MBOMEN 17

Chapter 17. The Prince of Searow (4)

Meanwhile, as soon as Laila entered the bathroom, she was at a loss for words and froze in place.

A white porcelain bathtub with four golden legs filled with warm water, fragrant steam wafting up, dozens of glass bottles and dried petals, and beyond the rising mist, a soft cream-colored robe spread like a headless doorman holding out its arms…

For an average girl, this would have been a place so luxurious she might have screamed with joy—or at least pretended to faint from delight. But for Laila, she felt like she might faint for an entirely different reason.

It was disorienting enough to have the attendants call her “My Lady,” but more shocking was the absurdity of needing their help to even undress.

She tried to protest—insisting she could undress herself—but they countered with a strange rule: “As you are the honored guest of His Highness the Prince, we must not be lacking in our service.”

Sigh…

Maybe it was the warmth of the bathwater, or maybe it was having to stand there while someone else bathed her while she wore a nearly transparent robe, but by the time Laila came out of the bathroom, she felt too drained to even lift a finger.

The attendants had taken away her old clothes and led her behind a partition where something else had been prepared.

“What is this? Where are my clothes?”

“They’re here.”

A familiar voice spoke from beyond the partition. Laila rose slightly on her toes and saw the Marquess Himierd’s face appear first, next to a rack holding three or four dresses.

Before she could even get a good look, Laila shook her head.

“I can’t wear that.”

“Are you sure? On the contrary, you can’t stay here dressed like that, can you?”

At the marquess’s words, Laila looked down at herself. She was now wearing a thicker, softer set of garments than the thin robe she had used in the bath, but it was still only underwear, no matter how you looked at it.

The marquess said, “Don’t worry. I chose ones that should be the least uncomfortable. Hm… your face is youthful and beautiful, but that hair color is tricky. This pink and yellow won’t do at all. Let’s see… perhaps the blue might work.”

Fortunately—or unfortunately—Laila barely registered the marquess’s mumblings. She was too busy mentally retracing how she’d ended up here and why.

“Now, Miss Laila. Try this one on.”

When the marquess gestured to the dress, the attendants quickly brought the rack forward.

They dressed her in a soft lace petticoat, a firmer inner dress to puff it out, and then undergarments that shaped her waist and chest. It wasn’t until then that Laila regained her senses.

“Wait a second, the ribbon is too—!”

Laila had a slender frame, but the attendants pulled the ribbon on the corset mercilessly, tightening her waist to the limit. As she pressed her now-constricted stomach, she gasped,

“I can’t breathe!”

Startled, the attendants jumped back as if they’d seen a ghost. Laila, realizing how it sounded, quickly added,

“I’m not angry! It’s just…”

The marquess gently waved her fan toward the attendants.

“She’s wearing it for the first time, so loosen it a little.”

As they eased the ribbon, the breath trapped deep in her chest finally escaped.

She wanted to say she wouldn’t wear it at all—but clearly, the marquess wasn’t going to allow that.

The blue dress she selected had a butterfly-wing-like cut above the chest, subtly revealing a graceful line, but all other decorations were kept to a minimum.

The inner petticoat gave the skirt a full shape, though it wasn’t so bulky that walking became difficult.

The marquess added, “I also picked the most comfortable shoes I could.”

“I’ve never worn shoes like these before.”

“Well, you can’t wear leather boots with that dress, so just bear with it.”

She had no retort. No, that wasn’t true—she had plenty to say. She even wanted to ask, “Could you please just bring Yustar here?”—but Laila quietly went along with it for now.

After all, she had been entrusted to Yustar’s care and didn’t want to cause trouble for him.

“Are you all right?”

The shoes, as the marquess said, had very low heels like a child’s, but for Laila—used to loose, worn leather shoes—they felt anything but comfortable. Still, after stumbling a few times, she managed to walk.

“I think so. Probably… I can’t walk very far, though.”

“Don’t worry. His Highness said you are to remain in this room until he summons you. You’ve seen the bath already. The bedroom is through that arched door to the right. Opposite that is the toilette room—but Miss Krisrad probably won’t be needing it. At least, not yet. Still, you’re free to take a look. Soon, the kitchen will send up some refreshments. His Highness will likely invite you to dinner, so don’t fill up too much.”

