Chapter 2
2
The Slayer of Beautiful Birds
Relatives visiting to spend the summer in Arbis. Social gatherings. The insurance issue for the trading ship departing next month.
Leaning deeply back in his seat and staring out the carriage window, Matthias listened as Hessen methodically reported the family’s current affairs beside him. Matthias signaled his attention with curt replies or nods of the head. Business matters were handled by the company directors, and family affairs by the two ladies of the house, but the final authority rested solely with Duke Herhardt. And Matthias had ascended to that position at the age of twelve.
As they turned onto Platanus Avenue leading to the estate, Hessen’s report came to an end.
Matthias tilted his head slightly, gazing at the familiar scenery. Tall trees lined both sides of the driveway, their branches forming an arch like clasped hands. Fragments of sunlight filtered through the rustling leaves, embroidering the road in beautiful patterns.
Passing along that road, they entered the estate, where a white mansion with a deep blue roof revealed itself. At the entrance stood his mother and grandmother, rigid with perfect posture, come to greet the head of the family. As Matthias straightened his already impeccable tie, the carriage came to a stop and the door opened.
“Welcome home, Matthias.”
Lady Katarina von Herhardt of the ducal house greeted her grandson with a radiant smile. Matthias bowed his head to receive her kiss. Elise von Herhardt, standing a step behind, adopted a more reserved demeanor.
“You’ve grown even taller.”
She welcomed her son with a light embrace and a smile. Her dark hair, so like his own, gleamed in the early summer sunlight.
Matthias replied with an equally measured smile. His greetings to the servants waiting in perfect formation were no different. His refined bearing and impeccable etiquette flowed as naturally as water. In such moments, the line between boy and man became meaningless. He was simply Duke Herhardt, the perfect master of this house.
Standing between his grandmother and mother, Matthias led the way across the lobby hall. Just before ascending the stairs, he glanced up, and the massive chandelier—lit even in broad daylight—came into view. Beyond it, the distant ceiling was adorned with the crest of House Herhardt.
He was a Herhardt.
That name was synonymous with cool intellect, elegant dignity, and detached composure.
Matthias had never once harbored any dissatisfaction or doubt about the life of Duke Herhardt that was his own. He knew well the shape his life was meant to take, and he embraced it willingly. It was as natural as breathing—and just as effortless.
Lowering his gaze, Matthias took large strides up the stairs.
Only once the family had entered the mansion did the servants finally exhale properly.
All of Arbis had been in an uproar for days preparing to receive Duke Herhardt. The day the master returned, everything had to be perfect—including the servants who were part of this mansion. Even the lowliest maids and footmen, whom the duke would never glance at, were obligated to maintain impeccable conduct. Leila Llewellyn, the uninvited guest of Arbis, was no exception.
“Has the duke already gone inside?”
Standing at the very back of the group, Leila murmured in faint disappointment. The hem of the white dress Bill had bought her fluttered with her movements.
“You’ll get to see Duke Herhardt plenty in the forest. You’ll have to ask permission then.”
Bill Leamer tossed out the gruff reply and started walking ahead. Leila trotted after him.
“Does the duke like the forest too?”
“Well, you could say that. He enjoys hunting.”
“Hunting? In the forest?”
Leila’s eyes went wide. Bill snorted and looked down at her.
“That forest is this family’s hunting ground. It’s only natural.”
“Then… he hunts birds too?”
“The duke probably likes shooting birds the most.”
Leila paled at Bill’s casual words and halted in her tracks. Realizing too late what he’d said, Bill cleared his throat awkwardly.
He considered soothing her with a white lie, but Duke Herhardt would surely appear in the hunting grounds within days anyway. Reassuring her now might only lead to a bigger shock later.
“You’ll be amazed when you see the duke shoot. He’s just a kid, but he’s a crack shot.”
Bill rambled on, feeling he had to say something. By the time he realized it was worse than saying nothing, Leila was already on the verge of tears.
“Why does he hunt birds? There’s so much food in a grand mansion like that, even without hunting.”
“For noblemen, hunting is entertainment. Birds are the most interesting targets among them, and…”
Bill, who had been speaking earnestly, caught himself again. Too late—the words were already out. Leila blinked her large eyes, her face stricken.
Of course, why did that damn bird obsession have to come up!
Bill nearly burst out in frustration. He had no idea why he was explaining all this in detail and watching the expression of this tiny girl. But in the end, Bill said nothing. One more word, and she’d burst into tears—and he didn’t want to see that. A crying child? He hated it.
Fidgeting awkwardly, Bill started walking again to escape the awkwardness. The girl followed with listless steps, her shoulders slumped. The Leila Llewellyn who had been so excited in her new dress was gone. She’d looked pretty cute scampering around full of energy.
“I wish the duke would come to hate hunting.”
After a long silence, the girl spoke cautiously.
“Maybe he will someday?”
Leila looked up at Bill with eyes full of desperate hope. He could only scratch the back of his neck again, at a loss for words.
Leila thought perhaps her prayers had been answered.
A week passed since his return, and the duke had yet to visit the hunting grounds. With countless guests flooding the mansion, it was understandable.
