As I stood there shivering pathetically, Granada wrapped several thick towels around my body with brisk efficiency.
"Don't get into bed yet—stay warm by the fireplace until you're properly dry."
"Yes, I understand."
I went obediently to the fireplace and huddled there, grateful for the warmth.
Meanwhile, the castle maids came in and out several times to change the bathwater entirely—a monumental task I'd inadvertently created.
Their faces clearly displayed their displeasure at having to haul two complete baths' worth of water because of my incompetence.
Granada watched them with that characteristic blank expression, and the maids—who'd been shooting resentful glances at me—immediately lowered their eyes and carried out their tasks with renewed haste under her silent observation.
Once Granada had dismissed the other maids, she personally escorted me back to soak in the fresh water.
I opened my eyes wide in surprise, not expecting that she—who was herself physically impaired—would insist on washing me personally.
"Why would the head maid do this herself instead of having the other maids handle it?"
Granada tied her work apron more securely and pulled her skirt up to keep the hem from touching the wet floor.
The wooden prosthetic was clearly visible beneath the raised hem of her skirt—a simple, functional device without any attempt at concealment.
"Those maids should be back home with their families by now, sharing dinner together and preparing for bed. They volunteered to stay late, rejoicing at news of their master's safe return. They didn't remain here to work—they stayed out of affection."
"I see..."
Without consciously intending to, my gaze briefly touched upon Granada's prosthetic leg before I hurriedly looked away.
But our eyes met anyway, and I confessed with genuine distress—as though I'd been caught doing something shameful:
"I'm sorry for staring. That was rude of me."
"Don't concern yourself. People are naturally surprised and curious about things unfamiliar to them."
"But that doesn't make it polite."
"It's perfectly acceptable. Even if the gaze weren't kind, there's no need to feel guilty about looking at something without malicious intent."
That was remarkably generous.
Despite her characteristically indifferent expression, Granada's hands were extraordinarily gentle as she helped me wash.
She was so careful—as though she believed that even the slightest excess force might somehow break my arm.
Perhaps because of that delicate touch, her assistance felt almost... ticklish.
It was so fundamentally different from the palace maids, who'd scrubbed my skin as though attempting to peel it off entirely.
I think she's actually worried about hurting me.
I sensed it even though she never said anything aloud.
For some inexplicable reason, I felt genuinely pleased and smiled. Just moments ago, Granada had seemed terrifying—but now that I was actually being cared for by her, she wasn't frightening at all.
"Why are you smiling?"
"Hm? Oh, it's nothing. Your touch just tickles a little."
"Are you injured somewhere? If you're in pain, please tell me immediately."
"I'm not hurt at all—truly."
Granada asked with evident curiosity, examining the red marks that looked freshly made:
"What are these abrasions? They appear recent."
I felt profoundly embarrassed and laughed awkwardly.
"I scrubbed myself with a brush that was in the bathing basket... and that's what happened."
A vertical crease appeared between her eyebrows at my confession.
"That implement is a brush designed specifically for scraping dead skin from the soles of feet."
"Ah..."
Silence descended upon the bathroom like a heavy blanket.
I kept my mouth firmly shut in mortification, while Granada was perhaps rendered speechless by my spectacular ignorance.
Like the Uttar children must have done, she probably viewed me as some pampered princess who'd somehow reached adulthood without learning how to do anything at all.
I sat there feeling thoroughly dejected, hugging my knees and staring down at the rippling bathwater. Then, desperate to redirect attention elsewhere, I seized upon a question:
"Do all the castle staff commute to work from their homes?"
"Generally, yes."
"There's no one who actually lives here?"
"Aside from a few people—including myself, Butler Mainz, and the head chef—everyone works in shifts and returns home."
"I see... Why didn't you hire residential staff?"
"It's not that we don't hire them—it's that no one is willing to accept such positions. The castle is perpetually short-staffed. The people of Ronheim generally prefer hunting to earning wages through domestic labor. They'd rather provide food for their households directly than serve in another's home."
"Really?"
It was an incredibly unfamiliar concept to me.
In Arrental, virtually every household of any means employed live-in servants.
The maids had been perpetually terrified of losing their positions, complaining constantly that there were far too many workers and far too few available jobs.
Consequently, they'd meekly followed even the most unreasonable instructions from their employers.
Like when a drunken husband ordered his wife tied to a bedpost for an entire day...
I shook my head violently, startled by the painful memory from my previous life that had suddenly surfaced. I desperately wanted to dislodge it from my mind.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, it's nothing."
