THNW 06

To My Husband’s New Wife Chapter : 06

Stopping before the table, the Dowager Duchess removed her winter leather gloves and smiled gently.
“Come here, Claudnia.

It’s been so long—shall we drink a cup of warm tea with this grandmother and talk….”
“What is it, Grandmother!

Why are you ignoring our Anita!”
Claudnia stepped in front of Anita, who stood frozen as if her feet had been glued to the floor.

Then she shouted, the veins standing out in her neck.
“Why are you ignoring her!”
A severe air settled into the Dowager Duchess’s eyes.
“Lower your voice.

The women of Edenbahir do not raise their voices so carelessly, Claudnia.

It seems you must learn manners again.”
“But Grandmother….”
“Call me the Dowager Duchess.

And since you seem to have forgotten, let me say it again.”
Clink.

Bringing over the tableware, she moved slices of colorful cake and bread onto a plate, warning in a soft, measured tone.
“You mustn’t pick up things rolling about in the street and call them friends.

Do not forget that we are descendants of the Great Empire Atlante.”
Anita squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them.

The first thought she had was that it didn’t hurt so badly it felt like her chest would tear, the way it used to.

It was strange.

Why was that?
“Grr!”
Unable to bear her anger, Claudnia trembled and sprang forward.

With a fluttering noise, refined navy fabric was lifted high toward the ceiling.

It was the hem of the Dowager Duchess’s dress.

It was a sight like a night sky that could not hold stars, spilling down.

Without realizing it, Anita stared, her mouth falling open.
“Claudnia!”
Leaving the furious shout behind, Claudnia grabbed Anita’s hand and fled in a hurry.

The Dowager Duchess, hastily straightening her clothes, cried out in an angered voice.
“Don’t you stop there!”
Why did I run away after Claudnia?

I don’t know.

As she sprinted with all her strength, it felt as if her clogged heart was opening, even just a little.

At some point, it felt like she might even have been laughing along with Claudnia.

They shut the door tight and hid behind the bed.

In this vast ducal residence, the place they could run to amounted to only one.

Lancelot’s bedroom.

Claudnia, catching her breath, glanced at the door and said,
“Don’t take it too much to heart.

Grandmother’s always been like that.

Stuffy, boring, always shouting ‘Protect Edenbahir’s dignity!’… right, Lancelot?”
Lancelot, who had been sitting on the bed quietly turning pages no matter what they did, shifted his gaze slightly.
“Don’t you know?

The Dowager Duchess is here.

And she just breezed right past our Anita, ignoring her greeting!”
A clear displeasure bloomed on Lancelot’s face.
“If she asks about me, say I’m sick.

Say I’m so sick I feel like I’m dying, so she won’t be able to see me for a month.”
“See?

Even that unlucky Lancelot feels uncomfortable around Grandmother.

He knows it’s bad.

So you ignore her too, Anita.”
She nodded without really thinking, and then she heard Lancelot snort.
“Giving that kind of thing as advice.

It’s not like you don’t know the kid isn’t in the same situation as you.

Enough—stop talking and get out.”
Not the same situation.

He was right.

But this time, she wanted to believe Claudnia was the answer.

If Claudnia hadn’t been there, she would have just trembled like that day… then hidden alone in a dark room….

Without thinking deeper, Anita pulled Claudnia into a hug.
“Thank you so much.

I’m glad you’re here.”
“Huh?

U-uh….”
Claudnia hunched her shoulders as if embarrassed, but soon spread her arms wide and hugged her back.

Soft warmth, felt for the first time from someone who wasn’t her father.
***
That day, for the first time in several days, a snowstorm raged fiercely.

Walking down the long corridor, Anita’s steps slowly stopped at a certain point.

In front of a massive mural hanging on the wall.
‘Was there a painting like this?’
It was a magnificent painting she could barely take in at a glance even after stepping back several times.

Even standing at a distance, she could see every fine grain of brushstroke in the paint.
‘It’s amazing.’
In the painting, a gigantic dragon was roaring.

Sages and old men, children and those with limbs not fully whole sat before it, offering prayers.

Anita knew that dragon.

The golden dragon Nuaja, lord of the Nuaja legend.

The progenitor of the Great Empire Atlante, which had vanished, having once ruled an age.
‘I saw it in a book when I was little… so it belonged to Edenbahir.’
In a new way, she could feel the lofty status of Claudnia and Lancelot.

The House of Edenbahir were descendants of the Atlante imperial family, so if the empire had endured, they might even have taken the imperial throne.
‘And then I would never have met Claudnia and Lancelot for the rest of my life.’
So that I won’t become a shameful friend, I should study even harder from now on.

She turned to leave with that firm resolve, when.
“Edenbahir is one of the three legendary houses that have Nuaja as their progenitor.”
A refined voice rang above her head.

It was the Dowager Duchess.

Anita hurriedly turned her head.

