Chapter 23
The morning breakfast table saw all the men of the Basilian household gathered together, an exceptionally rare occurrence.
Typically, Kierne either rose late or didn’t return home at all, skipping breakfast entirely.
So, when he appeared at the table, the others couldn’t hide their curiosity.
Belzeon, dining with a blank expression while meticulously observing etiquette, paused mid-bite.
The twins, who had been sneakily passing unwanted vegetables to each other’s plates, froze in their tracks.
Kierne, catching the gazes of his three brothers, offered a warm smile and a greeting.
“Good morning.”
He gently settled Chesha, cradled in his arms, into the highchair beside him, fashioning a bib from a napkin with practiced ease.
The butler placed food, tea, and a newspaper before Kierne.
The plate brimmed with an array of dishes—bread, sausages, bacon, boiled beans, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, and egg preparations—but Kierne touched none of it.
Instead, he sipped his tea, tending to Chesha’s meal with care.
“Try this, too, Chesha,” he said softly.
“Okay!” she chirped.
“You need to eat a bit of everything. Do you dislike mushrooms, perhaps?”
“…”
His perceptiveness was almost infuriatingly sharp.
Chesha, forced to swallow a piece of mushroom, grimaced and quickly washed it down with honey-sweetened milk.
Once satisfied that Chesha had eaten enough, Kierne leisurely unfolded the newspaper while sipping his tea.
Chesha, munching on crisp, jam-slathered bread, glanced at the paper.
A bold headline on the front page caught her eye, and Kierne read it aloud in a casual tone.
“Count Rudin died of a heart attack, it says.”
Heart attack?
Chesha had seen the man hang himself with her own eyes, yet the official report cited a different cause.
Suicide was considered a disgrace among nobles, so perhaps that explained the discrepancy.
But claiming it was murder would require evidence, she thought.
The surviving family must be beside themselves with frustration.
Could Kierne have calculated even this outcome?
Chesha was pondering when a sharp, piercing sound shattered her thoughts.
Clang!
Belzeon set down his fork, the silver utensil clattering against the plate.
It was a breach of etiquette, but no one called it out.
The twins stopped their covert game of kicking each other under the table.
Chesha, who had been voraciously devouring her bread, suddenly slowed her chewing.
As the two boys and the toddler exchanged wary glances, Belzeon dabbed his lips lightly with a napkin, placed it neatly to one side, and spoke.
“Why did you kill him?”
His gaze bore into Kierne, direct and unflinching.
“I could have handled it. Even without your interference, my lord, I would have resolved it in a manner befitting the Basilian name.”
Belzeon was utterly convinced Kierne was responsible.
His voice, sharp as a blade, hurled the question like an accusation.
“Did you suddenly develop a sense of duty to the family and decide to kill Count Rudin?”
“No?” Kierne replied, his tone almost comically brief.
A vein pulsed at Belzeon’s temple.
He looked ready to fling the cutlery at Kierne, one piece at a time.
Kierne let out a chuckle, setting down his teacup.
Propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand, he continued.
“I just killed him.”
“…”
Belzeon pressed his lips into a tight line, glaring at Kierne for a long moment before speaking slowly.
“Did you cover your tracks properly?”
“Of course. Though I regret doing it in secret. Should’ve strung him up in the square and slit his throat for all to see.”
Kierne’s eyes narrowed, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, being on the receiving end.”
His words were delivered lightly, but a chilling edge underscored them.
His long fingers tapped the table—
tap, tap—in a deliberate rhythm.
“With our adorable youngest here now, maybe, as you say, it’s time to rise to the surface and seize some power…”
Kierne’s smile widened, his lips curving with a refreshing candor.
“What do you think, Belzeon?”
Belzeon’s expression flickered with a surge of emotion, but he took a deep breath and responded calmly.
“It’s what I’ve always wanted.”
Chesha, listening to the exchange, rolled her eyes.
As she’d suspected, no one was shocked or horrified that Kierne had killed Count Rudin.
