Chapter 18
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Dear, I believe you may be misunderstanding.
Episode 18
"I'm not entirely certain this is the right approach."
After fiddling with it for some time, I finally managed to fashion something satisfactory and stepped back.
In that moment, Lucas's hand, which had been hovering near my back, naturally withdrew.
Fortunately, my expression remained oblivious to everything.
Unfortunately, everyone else in the room had witnessed the entire scene—everyone but me.
"...Pfft."
A stifled laugh escaped from somewhere.
I didn't need to look to know.
Haem was laughing.
'Damn it.'
Lucas turned his head slightly backward, glaring at Haem where I couldn't see.
Haem quickly lowered his head, concealing his amused expression.
But his shoulders trembled uncontrollably—impossible to hide.
"I do hope you find it to your liking."
"To my liking... Ahem, yes. I find it quite to my liking indeed."
"I'm relieved."
Oblivious to whatever had transpired around me, I smiled brightly.
Before my smile, Lucas felt a profound sense of guilt.
'To think I could harbor such wanton desires...'
Truly, Grace Oellin had revealed facets of myself I never knew existed.
After reining myself in with silent admonitions more than once, I composed myself and spoke again in that familiar, measured and formal tone.
"I shall... treasure it well. Grace."
"Pardon? Ah, yes."
"Then, shall we proceed to the main course?"
"I'm truly looking forward to it."
Grace smiled at me with an expression of utter purity, clarity, and innocence.
* * *
The meal progressed without incident.
A massive music box—when it had been brought out, I couldn't fathom—occupied one corner of the Garden.
Delicate melodies fell like rain, ceaselessly drenching the atmosphere.
The champagne, served as an apéritif with blackcurrant cream, was smooth and sweet enough to awaken the appetite.
The dining setting, adorned with fragrant flowers, soft candlelight, and exotic cuisine, approached perfection.
The salmon salad was my favorite dish.
The soup that followed was so rich and savory it melted away every trace of my tension.
Delicious food possessed a peculiar power.
It eased tension naturally, and the sweet stimulation of the palate lifted one's spirits.
Everything was flawless.
Even if an emperor sat before me, in an atmosphere like this, I felt I could dine with a smile.
It was precisely when I had let my guard down that 'it' appeared.
"Now then! Today's grand finale! Cotti Amon's masterpiece. Allow me to present our bison dish, aged with special spices—a barbecue I personally prepared by rising before dawn for the smoking!"
Cotti Amon introduced the dish with unmistakable pride.
He held a large covered plate in one hand, presenting his trump card with theatrical anticipation.
"Cotti Amon's bison dish has earned the approval of His Majesty himself. When he was Crown Prince, he would always request it whenever he visited the Black Family Estate."
Lucas too encouraged Cotti Amon's confidence.
His bison dish possessed a unique and rich flavor that no one else in this kingdom could replicate.
It was a meat dish of such exquisite taste that even Lucas, who preferred vegetables, occasionally indulged in it.
Cotti Amon's shoulders, already raised high with pride, climbed even higher as he laughed.
Ha ha ha!
"Now then, allow me to present the prepared dish!"
He lifted the plate he held as high as he could.
"I present to you: Coq Cuivre!"
With an exaggerated flourish, Cotti Amon lifted the lid from the tray.
"Tada!"
In that very instant, my face, which had been peering beneath the lid with unbridled curiosity, drained of all color.
Julie's expression, which had been contentedly observing from behind, froze in an instant.
"This is among the finest dishes in our country. Bison in particular is difficult to prepare, and since it can only be obtained through hunting, the ingredient itself is quite rare! Now then, you simply pierce these long skewers deep, deep into the meat and enjoy!"
Cotti Amon called out cheerfully, raising one of three skewers placed beside the massive charred hunk of meat.
My mind reeled as I found myself staring at the tip of the skewer.
'Don't... don't look.'
Yet my fear, already brimming to its limit, refused to grant me even the mercy of closing my eyes.
My vision flickered between white and black.
The nausea rising within me reached its crescendo when Cotti Amon thrust the sharp skewer deep into the meat with a sickening sound.
"...!"
The world spun before my eyes.
I could bear it no longer and squeezed my eyes shut.
But that sound.
Squelch! Squelch! Squeeeeelch! Splatter—
I couldn't block out that sound.
The noise transformed into images that spun relentlessly through my mind.
Those images lifted me bodily into the air before slamming me back down with devastating force.
"While it may appear rather violent, by piercing like this—squelch, squelch!—we release the succulent juices trapped within...!"
"Wait, wait just a moment."
Unable to endure it any longer, Grace abruptly rose from her seat.
Cotti Amon, who had been enthusiastically explaining the cooking technique, and Lucas and Haem, who had been shaking their heads at his violent description, all froze at Grace's cry.
