---
Marin was approaching the outbuilding when voices drifted from behind the structure—sharp, mocking, and entirely too loud to be anything but deliberate.
"Yulia, what's with this commoner? Acting like she owns the place?"
"Obviously. A common-born nobody, yet she's been given rooms in the *outbuilding*."
"Exactly. Must be warming someone's bed."
"No!" Julia's voice cut through, high and defensive. "Madam Marin helps His Grace directly. She's not—"
"'Madam'?" The first voice dripped with contempt. "She actually told you to call her that? How *precious*."
Marin continued walking, her expression carefully neutral.
*Idle gossip. It doesn't matter.*
She would be leaving eventually. There was no point in winning over the servants or building alliances she'd never need.
"I heard her mother's a courtesan too." A different voice now—nastier, more assured. "You should see the airs she puts on. At first I genuinely thought she was nobility."
Marin's fingers tightened around the spine of the fairy tale book until her knuckles went white.
*Let them insult me. Let them misunderstand everything. I don't care.*
*But touching Mother—*
"That's not true!" Julia's voice rose to a near-shout. "Don't you *dare* speak about Lady Roenna that way!"
"Oh, is the orphan still yapping?" The cruel voice turned silky with false sweetness. "Seems like you need another *educational session*."
Marin rounded the corner of the building just as one of the maids raised her hand toward Julia.
She didn't hesitate.
The hardcover book flew from her grip with practiced accuracy, its reinforced corner striking the maid square between the shoulder blades.
"*Ah—!*"
The woman stumbled forward, gasping in pain.
"Who," Marin said quietly, "gave you permission to raise your hand?"
"M-Madam Marin?"
Julia's eyes went wide with a mixture of relief and alarm.
"Come here, Julia."
The girl took a step toward Marin—but before she could cross the distance, another maid seized a fistful of her red hair and yanked her back.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Marin's gaze fixed on the hand gripping Julia's hair. When she spoke, her voice had gone flat and cold.
"Let go."
"Ha!" The maid—narrow-eyed, sharp-featured, clearly the ringleader—sneered. "Why should I take orders from the likes of *you*?"
"Consider it a request, then."
"A *request*?" The sneer widened into something uglier. "That's not how one asks for favors around here. Maybe if you got on your knees—"
The last thread of Marin's patience snapped.
"Rude and ignorant," she said, almost conversationally. "There's no point reasoning with someone like you."
"*Ha!* A courtesan who fancies herself a noblewoman!" The ringleader's voice rose to a screech. "You think spreading your legs for His Lordship makes you untouchable?"
Marin was already moving.
She rolled up her sleeves as she closed the distance—two steps, three—and the maid's expression shifted from contempt to confusion to something approaching alarm. Her grip on Julia's hair loosened involuntarily.
Marin didn't waste the opening. She stepped smoothly between them, using her body as a shield.
"Girls!" The ringleader's voice cracked with outrage. "Teach her a lesson!"
Two more maids advanced—one heavyset, one still rubbing her aching spine where the book had struck. They spread out, circling, attempting to box Marin and Julia against the wall.
"M-Madam Marin—"
"Stay behind me, Julia." Marin raised her fists, small but determined. "I'll protect you."
---
## — The Duke's Study —
For days now, Gerald had been plagued by a sensation entirely unfamiliar to him.
*"Then why didn't you keep sleeping?"*
*"...Unpleasant."*
*"What do you mean?"*
*"It's been too long. The feeling was... alien. Like falling into something I might not return from."*
He'd told her the truth—or part of it. What he hadn't said, what he couldn't admit even to himself, was simpler and far more shameful.
Fear.
He had been *afraid*.
Gerald, who had cut down monsters three times his size without flinching. Gerald, who had never once retreated from battle, never hesitated before any enemy. Gerald, the Duke of Vines, terror of the western territories—
—had been frightened by the prospect of *sleep*.
He didn't understand it himself. The confession had slipped out before he could stop it, drawn forth by her presence, her voice, something in the way she listened without judgment.
*There was no point in telling her.*
And yet.
*"Coward. Hmph."*
Those whispered words echoed in his memory, delivered to an empty corridor as though he couldn't possibly hear.
She openly mocked him.
"Bold."
The corner of his mouth twitched. He couldn't quite suppress the flicker of genuine admiration.
*What is she relying on, to be so fearless? This girl who lies about her identity and insults the Duke of the West to his face—*
*Does she have multiple lives to spare?*
A commotion reached his ears from somewhere outside. Women's voices, raised in conflict. The particular pitch that suggested violence rather than mere argument.
*A fight.*
Something cold settled in his chest.
"Kay."
The shadow materialized instantly, prostrate before him.