She overheard Karha and Ishuel whispering to each other.
“See? I told you we should’ve gone to kill him yesterday. He beat us to it,” Karha muttered.
“Who was the coward scared of getting scolded by big brother?” Ishuel shot back.
“…Me,” Karha admitted, his voice quieter.
Still, unwilling to back down, Karha jabbed Ishuel’s hand with his fork.
“Admit it, you were scared too.”
Ishuel winced, pulling his hand back with a scowl.
“Could you not touch my hand? A scratch would be a continental tragedy.”
“What are you on about?”
Kierne gave a faint smile at their bickering.
He refilled Chesha’s glass with milk and spoke idly.
“The ball hosted by the Ivroyel Duchy is coming up soon. I’ve arranged a new tutor, so make sure you all take your lessons seriously. How’s the tailoring coming along, Ishuel?”
“They’ll visit this week for final fittings,” Ishuel replied.
It seemed Ishuel was in charge of the outfits for the ball, which made sense given his flair for fashion.
He always wore ornate clothing and accessories, spending long hours admiring his reflection.
His parasols and wide-brimmed hats were chosen to protect his self-proclaimed “milky-white skin”—a term he’d coined himself.
“Good. I’ll make sure to keep my schedule clear,” Kierne said.
Having drained his teacup, he stood, smoothing his impeccable suit.
The butler handed him his hat, coat, and cane, and Kierne issued a parting instruction.
“Don’t cause any trouble, all of you. Take good care of Chesha.”
With that, he left the dining room, evidently heading out for the day.
What did he do while wandering the capital?
Chesha’s thoughts drifted to what she’d seen the previous night: a report on the enchantress Lichesia, hidden in Kierne’s study.
It was meticulously detailed, the kind of information only someone with underworld connections could obtain.
How had he acquired it? And why?
There had to be a purpose.
Some nobles dabbled in the underworld to flaunt their boldness, but the Basilian family, isolated in the Black Forest, had no reason to care about an enchantress like Lichesia.
Unless it’s because she’s a fairy, Chesha mused.
Perhaps they were searching for a way to resurrect the late Countess Basilian.
A fairy could be a subject for experimentation, and Kierne, a dark mage, would find the remote Serpent’s Castle an ideal place for such clandestine work.
“…”
Chesha’s eyes darkened.
It was too soon to jump to conclusions.
I haven’t seen any evidence of experiments yet she told herself.
For now, she’d focus on uncovering what Kierne was doing in the capital.
“I’m done eating,” she announced, hopping down from her highchair.
The twins hurriedly stuffed their food down, clearly intending to follow her.
Chesha shot them a quick warning.
“I wanna be alone.”
“Why?” they protested.
She sighed dramatically. “My heart’s all complicated.”
“…Why?”
With a prim air, Chesha marched out of the dining room, her small steps resolute.
The twins, looking genuinely baffled, started to follow, but Belzeon stopped them.
“Finish your meal properly. And don’t bother her. You’ll see her this afternoon anyway.”
With the new tutor’s arrival, they’d have lessons and tea together.
Karha grumbled discontentedly.
“I’ve got plans tonight.”
Still, he and Ishuel retreated, muttering.
Thanks to Belzeon, Chesha gained a brief window of solitude and dashed to her room—though her short legs made it more of an enthusiastic toddle.
“Take me to my room!” she called to a passing servant, who scooped her up, blushing with honor.
The servant babbled something about it being “the glory of the family to carry Lady Chesha,” to which Chesha responded with a casual wave before dismissing them.
Back in her bedroom, Chesha summoned her energy, intent on contacting Hata.
She conjured a butterfly and sent it fluttering toward the window, but…
“Huh?”
The butterfly didn’t fly out.
It spun in circles, aimless, before drifting back to Chesha, settling atop her head.
She stood there, dazed, the butterfly perched like a delicate crown.
There was only one reason it couldn’t find its way.
“…Hata.”
Something had happened to Hata.
Chesha’s gaze sharpened, a single thought consuming her mind.
Who dares?
