---
A tear that had gathered at the corner of Marin's eye broke free, tracing a thin path down her cheek.
"The Duke is only human. This could happen to anyone. It's perfectly natural. Completely normal. A-aaah, *so shameful*! So utterly *shameful*!"
She buried her face in the pillow and wailed, wiping at the moisture with trembling hands.
Before awakening to her past life's memories, she had spent her entire existence as a proper noble young lady. For someone raised that way, shame over such a situation wasn't merely discomfort—it was instinctive, bone-deep, inescapable.
Her tear-blurred gaze drifted to the basket beside her bed. Still overflowing with yellow Mandrelson flowers.
Marin raised one weak, accusatory finger.
"Y-you... c-cursed flowers..."
The finger collapsed back onto the mattress.
*What's the point of blaming the flowers? This is entirely my own stupidity.*
*I shouldn't have stuffed them in by the handful. I should have tested them gradually, carefully, like any sane person would.*
*Knock-knock.*
"Miss Marin? It's Julia."
"Come in."
She heard the door open and dragged herself into a half-sitting position.
Julia rolled a small cart through the doorway, her face creased with worry.
"Miss Marin, I heard you're unwell?"
"Julia..." Marin stared at her with dawning horror. "How do you know about this?"
Julia pointed to a medicine bottle on the cart.
"The assistant told me to keep watch over you tonight. Are you very ill?"
"*Mr. Olive* knows?"
The world tilted sideways. Marin collapsed face-first into the pillow.
*So this is what it feels like to die of shame.*
"Miss Marin! Are you all right?!"
Julia rushed to the bedside, panic edging her voice.
"My body is fine." The words emerged muffled by fabric. "It's just... another part of me that hurts..."
Heat flooded her face. Her head felt like it might actually combust.
"You're flushed!" Julia pressed a cool hand to her forehead. "You look feverish. And the medicine I brought is for stomach pain—"
She retrieved the bottle from the cart. Olive, it seemed, knew *exactly* what had ailed her.
The tears Marin had been fighting broke free once more.
"I've... *hic*... I've already taken that... *sob*..."
"Miss Marin, please don't cry! You must be feeling terrible."
"No... not terrible... my *soul* hurts... *nngh*..."
She shook her head violently, swiping at her eyes. Her body had fully recovered. She simply wanted to dissolve into the floor from mortification.
"Oh! Mandrelson!"
Julia's attention had shifted to the basket. Her eyes lit up.
"How fortunate! Miss Marin, may I have some?"
"Mm. Take it *all*."
She couldn't bear to look at the cursed flowers ever again.
"Just a little will do. One moment!"
Julia scooped up a handful of blooms and darted from the room before Marin could respond.
Left alone, Marin glowered at the medicine bottle through her tears.
*Damn Duke. He's told the entire castle about my stomach problems.*
*What kind of male protagonist has such a loose tongue?*
"Betrayal," she muttered darkly. "Complete and utter betrayal."
*And whose fault is it that my stomach rebelled in the first place? I was trying to help* you*.*
Ranting against the absent Duke helped, somehow. The shame retreated fractionally.
*Knock-knock.*
"Miss Marin?"
"Come in."
Marin pushed herself upright again.
This time Julia carried a tray. Upon it sat a square of thin white cloth and a bowl of green mush—leaves ground into paste.
"What's this?"
"An old remedy I learned as a child." Julia smiled shyly. "When fever rises to your head, you apply crushed Mandrelson to cool it down."
"Really?"
*So there* was *genuine folk wisdom about Mandrelson. My excuse to Zero wasn't entirely fabricated.*
"Lie back, please."
"Mm."
Marin closed her eyes and settled against the pillows. A moment later, something cool and damp touched her forehead and eyelids. The heat began to drain away, replaced by the sharp, minty scent of Mandrelson.
"It's helping," she murmured.
"Is it? I used to do this for my little brother all the time when we were young."
"You have a brother?"
"Yes. We're twins, actually. He serves in the castle too."
"I see." Marin let out a contented sigh. "Thank you for taking care of me, Julia. Truly."
"Heh-heh. It's nothing! I'm happy to help you, Miss Marin."
"Mm. This really is a great help... *wait*—"
Marin bolted upright so suddenly that the cloth and green paste slid off her face and splattered onto the bedding.
