WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Malfoid

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◈ Fragments of Thorns and a Cradle ◈

Chapter 6

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Content Warning: domestic abuse; physical violence.

Henrietta was choosing the dishes, cutlery, tablecloths, and napkins with a troubled face. This was the first banquet she would hold for her mother-in-law after marrying, so it was natural to be nervous.

A banquet's standard reflected its mistress's taste and dignity. As a noble daughter raised in court society, Henrietta had heard that until she was sick of it. Naturally, she needed to be careful, considering budget and tradition even when choosing a single piece of tableware.

It was not her first time preparing such things. At her family home, she had watched her mother prepare banquets piece by piece, and had helped herself. Even so, she could not help being tense.

First, Gwendel and Nestro were houses of entirely different scale. Gwendel was the western protector and grand marshal of Langarde, the western trade port. They could not be more different. She wanted to follow the house's customs and traditions as much as possible, but who could tell her about them?

"How did a house as lofty and noble as Gwendel come to leave every private household matter and family banquet in the hands of a servant like you?"

The words came out poorly. That was not even what she meant to say. It might sound as though she were disparaging Gwendel itself.

And if this woman became twisted over it and reported her to the marquess or her mother-in-law, Henrietta could be ruined. She regretted it the moment the words left her mouth, but could not take them back.

Her mother had told her to live for the family. Yet Henrietta hated this woman.

It was not because Marie was a female slave. Henrietta's own father was a knight, though of low rank, and had received a female slave from his grandparents at thirteen. Henrietta's mother was the same age as her father and married him at twenty-three, so in all but name, her father had another wife with whom he had lived for ten years.

Even so, Henrietta's mother had been distant toward the concubine. Not especially kind, nor cruel. Her father's concubine had been warm and sociable, and had treated Henrietta and her siblings well.

Growing up, Henrietta had been closer to her father's concubine than to her nursemaid. She had confided hard things to that woman that she could not tell her mother.

Yet she hated the marquess's female slave. Because...

"That is, that is..."

Marie lifted the gaze she had kept lowered. Her lashes glittered toward Henrietta like a fairy scattering sunlit dust. Henrietta's heart thudded.

The marquess's female slave was maddeningly beautiful.

Henrietta knew that female slaves were generally healthy, lovely women. Until she first saw the marquess's concubine at San Arzok three months before, the most beautiful woman in her world had been her father's concubine.

The noblewomen of court were all beautiful. Knights' concubines were beautiful and fragrant, like flowers picked and scattered across the ground.

But even Henrietta, accustomed to that beauty, found the marquess's woman unbelievably dazzling. Curly lemon-blond hair. Smooth, milk-pale skin as white and clean as snow. Bright green eyes shining like a summer forest, like emeralds.

She wore no jewelry, yet she was splendid. She looked like a delicate, exquisitely crafted doll. Though Henrietta had met her many times, Marie was startlingly beautiful each time.

She had borne two children, yet it felt strangely like facing a very young girl.

"I only handled the household affairs because you, Lady Henrietta, the marquess's wife, were not here. After the former marquess passed away, Lady Lucrezia's health declined."

Marie did not meet her gaze as she moved her lips. Henrietta tried to sharpen her own manner, but Marie did not react. Instead, she softened toward Henrietta and simply held her hands neatly together, without defiance.

"Lady Lucrezia helped me oversee a few things. Please do not be angry. I never acted beyond my station. Now that the marquess has brought you here, surely the household will become even more... prosperous?"

Marie chose her words and whispered softly. She wore a faint smile. Henrietta's expression remained crooked.

If only Marie would flare up in reliance on the marquess's favor, Henrietta could put her in her place. But Marie had never challenged Henrietta even once. She knew the place she must not overstep.

Henrietta disliked that. She disliked it, yet there was nothing to criticize, and it burned inside her.

San Arzok was filled with things meant for the marquess's female slave. Even the outlying annex was so. There was a separate room for the dolls Marie had played with as a child, colorful pebbles, ribbons, and instruments. A glass conservatory built anew by a royal gardener was also for her.

The bathhouse, built in southern continental style with gold and plaster columns and walls decorated in geometric designs uncommon on this continent, had been made by drawing sulfur springs from the Gwendel lands for the female slave, who had suffered from a skin condition as a child.

The bathhouse and conservatory more luxurious than anything at the royal palace, the white piano visible the moment one went upstairs, even the crude mill-shaped cottage in the rear garden had been made for the female slave.

