TSODTAM | Ch 05

Episode 5. Just Fifteen Days

A week after the accident, all my bandages finally came off.

Most of the little cuts had healed, but the big one above my right ear still needed care.

No hair oils, no heavy styling—I’d have to be careful for a while.

At last, I could hold Jaive in my arms again.

He felt heavier, like he’d grown in just that week. The weight made me strangely happy.

He chewed tiny apple slices with his little teeth, then kept trying to feed them to me.

He was so adorable I couldn’t stop smiling.

My body felt light, my mood was bright—it seemed like the perfect day.

I even gave the head maid a day off as a small reward for her hard work.

Then I went to my office, where Baron Christie was already waiting with a mountain of documents: trade lists for the Western Kingdom, plus all the estate papers that had piled up while I was bedridden.

Ryan? I hadn’t seen his face once in that whole week.

Judging by how much work was still left undone, he hadn’t been busy with estate affairs either.

“What about the carriage accident? Has it been handled?” I asked.

Surely he’d at least taken care of that—it had injured him too.

“It was revealed to be a barbarian assassination attempt.

With the border skirmishes expanding into a larger war, it seems they struck first,” the baron explained.

He added that Ryan was personally interrogating the culprit to root out any remaining spies.

I listened quietly. I wasn’t sure if I could believe Ryan was handling things “properly,” but at least he was doing something.

For once, he seemed motivated.

“Leave the carriage incident to the Duke. Don’t report it to me anymore.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The baron smiled, maybe proud of his master, maybe for some other reason.

Either way, the day was sunny, and I was in a good mood—I let it slide.

The first document I picked up from the pile detailed preparations for the imperial knights, who would arrive in about fifteen days.

Supplies, housing, logistics… and at the top was the name of their commander.

Barnes Hilvardo.

It hit me then—he would be here very soon.

Meanwhile, Ryan sat before the fireplace in his office, cigar smoke curling thick in the air.

In his hand was a letter from Barnes Hilvardo, addressed to my husband’s wife—me.

The letter said he had heard about my accident and was worried about my health.

Ryan read it, then tore it into shreds and tossed it into the fire.

That cursed bastard.

It wasn’t the first time.

The first letter from Barnes had arrived barely a month after our marriage. Just a simple “Are you well? Are you happy?”

Ryan had burned it on the spot. Instinct. Rage.

Yes, he only had Pardia because of the Emperor’s will—but still, Pardia gave him strength, status, stability.

And for that, he needed me.

So how could he stand to see letters from a man who was better than him in every way—noble blood, ability, everything—especially from his brother?

Every letter that came for me, he intercepted, read, and burned.

This one was no different.

The very fact that Barnes knew everything about me—where I was, what had happened—was infuriating.

It reminded Ryan of the truth: if Barnes wanted, he could steal me away at any moment.

Ryan stared at the ashes, lit another cigar, and muttered to himself.

He hated this. Hated what he was doing. Hated how powerless he felt.

The days that followed were oddly peaceful, like the calm before a storm.

That strangely pretty servant boy, Morant, who had once seemed suspicious, turned out to be diligent.

He worked hard, adapted quickly, and soon knew everyone in the mansion.

Just when Ryan was starting to forget the boy’s presence, he witnessed something that brought it all back.

Baron Christie came in with news from Western Kingdom traders. His voice shook.

“The price of spices has tripled, my lord.”

“…Impossible,” Ryan muttered.

Yet he remembered—days earlier, while he was revising trade lists, Morant had spoken up.

“May I give my opinion, sir?”

Ryan had been wary, not ready to fully believe him.

“Tomorrow, several Western trade ships will sink near the Northern Empire. Because of that, Western spices will skyrocket in price. You shouldn’t move just yet.”

“And why should I trust you?”

“Whether you trust me or not is up to you.”

Ryan had ignored it then. But the boy had been right.

“I sometimes… see the future,” Morant had said with a bright, almost carefree smile.

Now Ryan thought: Maybe I could become a greater lord than even Violetta… if I use him.

Suspicious or not, if the boy’s strange power was real, it meant profit.

So in an unbelievable move, Ryan raised the servant boy from mere errand-runner to one of his closest attendants.

Inside the mansion, people whispered.

Some congratulated him sincerely—he was hardworking, cheerful, and well-liked. Others grumbled that his pretty face had earned him the favor.

But nothing serious enough reached my ears. For now, the gossip faded.

A week before the imperial knights’ visit, I went to Jaive’s room at dawn, as always.

“He only just fell asleep, my lady,” the nanny whispered.

He had run a fever all night and finally slept after taking medicine. My heart ached.

I brushed his forehead gently, kissed his tiny hand, and murmured, “Take good care of him. Tell me immediately if anything happens.”

“Of course, my lady.”

I tore myself away reluctantly.

Without his morning smile, the whole day felt heavier.

On the way to the knights’ hall, the head maid updated me on household matters and rumors.

“Lately, the Duke only allows that pretty servant to attend him,” she whispered. “Some are even saying… he might have unnatural tastes.”

A rumor that the Duke of Stroud was keeping a boy as a lover.

“Make sure no one spreads that nonsense,” I said firmly.

I didn’t care about Ryan’s reputation.

But the name of the Stroud family—the title Jaive would inherit—couldn’t be tarnished.

When we reached the knights’ hall, I was surprised to see all the men crowded together instead of training.

“Has something happened?” I asked.

The knight commander bowed. “The Duke’s servant is here on an errand.”

And there he was, Morant, laughing with young knights, grinning at their rough teasing as if he belonged.

“He sometimes attends morning drills on the Duke’s orders,” the commander explained. “He’s grown close to the men.”

I watched him struggle to lift a practice sword, groaning under its weight while the knights laughed.

‘He needs to build his strength,’ I thought.

He was too fragile to even protect himself.

And if he fainted while serving, that would be a problem.

Still… he looked happy.

He’d probably never had time to play with kids his age, not with a sick sister to support.

That made me feel a little pity for him.

“Attention!” the commander shouted, announcing my presence.

The knights snapped into neat lines.

Morant froze, caught off guard in the middle of them.

“Seeing your dedication to training from early morning fills me with pride as the lady of this house,” I said.

The maids handed out drinks, a small reward I gave once a week.

The knights cheered and thanked me.

“As always, I’ll hear any requests for improvement,” I added.

One knight raised his hand, spoke his concerns, and I gave orders to address them.

But when I glanced back again, Morant’s place was empty.

The drink given to him was untouched, sitting on the ground.