraordinary, even to a witch who usually disliked humans.

If things ever become difficult for him, perhaps I should help…

Dremes stopped in the mansion corridor.

An unfamiliar woman was sitting by a window in the warm sunlight. Her eyes were half-closed in thought, her head tilted slightly.

Something about her seemed disturbingly familiar.

Riya?

For an instant Dremes thought of the Black Flame Witch, someone she remembered from long ago.

But the woman at the window had pointed ears and bright silver hair. The witch Dremes remembered had looked nothing like that. Even their races were different.

Still, that air about her…

Footsteps sounded behind her.

Dremes turned to see an elderly gentleman with long white hair and a neatly kept mustache. He smiled pleasantly.

“Mistress Dremes, I presume?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. That's me.”

“I'm Havid, chief chamberlain of this household. My lord told me about your arrangement. Please come with me and I'll see to the payment.”

“Ah, but…”

Dremes glanced toward the window, thinking she might ask him who the elf was.

The seat was empty.

In the moment it had taken her to answer the chamberlain, the silver-haired woman had disappeared, leaving only sunlight across the corridor.

“Mistress Dremes? Was there something you wanted to ask?”

She hesitated, then shook her head.

“No. Nothing.”

Rumors that the Black Flame Witch had returned had been circulating in witch society.

Surely they were only rumors.

After all, why would that witch be serving in a human nobleman's mansion?

---

“Ah… There you are, my daughter.”

In his study, Count Leonberg closed the book he'd been reading and sighed.

The creases around his eyes seemed deeper than they had been only a few days ago.

Ashley stood beside him, troubled by how exhausted he looked.

“Father, please don't worry so much. My second brother—”

“He won't come back.”

The Count's voice was quiet.

Ashley let her own expression settle. Her father was no fool. As the lord of Pelgaroin, he had surely understood more of the news than she had.

“Ashley, my dear daughter. Do you know what Fred is planning?”

“More or less.”

“Then tell me. I want to know whether the worst thing I can imagine is truly happening.”

She had intended to assemble more evidence before speaking. But her father probably possessed better information than she did.

He wanted her to deny the conclusion he'd already reached.

She couldn't give him that comfort.

Before he was her father, he was the Count of Pelgaroin, a great lord responsible for the lives of people throughout the central Empire. They needed him to face the truth.

“My second brother is committing treason.”

“There are rumors that he's joined the rebels and betrayed his country and his people,” Ashley continued. “For now the story is passing among nobles, but soon it will reach the common people. After that, it is only a matter of time before His Majesty hears.”

“Why? Why would Fred…?”

“Father, we don't have time to lament what has happened. We need to decide how to respond.”

“Respond? What do you expect me to do?”

“The imperial family will send someone here soon. They'll use every means available to capture my brother. You mustn't interfere. Cooperate openly and show that you knew nothing about his treason, so no suspicion falls on the county or on you—”

“Ashley!”

Bang!

Leonberg slammed his hand on the desk and rose, his neck flushed with anger.

“He's your brother! My son! Are you asking me to help them capture him? Do you know what will happen if he's caught?”

Ashley bit her lip. Her eyes shone with tears, but she met his glare.

“Do you think I'm not grieving too?”

The Count fell silent. He knew that her words, for all their cruelty, were not wrong.

“The imperial court isn't foolish,” Ashley said more quietly. “They won't pass up this opportunity. Whoever comes here will offer you some kind of bargain.”

“…I know.”

“Then you must decide whether to stand first as the Count of Pelgaroin or as Fred's father. Whatever you choose, I will respect you.”

Her words weren't exactly comforting, yet they helped him regain his composure.

Leonberg sighed and straightened his back.

He was ashamed of having shouted at his daughter. For a time he couldn't look into her eyes. Instead, he opened his book again, as though the subject could be set aside simply by returning to its pages.

“Let's speak of these heavy matters another time.”

“Then what shall we talk about?”

“I've troubled you with my worries. Perhaps you should tell me yours. Is everything going well between you and Theorad?”

Theorad Deharem.

Ashley's heart lifted at the name of the man she loved—and sank again when she thought of the elf who was always at his side.

By now, Theorad might have yielded to the elf's threats and slept with her.

Even if he has, I shouldn't be upset.

Among noble families, young men often gained sexual experience with enslaved women. She told herself there was no reason to grieve over a slave. That elf was no better than a prostitute.

Theorad's long restraint might even be considered unusual.

She told herself that his having relations with an elf would not change what she meant to him. As his fiancée, she could bear it.

She had resolved many times that she would not become tangled in the elf's designs simply because they wounded her pride.

She could bear this. She had to.

And yet…

“Yes, Father. Things are going well between Sir Theorad and me.”

She smiled as she answered.

She couldn't keep the sadness out of it.