"Marie cried so much then that she stayed there for a while. It does not suit this castle very well, does it? Still..."

Henrietta had not wanted to hear it. People opened their mouths and said, "Marie, Marie." Even those who hated and constantly insulted that woman had been hired by the marquess for Marie's sake.

"Even though I am lacking, if you need me, my lady, I will always roll up my sleeves and help. Naturally, you will know the value of tasteful and dignified things far better than I do..."

Henrietta stared at her with a hard face. Marie lowered her eyes and bit her lip.

How could she crush this woman to ease herself? It was not because she hated female slaves. If Henrietta could not tolerate their existence, she would have influenced her mother and kept her father from marrying her into a knightly house.

Thinking back, she could have married a nobleman holding an administrative post in the capital rather than a knight. Yet Henrietta had insisted on this place.

Lucrezia, the former marchioness, was a daughter of the kingdom's greatest house, Durak, and had exacting standards in choosing a daughter-in-law. But Nestro had served Gwendel faithfully for a long time. Therefore...

"...Well, you prepared my wedding too."

Henrietta spoke words likely to upset Marie. As the marquess's favorite, Marie must have wanted to keep him to herself.

It was said that, at times, a concubine felt as though her world was ending when the master who was also her husband married. Henrietta's father's concubine, Irina, had once suffered the same despair. The past ten years had been happy like a marriage. Though she had always known he would take a lawful wife and become someone else's husband and the father of her children, she had felt as though he were being taken from her.

Marie said nothing. She tried to smile faintly, then lost strength when she remembered that time. Not merely the wedding, but what had happened afterward in the bridal bedroom.

Henrietta swallowed the shock and confusion she had felt that night. Marie's eyes as she watched Henrietta sank coldly. Seeing Marie's face darken sharply, Henrietta smiled slightly.

"Anyway, if I prepare Mother's birthday banquet poorly and Gwendel's reputation suffers, it will be entirely your fault."

"Yes."

"It will be your failure and fault for not assisting me. You will not make a wronged face and cry then, will you? You cry at the drop of a hat and twist my husband around your finger."

Henrietta sneered. Marie only nodded silently.

Whether Marie helped or not, whether she merely supported Henrietta or led the work herself to completion, the praise would go to Henrietta and the blame would fall on Marie.

That was how things worked.

If a master whipped someone for insulting his female slave, it was because that person had insulted a noble's woman before a noble without knowing their place. The same applied when someone rebuked the female slave rather than the noble. It was considered a challenge and resistance against rank.

As for Endymion, whether an insult was spoken before his face or whispered behind his back, if it reached his ears, he dragged the person in by the hair and crippled them, regardless of gender. With that temper, enduring it once was already a great deal.

He had no patience even for knights and nobles of his own rank. So the people in the castle guarded their words as much as possible. Not because they refrained from speaking badly of their master's female slave, but because they sealed other people's mouths to hide the fact that they themselves did so.

Yet Marie knew all of it.

"You are right."

Marie nodded with unfocused eyes, her gaze lowered. Henrietta narrowed her brows in frustration and glared at her.

Marie looked at the yellow sunlight coming through the window, then turned when she heard crying somewhere. Only her sons would cry so fiercely in San Arzok.

Marie slightly lifted her dress toward Henrietta. Henrietta ground her teeth because even that looked utterly perfect and elegant.

Why was a female slave better than her? Yes. That was the problem. It was not merely that Marie ate and wore better things. It was that Marie herself was more graceful and more elegant than Henrietta.

She looked like a noble lady.

Realizing that stung more than learning that San Arzok existed entirely for Marie.

Henrietta concealed her twisted expression and watched the nursemaid approach. Unlike the screaming child, the nursemaid bowed her head meekly.

The child's mother immediately lifted him, kissing his tear-wet cheeks. At the repeated touch of his mother's lips, he stopped crying. Henrietta watched Marie wipe the boy's cheeks with her sleeve.

Marie was a strange woman. Separate from how unbearable Henrietta found her, Marie was remarkable. Some days she seemed like an endlessly young girl. Other days, she was a tender mother. Before her sons, especially, she was always warm and kind.

She had the youthful face of an older sister at most, yet she was the mother of a five-year-old and a three-year-old. And she was pregnant again.

"Shh, my baby..."

Marie soothed her wriggling, whimpering son, turned to bow, and left Luanigis Hall. Henrietta watched her departing back for a long time.

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