Granada tilted her head questioningly but didn't press further.
"Please value your staff appropriately. We're forced to practically beg them not to resign from their positions."
"I understand completely. I will."
I looked up at Granada and smiled genuinely.
"Thank you for explaining everything so thoroughly. It will be tremendously helpful. I look forward to working with you."
"Ah... yes."
Granada, whose eyes had met mine, seemed to pause momentarily. Then her hands suddenly moved more quickly to finish the task.
What was that about?
As I emerged from the bath with Granada's assistance, someone knocked on the chamber door.
"I'll see who it is."
Granada made her way to the door with her characteristic uneven gait and opened it, revealing Alex and Brentian standing in the corridor.
After a brief, hushed conversation with Brentian, Granada turned back toward me and called out:
"They say they've brought your belongings, my lady."
"Belongings?"
I felt a jolt of alarm when I saw the teddy bear and cushion in their hands.
I was so focused on not crying that I completely forgot about those!
I couldn't believe I'd been so careless with all my carefully saved money—my entire revenge fund sewn into those innocent-looking items.
Even though I was wearing only my nightgown, I rushed over immediately and addressed both men:
"Thank you so much for remembering to bring them. Could you please place them inside?"
"Of course."
Alex set the teddy bear and cushion carefully on my bed with obvious reverence.
Then, after hesitating visibly for several moments, he squeezed his eyes shut and confessed:
"The teddy bear got somewhat dirty during our journey. I didn't take proper care of it... I sincerely apologize."
I nodded generously, thinking that the doll's exterior shell wasn't what mattered.
"It's perfectly fine. Thank you for taking responsibility and looking after it for me."
Alex stared at me with an odd expression.
"Are you... truly all right with this? I'm certain it must be a precious item to you..."
"Please don't worry about it at all."
I said it with what I hoped was a reassuring smile, but his eyes looked peculiarly troubled—as though he'd wanted to hear a completely different response from me.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Oh, it's nothing. I'll take my leave now. Please get some rest."
"Yes, you as well, Sir Alex."
Alex turned toward the door to depart.
Through the gap Granada had left in the doorway, I could see Brentian waiting in the corridor with his arms crossed, his expression inscrutable.
Alex clearly noticed Brentian as well.
For some inexplicable reason, when their eyes met, Alex visibly flinched—then abruptly turned around and came back toward me.
Granada narrowed her eyes suspiciously, glancing between Brentian and Alex with obvious bewilderment. Apparently I wasn't the only one who found their behavior distinctly awkward.
Alex spoke with his gaze fixed downward, studiously avoiding eye contact with me:
"The doll became quite soiled during our travels. Since you entrusted it to my care, would it be appropriate if I took full responsibility and had it washed thoroughly?"
"No, that's completely unnecessary. It's fine as it is."
Alex glanced toward Brentian once more before adding:
"It's remarkably heavy for a mere doll and cushion. It would be quite burdensome for the maids to transport them for cleaning."
I immediately understood that Alex was testing me, almost certainly at Brentian's direction.
They've noticed there's something concealed inside.
What should I say? How could I phrase my response to avoid arousing further suspicion?
As I carefully considered my words, Alex released a small sigh and suddenly bowed his head deeply in formal apology.
"No—forgive me. I feel I've disturbed your rest for no good reason. My apologies."
I smiled awkwardly and assured him it was perfectly all right, and he practically fled from the room at an unseemly pace.
Through the doorway, I caught a glimpse of Brentian glaring at Alex's retreating back with wide, frustrated eyes.
Granada, maintaining her characteristic blank expression, informed me she'd step out briefly:
"I'll return momentarily."
"What exactly do you think you're doing?"
Granada emerged into the hallway and fixed both men with a fierce glare.
"Brentian, why are you behaving so rudely—so utterly unlike yourself? No matter how much personal dislike you harbor for her, she was brought here by the master himself."
The head maid addressed Brentian as though he were her subordinate rather than her superior in the household hierarchy.
"I won't demand that you welcome her warmly, but shouldn't you at minimum display basic courtesy? If not for her sake, then for the master's reputation?"
Instead of taking offense at being scolded by someone of lower status, Brentian explained with remarkable patience:
"That's not the situation at all, Granada."
"Address me properly."
"...Yes, Head Maid Granada. Regardless—I suspected there might be a dangerous weapon concealed inside that doll and cushion, so I was attempting to gauge the Princess's reaction."
"What?"
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