In the Nest of the Fallen Serpent - Chapter 31
Chapter 31
“Cold-blooded” was perhaps the most fitting description for him. Did he even possess a heart? Her master seemed like someone whose very core had been carved out.
Greta rose from her seat, leaving Hilde lost in thought. “Then, rest well.”
Hilde startled, abruptly stood. “There will be much to learn starting tomorrow, so it would be best to bathe and retire early.”
“Yes, yes! Head Maid.”
With a slight nod, Greta left the room. As the other maids filed out behind her, Hilde, finally alone, breathed a small sigh. She felt as if she had just barely surmounted a small peak.
“Will I be able to do well…?” She buried her face in the table. Despite the warm air in the room, a shiver ran through her. Sleep would likely evade her tonight.
***
Walking down the hallway, Greta spoke. “She will be unfamiliar with much, not only concerning the Bertolph territory but also the Empire. Ensure she adapts well to the Grand Duke’s castle. And no bullying.”
While the others remained silent, the most junior maid, unable to contain her curiosity, asked, “But Madam, didn’t His Highness say that woman was clearly a slave? I don’t understand why he shows her such undue favor.”
Greta stopped abruptly. “Do you truly believe Hilde is a slave?”
“Yes?”
Tsk tsk, Greta clicked her tongue. This girl was quick-witted but lacked discretion. “His Grace has never brought a woman here before. If you still haven’t grasped the meaning of this, I must have misjudged you.”
As if suddenly enlightened, the maid’s eyes widened. Then, she bowed her head respectfully.
“Of course, I might be getting ahead of myself.” Or, unfortunately, completely wrong. Greta sighed softly, gazing at the sunset beyond the corridor.
The Grand Duke was a powerful ruler. The lord of the Empire’s wealthiest territory, a hero the Emperor himself dared not trifle with. Noble lineage, immense wealth, outstanding abilities, a divinely sculpted face, and a strong physique. He was the epitome of a perfect ruler, lacking nothing.
Yet, if someone were to ask if Benedict Oaklien was a good man, it was difficult to answer. Even Greta, who had served him for so long, felt this way. Her master, who had always been aloof, now made her wonder if he even felt human emotions. The few aspects of him that had once seemed human had vanished one day, as if evaporated into thin air.
While not comparable to Moritz Lemon, his aide who accompanied him even to the battlefield, Greta sometimes felt chills run down her spine when she witnessed the Grand Duke’s ruthless methods.
“So… it would be a lie to say I’m not holding out some hope.”
“Yes?”
“It’s nothing.” Shaking her head, Greta instructed another maid, “Tell the physician to give Hilde plenty of ointment for her wounds.”
This time, no one dared to speak. Instead, one of the maids who had helped Hilde earlier approached Greta and whispered something. A shadow fell over Greta’s face as she listened. The words aligned perfectly with what Moritz Lemon had told her.
Earlier, the maid had said, “When His Lordship brought the woman here, she had a wound on her shoulder.” Now she added, “I don’t understand. He said he rescued a slave meant for auction. Why would a slave meant for sale have a wound?”
“The woman tried to escape while the guard was away,” Greta replied.
She had assumed the woman had been injured during her capture. But Hilde hadn’t seemed unwell when she exited the carriage, so Greta had presumed the injury was minor. However, if a slight tug caused such pain, the wound must be quite deep.
‘What to do…’