"Miss Marin!"
Julia's eyes went wide with alarm.
"*Julia!*" Marin seized the girl's hands, her face splitting into a brilliant smile. "You've been *incredibly* helpful! Thank you! Thank you so much!"
Julia stared at her—at the green mush dripping down her cheeks, at the manic joy blazing in her eyes—and smiled back uncertainly.
*She asked me to apply a cooling compress. And now she's thanking me like I've saved her life?*
The realization struck Marin like lightning.
*I can't possibly get the Duke to* eat *Mandrelson. Even if the worst it causes is stomach cramps, the plant is classified as poisonous. Experimenting when I know nothing about herbal medicine is far too dangerous.*
*But what if I don't administer it internally?*
*What if I apply it* externally*?*
The efficacy remained uncertain. But even the smallest benefit would be worthwhile.
"Don't expect too much," she muttered to herself, determination hardening her features. "Leave the complete healing to the holy goddess of herbs—the true heroine."
She nodded firmly.
Julia, watching this display, met Marin's gaze with growing concern.
Marin's entire face was streaked green from the dripping paste. But she was *beaming*—teeth gleaming white against the verdant mess—as though she'd solved the riddle of existence itself.
Julia's smile grew strained.
*Ah. So* this *is why the assistant ordered me to watch her until morning.*
Something was definitely wrong with Miss Marin tonight.
Julia resolved to do exactly as instructed: stay by her side without sleeping. Keep vigil through the night.
Just in case.
---
## — The Duke's Study, Next Evening —
"Enter."
Marin surveyed the cart she'd prepared with military precision.
A plate bearing fresh Mandrelson paste. A square of nearly transparent thin cloth. The fairy tale book. A lit candle.
She opened the study door and rolled the cart inside as quietly as humanly possible.
"...Alive, then."
The words drifted from the darkness.
Marin's shoulders jerked. The shame she'd buried last night clawed its way back to the surface.
*No. I refuse to retreat.*
She steeled herself. Drew upon every scrap of courage she possessed.
Her light green eyes sparkled with feigned innocence as she asked:
"Why would Your Grace say such a thing? Did something happen?"
If she'd lived her entire life as merely a sheltered noblewoman, she would never have set foot in this study again. But Marin was not some fragile flower ready to wilt from embarrassment.
*I am stronger than that.*
"Nothing at all."
She caught the slight inclination of his head. Her answer had satisfied him.
*Good.*
Emboldened, Marin wheeled the cart closer.
"Before we begin tonight's reading, I have a request, Your Grace."
"A request?"
"Yes."
"And why should I grant it?"
*Ugh. Nothing is ever simple with this man.*
She forced her expression into something approaching a smile. The old saying claimed that no one spits in a smiling face.
*Even if he can't see it.*
"I believe this will help you, Your Grace."
"By making a request of *me*, you claim to be helping *me*?"
"Yes."
"And if I refuse?"
*For heaven's sake.*
Her smile flickered. She wrestled it back into place.
"You won't refuse."
"What if I do?"
*Stubborn. So impossibly stubborn.*
The pleasant mask crumbled. She pouted instead.
"If Your Grace dislikes it, I will fulfill any wish in return."
"Better."
*Finally. Even when I'm trying to help, he demands tribute.*
She pushed the cart the final distance and drew a breath.
"Then, with your permission... I will need to approach Your Grace directly. And I may need to... touch your body—"
"*What?*"
Marin froze mid-explanation.
"I'm sorry?"
"What did you just say?" His voice had dropped—low, dark, weighted with something she couldn't identify.
The usual indifference had vanished entirely. In its place was an intensity that made her skin prickle.
"I—what did I say wrong?"
"Repeat it. Exactly."
Marin swallowed and tried again, her words halting with confusion.
"I said... with permission... I would approach you... and touch—"
"So you're warning me in advance that you intend to throw yourself at my body?" A pause. "How... innovative."
"*WHAT?!*"
Understanding crashed over her.
Her face ignited—ears, cheeks, neck, all erupting in furious crimson.
*What is he—why would he—that's not—*
"That's not what I meant!"
The words emerged strangled.
"Your Grace! That is *not*—I would *never*—!"
But even as she sputtered, she could have sworn she heard his shoulders shake.
Just slightly.
Just for a moment.
---