Callius remained unusually still. Was it because he lacked the strength to pull away, or had he, in truth, been waiting for someone to reach out to him first?
He stayed just like that, letting his hand rest in my grasp without a fight.
I tightened my grip on his hand and continued.
“I will help you.”
“I saw the doctor running in a hurry, pale as a ghost.”
“Hasn't he been shut inside that room for more than half a year? They say he barely touches his meals. Something must have happened.”
“If those rumors about his health failing are true… what will become of the ducal house?”
Three days had passed since Callius lost consciousness and woke up again.
In the dim, remote corners of the estate, these conjectures and whispers were traded in secret among the servants.
Speaking openly about the ducal family’s affairs was strictly forbidden.
Yet keeping tabs on the stealthy whispers exchanged among the staff was no easy feat.
“Can someone who can't even leave his room on account of illness truly inherit the title?”
one servant murmured, lowering his voice as he devoured his bread.
“And His Grace has no other sons. Won't the entire estate end up passing to someone outside the bloodline?”
“Shh!”
Another servant scolded him in alarm.
“Watch your mouth!”
“And what good does keeping quiet among ourselves do? If the Young Duke doesn't step out of his room, the people of the fief will start suspecting too! They'll say he has a terminal illness, mark my words.”
He wasn't wrong.
No matter how meticulously a secret is guarded, rumors always find a way out.
And once they leak, they spread relentlessly.
Especially with rival noble families watching the Ducal House of Rivannion like vultures, desperate to dig up the truth.
According to the original novel, it was around this exact time that the Duke grew increasingly anxious over the succession and began searching for an alternative heir to replace Callius.
"…"
The mere memory lodged a lump in my throat, and I clenched my fists tightly.
“Mind your tongues! If word reaches His Grace that lower servants are gossiping like this, do you really think we'll come out of it in one piece—gasp!”
The servant chiding his peers broke off abruptly with a startled intake of breath.
“…How long have you been sitting there?”
“Me? I’ve been here for quite a while.”
When the servants finally noticed me sitting in the corner, chewing on my bread just like them, dead silence fell over the room.
I had been sitting there before they even walked in, but it seemed none of them had registered my presence.
Well, whatever.
Even people with perfectly good eyes sometimes can't see what's right in front of them, just like me.
“Ah… you were here from the start…”
Flustered hesitation seeped into their voices, followed by frantic whispering.
“Isn't that her? The one attending the Young Duke…”
“What? Then won't she repeat everything we just said?”
“They say she’s blind. She can't even see our faces. Come on, let's get out of here, fast.”
‘Excuse me? I can hear everything, you know.’
“Ahem… Well, since we’re done eating, let's be on our way…”
“Right, let's go.”
The servants hastily stood up, exchanging awkwardly loud remarks.
As they made for the exit with scurrying steps, I gave them a sweet farewell aimed straight at their backs.
“Have a good day at work, Mr. Gerard from the stables, Mr. Tom, and Mr. James.”
No answer came.
Instead, the sound of a frantic scurry broke out, and their footsteps vanished in an instant.
So, to sum up the current state of affairs.
Even the castle servants were growing suspicious of Callius's condition.
Knowing how the original story unfolded, I wasn't particularly worried about the outcome.
In the novel, Callius steps out of his room on his own two feet and smoothly claims the title of Duke.
He even overthrows his father, who had brought in a surrogate heir to take his place.
In terms of results, it could be called a happy ending.
The problem was that the path leading to that ending was agonizingly cruel and exhausting.
The memory of Callius's voice echoed in my mind—breaking down in despair over and over again.
A heavy ache settled in my chest, as if weighed down by stone.
My trouble was that I projected my own feelings onto him far too much to merely watch from the sidelines.
Pressing a finger against my throbbing temples, I made my way up toward his room.
And that was when—
“You can't imagine how shocked we were when we heard the Young Duke had collapsed.”
I froze in my tracks at the voices drifting from inside.
“We were worried sick about you day and night!”
Recognizing those unwelcome voices, I frowned.
It was Mary and Dorothy.
“So, from now on, we will be the ones attending you, My Lord.”
“We’re quite used to the dark now, aren't we, Mary?”
“Yes, of course!”
What was with this sudden change of heart?
Weren't they the very first to run away the moment working here proved inconvenient?
I had heard that ever since that incident, they had been enduring grueling days under the head maid’s strict supervision.
So why were they sneaking in here now?
“Think about it, My Lord. She's only been here for barely a month. How can you keep a girl whose background we don't even know by your side all day long?”
They were unmistakably talking about me.
They prattled on eagerly, completely oblivious to me standing right by the door, hearing every word.
“That's right! And we heard she’s a penniless orphan!”
“Blind, and an orphan… Honestly, the head maid is too much! How could she assign a girl so utterly unfit to attend the Young Duke? You must have been terribly appalled, weren't you?”
Hold on just a second.
Anger boiled in my chest.
Granted, I might not be the real Lizzy Swan, but from what her aunt had told me, I knew full well what a kind, sweet girl she had been when she lived alone with her mother.
Mary and Dorothy had no right to insult Lizzy Swan like that.
“As for us, we've served here faithfully for two whole years.”
“We are experienced maids, completely unlike that girl!”
"…"
Callius didn't utter a single word.
Since he hadn't started hurling objects as he usually did, they seemed to think he was actually listening to them.
Their excitement only grew.
“From this day forth, we will be your devoted arms and legs!”
“Ah… but, My Lord, to make that happen, we need your cooperation—no, your help.”
“Could you speak to the head maid? Tell her that we are far better suited to serve you than Lizzy Swan.”
Ah, so that was their game.
Serving as personal maids to a bedridden master was infinitely better than toiling every day under the hawk-like glare of the head maid.
Having laid out their transparent scheme, they waited for Callius's reply.
Instead of answering, however, he asked a question.
“…Her name is Lizzy Swan?”
What?
Did he not even know my name until now?
“Pardon? Yes, Lizzy Swan. But there's no need for My Lord to remember the name of such a lowly wretch—kyaaah!”
Suddenly, the sharp splash of rushing water echoed, accompanied by the piercing shrieks of Mary and Dorothy.
“M-My Lord!”
“My apologies. I spilled the water.”
Callius spoke calmly, in stark contrast to the maids' frantic panic.
“The bedding is completely soaked. Take it and wash it.”
“What?!”
they gasped, stunned.
“Didn't you claim you would be my arms and legs? Do you expect me to sleep in a pool of water? Hurry up and wash it. This one too, and that one.”
“Whaaat?!”
“Are you going to get moving or not?”
Through the darkness came the sound of items being hurled through the air.
Muffled thuds followed, as though a pillow had struck home.
Screaming and flailing in the gloom, Mary and Dorothy bumped into everything in their way before darting past me and bolting out the door.
…Haven't I seen this scene before?
I clicked my tongue, turning toward the direction where they had vanished.
Once silence reclaimed the room, Callius spoke.
“…What are you doing standing there?”
I asked in mild surprise,
“How did you know I was here?”