"Bring Olive. Tell him to fetch the temporary worker. Immediately."
Kay vanished without acknowledgment, his footsteps accelerating as though he'd been waiting for precisely this command.
Silence descended once more.
Gerald sat motionless in the darkness, listening to sounds too distant for ordinary ears, and waited.
---
## — Behind the Outbuilding —
Julia watched through tear-blurred eyes as Marin—smaller, thinner, clearly outmatched—positioned herself as a shield.
*This is my fault.*
She'd endured the "educational sessions" in silence because she hadn't wanted to trouble Butler Sebas. He'd shown her such kindness, helping her secure this position, and she'd been too proud—too stubborn—to admit she couldn't handle the other servants' cruelty.
And now Marin was suffering for it. Marin, whom the butler had specifically instructed her to care for.
"Madam Marin, please—" Julia's voice cracked. "Thank you, but I can handle this. Just go—"
"Where exactly would I run?" Marin's eyes never left the circling maids. "Besides, these ones clearly need a lesson themselves."
"*Lesson?*" The ringleader's face contorted with fury. "You shouldn't throw around words like that in a place like *this*."
"Interesting advice," Marin replied coolly, "from someone who doesn't seem to know what the word means."
"You won't come to your senses without a *sharp* lesson!" The ringleader's voice rose to a shriek. "Girls—*now!*"
The maids lunged.
Arms swung wildly. Hands grasped for hair, for clothing, for anything they could reach. Marin didn't retreat—she pushed back, struck out with elbows and palms, used the hardcover book still clutched in Julia's hands as an impromptu weapon.
Five women tangled together in a chaos of screams and slaps, grunts of pain and howls of outrage.
Marin screamed deliberately louder than necessary, her voice pitched to carry.
"*Help! Someone—anyone!*"
No response came.
"*Kyaah!*" Sharp pain lanced through her scalp. "Let go of my *hair!*"
The ringleader had seized a fistful of Marin's ash-platinum locks and was wrenching with all her strength.
"Why should I?" The woman's laugh was ugly. "You grabbed mine first!"
"*HELP! SOMEONE—*"
Still nothing. Where *was* everyone?
"What in heaven's name is going on here?!"
*Finally.*
A stern, middle-aged woman burst around the corner—Head Maid Paige, her expression thunderous. Behind her came Butler Sebas, his weathered face draining of color as he took in the scene.
"Miss Marin!"
Still pinned beneath the maids, Marin managed to lift her head at the sound of his voice. Her hair was a disaster. Her dress was torn at the shoulder. A scratch on her cheek oozed crimson.
Despite everything, she attempted a smile.
"Good... good afternoon..."
"Get *off* her—*now!*"
Sebas waded into the chaos. His hands closed around the maids and simply *threw*—no ceremony, no gentleness. Bodies hit the ground with satisfying thuds.
"*Ow!*"
"*Kyah!*"
"*Aaaah!*"
The servants scrambled on the dirt, groaning.
Sebas helped Marin to her feet first, then Julia, his expression cycling between fury and concern.
"Julia." His voice was dangerously soft. "Explain."
"I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize. Tell me what happened."
Under his steady gaze, Julia's composure crumbled. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she forced out the words:
"The maids... they called Madam Marin and Lady Roenna... *courtesans*."
The temperature seemed to drop several degrees.
Head Maid Paige's face went rigid as carved stone. Butler Sebas's eyes turned cold enough to freeze blood.
*A serious offense.*
Marin watched understanding settle over both of them. Insulting someone under the Duke's direct protection was bad enough. But to slander a noblewoman—even one whose identity remained officially unknown—as a prostitute?
That crossed every line that existed.
"Butler." Paige stepped forward, her voice carefully controlled. "Since this involves my maids, permit me to handle the discipline myself."
"Under normal circumstances, perhaps." Sebas's tone could have etched glass. "But Miss Marin is neither a common maid nor—" his lips curled with distaste "—what they accused her of being. This cannot be overlooked."
Paige's jaw tightened. Then she turned to Marin and bowed—low and formal, the kind of obeisance she typically reserved for the Duke alone.
The maids huddled in the corner saw this and began to tremble.
"Forgive me, Miss Marin. This occurred under my supervision. The fault is mine."
Marin studied the bowed head before her. Her voice emerged steady, unyielding.
"I can't say everything is fine."
Paige straightened, meeting her gaze without flinching.
"What would you have me do?"
"These maids insulted not only me, but my *mother*." Something dark flickered in Marin's light green eyes. "That is unforgivable."
Paige glanced toward the cowering servants, her expression glacial.
"Name your terms. Anything within my power to grant."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
Marin's lips curved into a smile that held no warmth whatsoever.
"Then let me assign their punishment myself."
---