I hope it’s not just a single bean or something, Laila thought to herself.

She knew that wasn’t likely, but she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering in strange directions. It was the only way to stop herself from feeling like she was going crazy.

“Through here is the sitting room, study, office, and a second bedroom. Use whichever bedroom you like, but I suggest the first one. It gets more sunlight. Until His Highness comes, stay here. If anything urgent comes up, speak to the attendants.”

Laila asked, “Marquess… aren’t you staying here?”

The marquess gave a dry chuckle, as if to say, Do you really need to ask? It felt a bit like she was being teased, but the tone wasn’t unpleasant.

“Relax. I know you’re flustered, and I’d like to help, but I have matters to attend to. If you need anything, tell these two—Sel and Millie.”

Laila looked at the two attendants. With how quickly they had stripped her earlier, she doubted anyone could outmatch their skill… but at least she wouldn’t need to be undressed again in this outfit.

“Understood.”

“Then rest well.”

With a curt farewell, the marquess turned and left with no hesitation. Watching her straight back as she walked away, Laila suddenly felt like a useless thing someone had thrown away. It was an odd sensation.

Just as the marquess had said, food soon arrived from the kitchen.

A pastry glazed with thick milk cream and honey, tangy red tea, and a small apple. It wasn’t large, but the glossy red skin suddenly made her feel hungry.

The moment she bit into the apple, the two attendants—Sel and Millie—exchanged shocked glances.

“Um, miss…”

Laila glanced at Sel.

“I’m not a ‘miss.’ I’m just a girl who lived in a remote village nobody’s ever heard of.”

“But since you are a guest of His Highness the Prince, we have no choice in how we address you. Please understand. More importantly… shall I slice the apple for you?”

Laila looked down at the apple she had just taken a large bite of. Then, from the awkward expressions on their faces, she realized something…

“This is how it’s done here, isn’t it?”

Millie replied, “Not necessarily. But ladies usually… do it that way.”

Ladies, Laila repeated in her head. Who would’ve thought anyone would call her a lady someday? Certainly not the fools from Ridgikus Village—or even her own mother.

“It’s fine. But next time, I’ll let you slice it.”

Sel and Millie said no more and simply stood by, watching her eat.

That in itself was rather nerve-wracking, but as warm, sweet food began to fill her empty stomach, she stopped caring about anything else.

“His Highness the Prince has arrived.”

The doors to the hallway swung open, and a servant announced loudly.

Laila’s head snapped up. Yustar really was stepping into the room. He’d likely bathed as well—his hair, which he usually wore tied up, now hung loose.

“Does it suit your taste?”

Swallowing her bite, Laila nodded cautiously.

“Mind if I sit?”

“Of course. But… you don’t have to ask me for permission anymore, do you? You’re the prince, after all.”

As if it were no big deal, Yustar shrugged.

“Whether prince or king, one should always ask a lady’s permission before sitting opposite her. But thank you. I was about to collapse.”

He sat down with an exaggerated sigh, then glanced at Sel and Millie.

“You two may leave for now.”

Without hesitation, the two attendants left the room, making sure to shut the door properly behind them. Now alone, Laila found herself unable to keep eating so messily, and quietly set down her fork.

Yustar said, “Why stop? Go ahead, eat more.”

“Don’t you owe me quite a few explanations?”

She hadn’t meant to sound confrontational, but somehow it came out that way. As Laila mentally scolded herself, Yustar gave her a familiar, unreadable smile.

“You’re right. Quite a few. We might not even have enough time if we talked all night. So Laila, ask me anything you want. I promise I’ll answer honestly.”

Laila didn’t believe in verbal promises. But it wasn’t like she could get him to sign an oath saying “I swear to tell the whole truth.”

If only I had that tincture… What did Mom call it again? Ah, yes—“The Prescription for Chronic Liars.”

Just a drop or two in breakfast or soup, and the person who drank it would spill every secret they ever kept, unable to resist. Though it was harmless to the body, those who drank it always collapsed afterward.

Partly from exhaustion, but mostly from the psychological toll—because some secrets should never be revealed.

It would be nice to give that to Yustar right now, Laila thought. But soon, she erased the idea from her mind—or rather, it disappeared on its own.

Because she began to feel… she could believe him.

“…Are you really the prince?”