"My lady, please dismiss the maids you brought with you for the time being. I believe it would be best if I handle your care personally tonight."
Granada's manner of speaking was as blunt and austere as her sharp-featured face.
Her ash-gray eyes, despite her advancing years, still gleamed with fierce determination—like an eagle perpetually poised to strike its prey.
I asked, still desperately trying to convince myself not to cry:
"Why—why would that be necessary?"
Though my voice trembled slightly, I was satisfied that I'd managed to hold my head up and speak with some semblance of confidence.
But Granada didn't seem to detect any authority in my demeanor whatsoever.
"They need to follow Mainz, familiarize themselves with the castle's key facilities, and understand the command structure among the staff here. They'll also need time to unpack your belongings properly."
That was perfectly reasonable, but I felt profoundly reluctant to be left alone with Granada's intimidating presence.
I looked back at Lamia with pleading eyes, silently begging for rescue.
But Lamia nodded vigorously, as if she wholeheartedly agreed with Granada's suggestion.
"That's absolutely right! I'm dying to get some rest."
Then she pointed cheerfully at another maid who'd followed Granada and asked:
"Should I follow her, then? Perfect! Let's go. See you tomorrow, Your Highness!"
Not only Granada, but Vanessa and the other two maids stared at Lamia—who was waving enthusiastically as she departed—with identical expressions of disbelief.
"Lamia."
Vanessa called out sternly, as if to scold her for such undignified behavior in front of their new mistress.
But Vanessa had long since become utterly ineffective at controlling Lamia.
Lamia winked at me mischievously and vanished with the other maids before anyone could stop her.
I appealed to Granada as earnestly as I could manage.
"As you can clearly see, my maids require... extensive training."
Granada nodded with complete lack of expression.
"I can see that."
Granada clicked her tongue internally at the sight of Chloe, who looked as though she'd burst into tears if touched even slightly.
Though the girl clearly believed she was hiding her distress successfully, Granada could see every ounce of effort she was expending to maintain composure.
She looks like she's barely twelve years old.
Why was she so extraordinarily small?
Chloe stood a full head shorter than Granada herself—who'd shrunk considerably with advancing age.
Of course, Granada knew perfectly well that southerners were generally shorter in stature than northerners on average.
But she looks particularly diminutive. Perhaps because she's so painfully thin. They claimed she was twenty-two years old, but maybe someone misread "twelve" somewhere along the way.
She looked even younger because she was wearing what appeared to be children's clothing of uncertain origin.
Moreover, with her pale white skin that seemed never to have encountered sunlight, and her striking silver hair that would render her practically invisible if she lay down in snow—like some exotic snow-cat—she resembled a wax doll more than a living person.
The dry southern climate had left Chloe's complexion even paler than that of fair-skinned northerners—ghostly white from head to toe, save for those vivid blue eyes.
She looks desperately weak and fragile.
Granada proposed matter-of-factly:
"You probably didn't wash properly during your journey here. I recommend taking a bath first."
"Yes, that would be... good."
Chloe nodded agreement.
Immediately afterward, an odd silence stretched between them.
...?
Granada wondered why the girl was simply standing there, staring blankly, when she'd just agreed to bathe.
"Aren't you going to wash?"
"Didn't you say I was going to wash?"
"Then why are you just standing there? You should remove your clothing. The bathroom is through that door."
"...!"
Chloe's gaze wavered with obvious uncertainty.
Only then, with distinctly hesitant movements, did she remove her cloak and place it carefully on the bed.
Then she stared at Granada again—and with a visible flash of realization crossing her features, began attempting to unbutton her leather traveling jacket.
Granada felt mounting frustration at the glacially slow pace, but forced herself to wait patiently.
But Chloe couldn't manage to unfasten even a single button.
She appeared to be having tremendous difficulty using her fingers properly in the thick leather gloves attached to her jacket sleeves.
She could simply ask for assistance.
Why couldn't she even request help with something so basic?
"I'll do it for you."
But Chloe took an immediate step backward and asked:
"If someone wears these clothes, do they absolutely require another person's help to remove them?"
"Not necessarily."
"Then I'd like to try doing it myself."
Granada silently withdrew her extended hand.
Chloe added hastily, as if interpreting her silence as disapproval:
"Other people manage it alone, so I want to attempt it alone as well. That's the only reason—it has no other meaning."
"I understand."
Granada answered calmly, but felt mildly surprised internally.
It seemed the girl was clarifying her motivations to ensure it wouldn't appear she was uncomfortable receiving assistance from someone with a disability, or that she didn't want a Ronheimer touching her aristocratic person.
