Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The boy’s face was paler than his snow-white hair. He looked twelve or thirteen, but his features were so delicate they commanded attention. Calling him beautiful wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

But his skin was entirely bloodless. He was so thin that anyone could tell at a glance he was unwell.

The only color on him was his purple eyes. Contempt and irritation swirled openly in those mysterious depths.

He gave his surroundings a cursory glance, scowled, and snapped.

“I wondered how grand this place would be. It’s a doghouse. If you’re going to stick me out here, shouldn’t it at least match the mansion in the Capital?”

“I apologize, Young Master. Maresa has a building height restriction. We couldn’t build anything taller than two stories. This was the best we could do.”

“Ha.”

He scoffed in disbelief. The cramped size wasn’t even the worst part. The low stone wall offered zero privacy. He hated it.

“Then what’s with that wall? Did you build it like this so anyone can just look in and climb over?”

“Not at all. The garden isn’t very spacious. A high wall would make it feel far too stifling, so we kept it low on purpose. Most of the locals take a wide detour around the property, and even those who pass by wouldn’t dare peek inside. You won’t be inconvenienced. We haven’t had a single issue while staying here, and now that the master has arrived, they will be even more careful. But if you give the order, I will have the wall raised today.”

He wanted to order the wall raised immediately. But boxing in this already pathetic garden would make it worse than a doghouse.

Besides, the long carriage ride had exhausted him. Even this minor decision was irritating. Faint, shallow breaths slipped from his pale lips.

Rodney caught the shift in his master’s condition and spoke carefully.

“This is a rural village. Outsiders rarely visit, so the roads are terribly rough. We were bedridden for days when we first arrived. You traveled in such a hurry, I worry the journey has taken a toll on you. Our preparations are lacking, and I know this doesn’t meet your standards, but the interior is spotless. Please, for my sake, be generous and overlook the rest.”

Rodney didn’t mention his frailty. He blamed the backward village and his own lack of preparation. The words were coated in honey and sugar.

The boy saw right through the butler’s tact. He gave a reluctant nod.

He was at his physical limit anyway. And no matter how much he despised this doghouse, he was stuck here for the foreseeable future.

“Thank you, Young Master Adrian.”

Rodney smiled warmly and took the lead at a slow pace.

The boy, Adrian, glared at the stiff, frozen staff. He cast a cold look over the deep green foliage and followed Rodney inside.

While the empty villa welcomed its master, Olivia was already hard at work at a local farm.

Most farms in Maresa grew olives and grapes. It was a common sight this time of year: harvest the grapes first, then pick the ripening olives.

Olivia had spent September touring the vineyards, harvesting the plump, ripe fruit. Since last week, she had been working the olive groves.

She enjoyed picking grapes, but she liked the olive harvest more. When her father was alive, they’d owned a small olive grove of their own. Her own name was derived from the fruit. It made her feel a special attachment to the work.

Names like Olivia and Oliver were incredibly common in the Verdia Region. There were two other Olivias in Maresa alone. She didn’t care. Both of them were decades older than her, so there was no risk of confusion.

Olivia’s hands moved in a blur. She filled half her basket and climbed down from the tree.

Wages were calculated by the weight of the harvest. The other workers spread wide tarps on the ground and shook the branches to bring the fruit raining down, filling their baskets in record time. Olivia didn’t have that kind of strength, so she had to pick the olives by hand.

It took longer, but it had its advantages. Her olives were unblemished, uniform in color and size. They didn’t need to be sorted again. That meticulous care was the only reason she earned as much as the adult men.

She slung a fresh basket over her shoulder and climbed back up. Aside from a few quick water breaks in the shade, she didn’t slack off for a second. She spent the entire morning scrambling up and down the branches like a monkey.

Anton, the farm owner, surveyed her four full baskets. He smiled in satisfaction.

“Good work today. You’re getting faster.”

“Only because you keep giving me work! My assigned trees are pretty much picked clean. When should I come back?”

“Hmm. Come back in a week. Even if the fruit isn’t quite ripe, I’ll make sure you don’t waste a trip, so don’t worry.”

Olivia tucked the coins into her bag and gave a bright nod.

Curing olives and pressing oil wasn’t work for a young girl, but sorting out blemished fruit and washing the harvest was easy enough. The pay was low for such simple labor, but Olivia never turned down a chance to earn a coin.

She washed her hands and face, then headed home, exchanging greetings with everyone she passed. By the time she reached the villa, the carriages were gone.

Usually, the staff would be out in the garden at this hour. Today, the grounds were completely empty. The ‘master’ had arrived. The silence was so absolute it felt cold.

The heavy atmosphere made her instinctively cautious. She stopped running and walked quietly past the property. Only when she cleared the end of the low stone wall did she let out a breath and break into a run again.

Adrian lay in bed, staring out the window. He scowled out of habit as a tacky peasant girl ran past.

“Filthy.”

She had crept along like a mouse, clearly trying to snoop. He’d had plenty of time to observe her.

She was small and sunburnt. Her clothes were patched, shabby, and covered in dirt. Was this just how country people lived? Even the commoners in the Capital didn’t look like that.

Adrian hated wandering around, so he’d never actually seen a beggar in person. But how was that dingy girl any different? She probably reeked up close. Just imagining it made his stomach churn.

There wasn’t a single redeeming quality about this place.

He yanked the curtains shut, gripped the bedsheets, and bit the inside of his lip.

How long do I have to rot in this dump?

The unanswerable question left a bitter taste in his throat.

Adrian glared at the tapestry on the wall. A straight longsword flanked by blooming olive branches—the crest of the Sheliak Family. Staring at the gorgeous embroidery just made him want to scream curses.

Sheliak. One of the three ducal families of the Astra Empire. They were the living embodiment of the proverb: Humble beginnings, prosperous ends.

The other two duchies were founding contributors to the empire. The Sheliaks were only in their sixth generation. The family had started with a commoner knight who earned a title through wartime merit.

Even so, they were now one of the most powerful bloodlines in the world. And Adrian was the sole heir to the Sheliak Family.

People liked to say all lives were equal. Status was not. Like any high noble, Adrian was born with a golden spoon in his mouth. His parents, wanting to avoid a pointless succession war, had him formally invested as the young duke immediately. No other siblings followed.

His path was completely clear. He had no reason to ever fear the future.

Until he collapsed in the winter two years ago.

The cause had been a lethal dose of poison in his drink.

He should have died on the spot. He was barely kept alive by exhausting every known medical treatment in the world. It was like pouring water into a cracked jug, but somehow, miraculously, he survived.

But the aftereffects ravaged his stamina. The doctors unanimously agreed: he desperately needed rest and recuperation.

He had stayed in the duchy at first. But the retainers hovering over him, constantly fretting over his health, only made him anxious.

The Duke and Duchess had preemptively bought land and built villas in various towns and villages known for being “good for recuperation.” Maresa was one of them.

Adrian chose Maresa simply because it was the closest to the duchy. In his current state, he couldn’t have survived a longer journey.

Ever since his body broke down, he had been stripped of his choices. He had spent his entire life doing exactly what he wanted, whenever he wanted. Now, his reality was so pathetic he could barely stand it.

Worst of all was the culprit. The poisoning had been ordered by a branch family of the Sheliaks. A blood relative.

Pure, instinctual rage and betrayal flared hot in his chest. His eyes burned.

He swallowed the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, pulled the blanket over his head, and ground out a curse.

Why am I the only one suffering like this?

The heirs of the other great families were out there right now, carelessly enjoying their power. He was the only one trapped like this, weak and broken. The humiliation was agonizing.

Buried under the thick down comforter, the boy silently swallowed his tears.