It was the first time the Dowager Duchess—who had ignored her presence all along—had approached her first, like this.
“In Edenbahir, Nuaja’s blood still flows, and from time to time, some are born who can that great power.

The people here have long regarded such an Edenbahir as Shabalon’s guardian god.”
‘…Manifest?’
With an enraptured gaze, the Dowager Duchess admired every part of the painting.

Then she continued in a voice brimming with pride.
“Lancelot is the only successor of our generation who can be expected to .

The one I and the duke raised with utmost care—he could be called Edenbahir itself.”
It was the first time the Dowager Duchess had spoken to her so familiarly.

Because of that, Anita could not help but hold a small hope.

Has she acknowledged me as Claudnia and Lancelot’s friend?

Mustering courage, she answered.
“Th-that’s amazing.

Lancelot is loved by His Grace the Duke and the Dowager Duch….”
“Lancelot?”
It was a voice that rose sharp enough to pierce her eardrums.

Eyes flashing with displeasure glared at Anita.
“Vulgar thing.

Call him Lord Lancelot.”
“…….”
“If you’re lowborn, you should at least be smart, or at least have some sense.

But you don’t know your place and you just keep crawling upward.”
It wasn’t a face that simply treated her as something trivial.

It was a gaze caked with disgust and hatred.

It was the sort of eyes one might have when looking at a rat’s corpse floating up from a sewer.

A stare that made her feel it was a sin even to meet it, so Anita had to lower her face without realizing it.

The feeling of her throat burning hot was not something she could call unfamiliar.
“So that Beulroeniya fellow was this sly—I didn’t know.

You think you can covet Edenbahir’s bloodline by using your daughter?

How dare you try to launder filthy blood by using Lancelot!”
Filthy blood.

At the insult that gouged at her pride, her heart pounded and her hands trembled, but.
“M-my father….”
Anita did not want to freeze stupidly again before someone who mocked her family.
“My father i-isn’t, s-sly.”
She said it.

This time, I said it clearly.

Even though she avoided the gaze, her voice trembled less.

The Dowager Duchess’s eyes were still those that looked upon something unclean.
“How vile his insides must be, to sire a stuttering daughter like this.”
Clicking her tongue, she warned,
“Enough.

It’s ridiculous to get angry at a little girl.

Go and tell your father.

A lowborn, stuttering girl shoved toward Lancel….”
But the Dowager Duchess’s warning could not come to a complete end.

Her gaze, which had lingered for a moment behind Anita’s back, widened in alarm.
“My goodness, Lancelot!”
Lancelot?

Startled, Anita turned her head.

Lancelot, his complexion pale as if he might collapse at any moment, was walking toward where they stood.

Soundlessly, very slowly.
“My child, what if you come out this far in such cold weather?

Your coughing will surely get worse!”
His expression was, spoken well of, indifferent, and spoken ill of, frigid.

The closer he came, the faint displeasure grew strong enough to brush the tip of Anita’s nose.

His lips, closed in a straight line, showed Lancelot’s hostile mood as it was.

But to the Dowager Duchess, it seemed Lancelot’s feelings did not enter her eyes in the slightest.
“You must listen well to be a good boy, yes?

Only a good boy can become a splendid head of House Edenbahir.”
From Lancelot, who had approached to her side before she knew it, came the warmth of a cozy flame and the scent of bedding dried thoroughly in sunlight.
“Anyway, your father is the problem!

You must never resemble your father, Lancelot.

He’s the son I bore in pain, but truly….”
It was such a tiny whisper that only Anita could hear.

At the same time, her shoulder was pushed back a good distance.

Lancelot stepped past her and stood before the Dowager Duchess.

Anita stared blankly at the boy’s back.

It was a back endlessly thin, even compared to her.

The nape of his neck, slightly exposed above his collar, was lifelessly white as if it had never once seen sunlight.

Not only his wrist but each joint of his fingers looked so thin they might break, making him look not like a boy, but like a girl.

Shouldn’t the one to be protected be him, not me?
“Haah.

Come here, Lancelot.

Together with this grandmother….”
But Lancelot had no intention of stepping back from in front of Anita.

She slowly, slowly took steps backward.

Then she fled the place as if running away.

Had Lancelot helped her?

She didn’t know.

Anita simply walked on by instinct, toward the only place of rest in this house.

Toward Lancelot’s room, which was like their hideout.

The ownerless room was quiet.
‘And warm.’
Lancelot’s room is always warm.

That’s why I like it.

Even though Lancelot himself, the owner of the room, is cold and unfeeling.

That’s why he’s hard, and at times even frightening.
‘But he’s never said he hates me.’
He doesn’t say I’m lowborn and tell me not to speak to him.

She quietly closed the door and sat there aimlessly, and it seems she nodded off without realizing it.
“Cough.”
When she suddenly came to her senses, she heard a small cough.

She could vaguely tell it was Lancelot’s presence.

But if it wasn’t her imagination, his cough sounded harsher and more ragged than usual.