Chapter 12. The New Young Master

At the sound of knocking, Emma pressed a finger to her lips and glanced at Melanie.

“Wipe your tears, Melanie.”

“But, sister…”

Seeing Melanie still trembling with emotion, Emma spoke firmly.

“Listen carefully, Melanie. If we stay calm, a solution will come.”

In truth, Emma’s mind had been blank for quite some time, like a sheet of bleached paper.

But if she allowed herself to falter in front of Melanie, the absurd contract with the Duke would collapse entirely, leaving them without recourse.

Though the kingdom of Verrena had seen an increase in freemen, the crime of insulting nobility still carried severe consequences.

In the worst case, Emma could picture herself dangling from the gallows, her throat constricted by the noose.

So for now, her only choice was to endure until she could devise a way out—at least before the noose tightened.

“Do you trust me?”

Melanie nodded fervently, without hesitation.

“Yes, sister.”

“No. From now on, there is no sister Emma. I’m your brother, Oliver, no matter what.”

Repeating the same words she had spoken three years ago when they boarded the smuggling ship to Verrena, Emma gently stroked Melanie’s cheek.

“One more thing.”

Emma’s expression grew solemn.

“Everything must remain a secret. The moment the contract with the Duke is revealed, it’s over for both of us.”

The knocking came again, more insistent this time. Emma stood slowly and answered in a low voice.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Alain stepped inside.

“I’ve brought some clothes. For now, I’ve prepared something to fit you approximately, but tomorrow we’ll summon a tailor to take precise measurements. I hope you won’t find it too uncomfortable, young master.”

Emma was briefly startled by Alain’s flawless, formal demeanor, but she soon nodded and replied softly.

“I’ve accepted the Duke’s command to become a noble. From now on, please treat me as such.”

Alain’s eyes widened briefly before returning to their calm state. He gave a polite nod of acknowledgment.

“Of course, young master.”

“Thank you, Alain. Melanie, could you take the clothes, please?”

It was surprising how useful her experience working under Madame Charlotte—catering to the whims of the aristocracy—was proving.

Melanie, equally adept at reading the room, quickly composed herself, even as her eyes still glistened red. She answered cheerfully.

“Yes, young master.”

Alain smiled in satisfaction, clearly impressed by the new young master’s composure. Little did he know that this young master was trembling inwardly.

Emma swallowed an invisible sigh. Only her practiced habit of maintaining a neutral expression kept her inner turmoil from showing.

As Melanie took the clothes and began hanging them up, Emma spoke first.

“As you’ve probably gathered from my conversation with the Duke, I’m not accustomed to having help when dressing. Additionally, due to some… scars on my body…”

“Ah, yes, young master.”

“Therefore, I’d prefer for Melanie to assist me with such tasks. She is officially a maid here, and I feel comfortable entrusting her with my care.”

Emma added with a pointed tone.

“That would also prevent any unfortunate rumors from spreading.”

After all, it was well known that most of a noble household’s gossip flowed from the mouths of the maids—a fact Emma had learned from her time at Madame Charlotte’s shop.

Alain nodded thoughtfully and replied with a deep bow.

“An excellent suggestion. It shall be as you wish, young master.”

Emma, or rather Charles, smiled inwardly. Her plan to have Melanie stay by her side had been accepted without resistance.

Alain, meanwhile, seemed optimistic about the transformation of this young master into a proper noble. He carefully placed a bundle of documents on the side table and said:

“These are the personal records for Charles de Ophilenz, young master. Even the staff at Violet Castle are unaware of your existence. Once preparations are complete, I’ll discreetly spread word of your presence at the appropriate time.”

Emma glanced at the thick stack of papers and raised an eyebrow. Alain quickly continued.

“Would a week be enough time for you to review everything?”

“A week?”

The young master’s sharp question made Alain hesitate, but he nodded, as if assuming agreement.

“Well, yes, perhaps a week is too short, considering the amount of material…”

“One day.”

“…Pardon?”

“One day will suffice.”