She clenched her trembling fists so tightly her knuckles whitened.
Struggling to keep her voice steady, Grace spoke urgently.
"I, I apologize. P-please excuse me for just a moment...."
She should have offered more explanation, but her tongue simply wouldn't cooperate.
If she spoke another word, she feared she wouldn't be able to contain the rising nausea.
Grace bit her lip hard enough to draw blood and hastily pushed away from the table, fleeing the room.
"Grace...!"
Lucas sprang to his feet and moved to follow her.
But it was Grace's maid, Julie, who blocked his path.
"S-sir! Just a moment, please!"
Seeing Julie dare to stand before him, Lucas's face hardened into an icy mask.
He seemed utterly bewildered.
"What is the meaning of this? Why did Grace suddenly...."
Julie released an anxious sigh and fixed her gaze on the skewer protruding from the appetizing chunk of meat.
'Ah! Without that, it would have been a perfect dinner...!'
She should have instructed Haem or the cook beforehand to remove all sharp objects.
Julie felt a fleeting pang of regret, but it was already too late.
'What am I to do.'
She hesitated for a moment, but quickly steeled her resolve.
She debated whether she should expose the young lady's weakness, but if she left things as they were without explanation, the atmosphere would only deteriorate further.
Moreover, she worried that a misunderstanding about Grace might arise.
"Sir, are you perhaps familiar with the word 'phobia'?"
"Phobia?"
"Yes. In truth, I only learned of it through the young lady myself. Apparently, there are people in this world who experience fear toward certain specific things."
"Fear, you say? I believe your explanation requires further elaboration."
He listened intently to Julie's words, his voice grown even more subdued.
His eyes, like blue flames, continued to search the direction Grace had fled.
"Some people cannot bear to see circles clustered densely together, while others cannot abide the sight of clowns. Such symptoms—the fear of specific patterns or shapes—are called phobias."
For a man who had spent his entire life in positions of strength, aggression, or protection, this was an utterly foreign concept.
That one could fear something as trivial as circles or clowns was entirely beyond his comprehension.
Yet Lucas was not a man who rejected outright what he had not personally experienced or understood.
Had he been such a man, the suspicious foreign chef Cotti Amon could never have become the head chef of this Estate.
He listened intently to Julie's words, encouraging her to continue.
"Our young mistress...."
Julie took a deep breath and summoned her courage to speak.
"She suffers from aichmophobia."
She had said it.
She had actually said it.
There was no taking it back now.
Julie continued, her lips trembling.
"It's a fear of sharp objects. Our young mistress is particularly vulnerable to things that are pointed and sharp like that. Needles, pins, knife blades—things of that nature."
After finishing, Julie studied Lucas's expression.
He swallowed hard and struck his forehead with his fist.
He appeared distressed, though what troubled him remained unclear.
"Oh, no. If I had known, I would have prepared a different dish!"
Cotti Amon, his face drained of color, covered his mouth with his gloved hand and spoke as though on the verge of tears.
"No, sir. Our young mistress would not blame you or His Excellency. Rather, she would blame herself. She would be ashamed for not mentioning it beforehand, reproaching herself for displaying such weakness."
"Self-reproach? This is not something she should blame herself for. The fault lies with me for failing to consider it."
At Lucas's words, Julie covered her mouth.
'It's him! It's truly him!'
Despite that terrifying countenance, despite those piercing eyes, he was far more admirable than the thin-faced, plain man in the Marquis's household.
Ah, did character truly align with appearance?
Yes, she seemed to recall hearing such a thing before.
That noble character brings noble beauty in its wake.
She had once thought it utter nonsense, but now it seemed otherwise.
Though perhaps her judgment was premature, Julie believed herself to have a keen eye for people.
Her instincts had proven accurate time and again.
'If she were with him, perhaps my young mistress's world might become a little warmer.'
Julie genuinely wished for her mistress's happiness.
When she fell ill, I fed her medicine with my own hands; when she rose with determination, I applauded and cheered her on—my dear mistress.
"Your Excellency. The young mistress's phobia has not been revealed to the outside world. The Marquis forbade her from ever disclosing it, calling it a flaw."
Julie spoke with resolve.
"Because of that, Miss Grace Oellin has scarcely received any treatment for her phobia."
I am not tattling.
"Is treatment necessary? Or is it even possible? Then why did the Marquis not move heaven and earth to secure Grace's treatment...."
This is... an accusation of the psychological abuse our mistress has endured!
"The Marquis regards the young mistress's phobia as a mental illness. And his own daughter...."
A breath.
Julie steadied her trembling breath and spoke with a strong voice.
"He treats her almost as though she were mentally ill."
Brought to you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org