Rowdy gatherings filled every day, but the forest remained silent. In the meantime, summer deepened a little more. Chicks hatched from the eggs the mother birds had so diligently brooded, and the field roses that had only been in bud burst into full bloom. Leila wandered the summer forest, joyfully noting these small changes.
“Don’t go too far, Leila!”
Today too, Bill yelled after the excited girl bounding out of the cottage.
“Okay! I’ll just go as far as the river! See you later, Uncle!”
Leila turned and waved both hands high above her head. The old leather bag slung over her shoulder bounced along with her.
Leila first checked the tree with the marsh tit nest that had hatched just a few days ago. The baby birds, still featherless, waited for their mother to return from foraging. Hurrying down from the tree, Leila pulled a small notebook from her bag and recorded what she’d seen, even adding a clumsy sketch.
Lately, Leila was documenting everything she saw in the forest in her notebook. This estate was more beautiful than anywhere she’d ever stayed. She wanted to remember it all. When the day came to leave this place too, she’d open the notebook. That thought softened the sadness.
Walking the path to the riverbank, Leila diligently chronicled the forest. She slipped a few pretty petals between the notebook pages and picked and ate the wild strawberries blooming along the way. By the time she reached the dazzlingly sparkling riverbank, the sun was high overhead.
Leila climbed the massive tree standing at the border between forest and river. Its long, sturdy branch stretched out like a comfortable chair—her favorite tree. It was just as she pulled out her notebook that the faint sound of hoofbeats reached her from afar.
Leila hurriedly stuffed the notebook deep into her bag. The sound of galloping grew louder. Terrified, Leila clung to the trunk and held her breath.
Moments later, a sleek dark bay horse appeared, carrying a man on its back. He happened to stop right beneath the tree where Leila was perched. He dismounted with light, fluid movements.
She thought she should climb down, but the stranger was already leaning against the tree below. Flustered and unsure how to ask his permission, Leila hesitated—then the man removed his hat. At the same moment, her bag bumped against a branch.
Her memory of the next instant was hazy.
The man spun around reflexively and looked up, and Leila saw him. Through the black hair falling over his forehead, his blue eyes gleamed like transparent glass beads. The thought had barely formed when he leveled a gun at her. The long barrel’s menacing glint pierced her dazed eyes.
Leila froze, clinging desperately to the tree. Her whole body trembled. The man watched her silently for a moment, then let out a slow sigh and lowered the hunting rifle he’d aimed.
“What are you?”
A low voice slipped from his crooked lips.
“…Leila.”
Leila barely squeezed out the word, her voice trembling on the verge of tears. A breeze from the river sent her golden hair fluttering.
“What?”
His eyes narrowed further. Leila gripped the tree so tightly her fingertips ached.
“Leila. Leila Llewellyn.”
“Uncle! Uncle Bill! Uncle!”
Leila’s voice rang out, calling for Bill Leamer until she was out of breath.
Bill, sitting in front of the shed sharpening a tool blade, looked up in bewilderment. Leila came running toward him, her face beet red.
“What happened?”
“There’s someone in the forest! A tall man!”
Even gasping for breath, Leila poured out the words.
“You ran into the duke out hunting.”
Bill replied nonchalantly and picked up the next tool.
“His hair was black, and his eyes were bright blue, and his voice was like a water rail’s feathers.”
“That’s Duke Herhardt for sure.”
Bill chuckled heartily. Leila stood there blankly, panting heavily.
After watching the pretty yet terrifying man in silence for a while, Leila finally spoke up—he turned away without a word. As he remounted his horse, two more men who seemed to be with him appeared. Joining them, he rode off deeper into the forest. Once they were out of sight, Leila scrambled down the tree and fled to this cottage.
“So the duke…”
Just as Leila started to say something, bang—a cold gunshot shattered the forest’s silence.
Leila jumped in shock and whipped her head toward the sound. From deep in the woods, startled birds took flight all at once. One among them trailed limply into the trees and vanished.
The gunshots continued a few more times. Bill set aside his work and stood up. Leila stared blankly into the distance, frozen in place.
“Leila.”
Bill gently placed a hand on the trembling girl’s shoulder. Only after a long while did Leila lift her head. At that moment, Bill unwittingly held his breath.
The child was crying.
The Slayer of Beautiful Birds.
That was what Leila decided to call Duke Herhardt. Of course, it was just her own private opinion.
Everyone in the estate—even Bill Leamer—praised him as the perfect noble. People seemed to genuinely cherish and adore Matthias von Herhardt, the duke and heir with his outstanding qualities, dignity, restraint, and elegant demeanor.
But not Leila.
Since the day he went hunting, the mother marsh tit had vanished. The frail chicks, bereft of their mother, had all perished too. Countless other birds had disappeared as well.
Why did the duke hunt small, beautiful birds instead of large game for the table?
After watching for a full month and pondering, Leila thought she understood the reason.
To him, birds were just live targets.
The smaller they were, the more challenging and thrilling—and so he shot at those amusing targets. He didn’t even glance at his kills once he hit them. He simply turned and left them where they fell. On the days he hunted, Leila had to go around finding the many bloodied, cold birds and burying them.
Bang—.
Another gunshot echoed from afar.