Emma clarified, leaving Alain too stunned to respond immediately.

“The Duke said he would meet me again tomorrow, did he not? I need to present myself as someone who has already changed. That will please him, will it not?”

“Well, yes, that’s true, but…”

Emma knew this was a gamble.

Right now, winning the trust of Mikhail de Ophilenz was imperative.

When it came to dealings with nobles, trust was the most valuable currency. Once earned, it allowed you to sell even the most expensive wares with ease.

So Emma decided to think of herself as a valuable item for sale.

If the Duke trusted her, it would open the door to future opportunities—and to saving Melanie.

Memorizing the details in those papers within a single day? That was the least of her concerns.

Turning to the still-flustered Alain, Emma—or Charles—issued a calm order.

“You may leave now.”

* * *

Mikhail reclined in the steaming bath, lighting a cigar as the heat seeped into his weary body.

Soon, the bittersweet aroma of chocolate mingled with the almond notes of the cigar, wafting through the humid air.

He inhaled deeply, letting the scents envelop him, and slid languidly further into the water. Exhaustion from sleepless nights caused by the scandal with Princess Isabella slowly began to dissipate in the soothing warmth.

“Phew.”

Droplets of water clung to the sapphire ring still on his finger, catching the dim light and teasing his hazy vision.

As the light refracted, it reminded Mikhail of something even brighter—Oliver’s strikingly deep blue eyes. A chuckle escaped his lips.

“Such pretty eyes. I bet he’s made quite a few women cry with those.”

In all his life, he had never seen such clear, striking blue eyes on another man.

A beauty so exquisite that even someone like Mikhail, who had an undeniable weakness for beautiful things, found himself coveting it.

He smirked mischievously, amused at the thought that even Isabella might lose her composure in the face of Charles’ good looks.

“Your Grace, it’s Alain.”
“Hmm. Come in.”

Alain stepped into the room, the thick steam swirling around him as he stopped near the door, clearing his throat.

“How’s my new little brother? Still a bit lost, is he?”
“Well, not exactly.”
“…?”

Mikhail’s golden eyes narrowed slightly.

“What is it? Don’t tell me he’s sitting around crying like some girl.”
“Not at all.”

After a brief pause, Alain spoke.

“You’ll need to formally introduce him to Lady Gabriella sooner or later. Perhaps tomorrow evening, during dinner?”

Mikhail waved his cigar-wielding hand dismissively.

“Do you think I don’t know Gabi’s temperament? If she sees him falter even slightly, she’ll only make things worse. Leave it for now. He needs more time to adjust.”

Alain shrugged.

“Well, there’s only a month left until Her Highness’s birthday party. It would be wise to move quickly.”

Mikhail took another deep drag from his cigar, the complexities of the situation weighing on him again.

“You’re right about that. I’ll need to teach him etiquette for the party, not to mention basic dances and even light political banter.”

His perfectly sculpted brow furrowed.

“Don’t tell me I have to teach him poker too? Even back-alley urchins know how to play poker.”

Before the cigar ash could fall into the fragrant bathwater, Alain deftly caught it on a small tray and replied.

“The sooner the lessons start, the better. Why not teach him yourself, Your Grace?”
“Me?”
“Would you rather I do it?”
“I’ve already arranged for Louis to handle it.”

Alain narrowed his eyes, clearly dissatisfied with Mikhail’s choice.

“If you think the young master’s handsome face alone will win Her Highness’s heart, you’re gravely mistaken.”

Mikhail let out a soft laugh.

“You really don’t understand Isabella, Alain. That woman would chase after a chimney sweep if he had a face like his. She doesn’t care about anything else.”
“Even so, she has a surprisingly discerning eye. After all, she fell for you, didn’t she? He’ll need to be flawless.”
“Fair point.”

Alain stroked his neatly trimmed beard thoughtfully.

“From what I’ve seen, the basics are there. All that’s left is to polish him.”
“Polish him?”
“Well, if there’s one thing Your Grace is an expert at, it’s that.”