Moreover, Granada found it genuinely unexpected that Chloe hadn't requested help but simply... didn't know how to perform the task.
Chloe struggled with the buttons for an extended period before finally managing to undo them.
Her cheeks flushed slightly pink with obvious pleasure at her success.
It was almost comical—how she blushed with such joy over merely unbuttoning a jacket, then immediately glared as if trying to appear mature and hide her childish delight.
Granada found herself thinking, without quite intending to, that the girl was actually... a little endearing.
"Now you should remove the garment itself."
"Ah."
She'd apparently been so focused on conquering the buttons that she'd forgotten why she'd unfastened them in the first place.
Chloe fumbled her way through removing her clothing in an extraordinarily clumsy manner—as though she'd genuinely never undressed herself before in her entire life.
Granada, watching this performance quietly, remembered what Brentian had warned her about earlier:
"The Princess is a spy for Empress Kavala, Granada. Be extremely careful. You never know what she might attempt."
The way Brentian had described Chloe—speaking with such a hardened, serious expression—had made her sound like an utterly vicious demon.
It had sounded as though she might destroy Ronheim at any moment and transform the entire territory into a sea of blood.
But when Granada actually met Chloe face-to-face, the girl couldn't even extract one leg from her trousers without losing her balance and hopping around on the carpet like some demented stork...
Ha.
Feeling decidedly confused about the entire situation, Granada waited with enforced calm.
Eventually, Chloe managed to divest herself of her outer garments.
Standing in nothing but a thin linen chemise, she released what sounded like a sigh of profound relief—apparently grateful to be free of the heavy leather clothing's weight—and straightened her shoulders. Her expression looked considerably more relaxed.
Granada gathered the discarded garments and led the shivering Chloe toward the bathroom.
"You can use these items for washing."
Granada handed Chloe a woven basket containing various bathing supplies.
She carefully explained the purpose of each item, then withdrew from the bathroom to allow Chloe privacy for bathing.
"Take your time washing properly, then come out when you're finished. I'll be waiting here."
She turned and departed before observing Chloe's expression of mounting panic.
She wants me to wash... by myself?
After navigating so many difficulties just to remove my clothing, I'd felt genuinely proud of that accomplishment.
But then I realized there was another mountain waiting beyond the one I'd just climbed.
I was determined to do independently what others managed alone—but I'd never imagined I'd have to master everything simultaneously in a single evening.
I felt a sudden, overwhelming wave of exhaustion.
Let's at least try anyway.
I removed my chemise and stepped carefully into the bathtub. The undergarment was loose and lightweight, making it mercifully easy to take off.
I climbed into the tub and attempted to float the bathing basket on the water's surface—but it immediately sank, forcing me to frantically rescue the drowning supplies.
Which one creates lather?
In Arrental, expensive perfumed oils were typically stored in ornate bottles decorated with gold filigree, while liquid soaps came in small crystal vials designed for single use.
But the glass bottles here all looked disappointingly similar, making it impossible to identify their contents by appearance alone.
I selected a likely-looking bottle, opened the stopper, and sniffed cautiously—but my wet hand slipped, and I dropped it directly into the bathwater.
Oh no.
After dropping various bottles in the water repeatedly, I finally managed to retrieve them—but half their contents had already dissolved into the bath, and the bottles themselves were filled with soapy water.
At least it must have been soap, because the water felt distinctly slippery against my skin after all those spills.
I simply splashed water over my body and scrubbed vigorously at my skin.
This hurts terribly...
The washing cloths here were considerably stiffer and more abrasive than the soft ones I was accustomed to using.
I rubbed my body determinedly, enduring the discomfort.
After somehow managing to complete my bath and emerge from the tub, all the glass bottles in the basket were completely empty, and water was splashed absolutely everywhere—walls, floor, even the ceiling somehow.
Still, I felt a small surge of pride that I'd accomplished the task independently.
Granada, who'd been sitting quietly, raised her head at my approach.
"Did you finish washing every—"
She looked at me with obvious surprise and immediately pushed me back toward the bathroom.
"Have you truly never bathed yourself before?"
How did she know?!
I was so startled I could only blink at her wordlessly.
She released a small, weary sigh.
Granada—who'd maintained such a carefully blank expression throughout our entire interaction, never showing even a flicker of emotion—displayed genuine feeling for the first time.
And that expression was one of profound, bewildered exasperation.
"You're still covered in soap foam. You need to rinse everything off properly..."
She fell abruptly silent as she caught sight of the bathroom's interior.
"...I believe we'll need to change the water entirely first."
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