Octavia the Blistered hath made a full recovery!
The castle physician happened to be making his rounds, so he came immediately and tended to my foot, lickety-split. He applied a salve and a bandage and gave me some gentle advice: “I see this affliction often in noblewomen, and it’s important to treat it early.”
…My naïveté was exposed.
’Tis but a blister! Ahh, but a blister all the same…!
So I changed my shoes! They weren’t pink like my dress, but they were flats like I was used to. My handmaid Sasha brought them. I slipped them on and stomped to get a feel for them. Then I walked—so far so good. With these babies, even a full-speed dash down the secret passageway is within the realm of possibility!
Watching me, Sasha said, “But my lady, shouldn’t you just let Sir Alderton carry you anyway?”
“I agree,” the doctor echoed. “I may have treated the wound, but it is still not fully healed. You should strain your foot as little as possible—in other words, not walking is the best medicine.”
After that ridiculous exchange, there was a dicey moment during which Klifford asked “Shall I carry you?” in all seriousness, but I cleared that hurdle and arrived at the door to my father’s study on my own two feet.
If Klifford carried me through the castle, my sanity would suffer in more ways than one. Just as I finally got comfortable being close to Klifford again, I would be whisked back to square one.
It’s just… My father’s study right now…
The guards that ordinarily flanked the door were not there. The guards stationed at the stairway leading here were still present, though. A little polite begging led the guards to reveal that Lord Edgar was visiting my father at the moment.
Sometimes my father would send his guards away when Edgar came to see him.
Meanwhile, there I was, brazenly marching up to the door of his study anyway.
This challenge was a first for me.
I gulped nervously. For a speedy request-for-audience, I had considered just asking the guards stationed at the door…but now I had no choice but to ask him face to face!
Strike while the iron is brave!
I knocked on the door and—
“—I just don’t see why you’re angry, Enoch. At the very least, your anger is misplaced.”
It was Edgar’s voice, but I had never heard him speak in that tone. He sounded cold—very cold. As if he was being forced to speak with somebody he truly detested… But that couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense.
Always peaceful and kind. That was the image I had of Lord Edgar. And all the more so, considering he was talking to…
“Are you saying I don’t even have the right?”
…my father. And yet…
The answer my father gave Lord Edgar was…cynical…and filled with self-deprecation.
Edgar’s laugh was laced with hostility. I could hear the contempt in his voice.
“No, you don’t. You aren’t—”
Stop it.
I shouldn’t be hearing this.
I pounded on the door.
“Father, it’s Octavia. I’ve come to request an audience!”
I spoke as loudly as I could.
But I heard it anyway. And Edgar’s words sank eerily into a corner of my mind.
“You aren’t a part of the family.”
What he meant by that…I didn’t know. I had no idea whose family he was referring to.
All I knew was that his words cut like a knife—a rejection that left my father utterly helpless.
The silence continued. One second…two seconds…three seconds…
Then I heard the door to the study click open.
“It’s been three days… I haven’t seen you since our little chat in the garden, Octavia.”
Edgar was the one who opened the door. His expression was gentle, just as gentle as it had been when he put the Lieche orchid in my hair. He gestured toward the study to welcome me in.
The way he treated me was so ordinary that it was hard to even imagine them having the conversation I had just overheard.
I peered into the study. It looked about the same as it did the night I came by after dinner, before Alec departed on his mission. The only difference was that my father had been seated at his desk…but now, he was standing.
He was talking with Edgar—if it could even be called talking…it feels more like arguing is the right word to use here—and that’s probably why he was standing.
From my place in the hallway, I glanced between Edgar, who was standing right beside me, to my father, who was deeper inside the room. Edgar smiled when our eyes met. My father was emotionless.
After a breath in and out, he finally said, “Enter, Octavia. Leave Alderton outside.”
Last time he had let Klifford join me, but not this time. With a nod, I turned to Klifford to give my own order. But then—
“Given yesterday’s events, wouldn’t it be safer to let Octavia keep her bodyguard with her?”
Edgar stepped up to defy the order.
“Octavia, do you perceive myself or Edgar as a threat?”
“Enoch, that is neither here nor there. It’s a matter of emotional security, not physical. Unless, Octavia, were you planning on discussing anything you didn’t want him overhearing?”
“No, Lord Edgar.”
He was right, I would feel more emotionally secure with Klifford in the room. So I had no reason to oppose Edgar.
My father sighed deeply. Edgar said nothing more. The final say lay with my father, the king.
“I stand by what I said—only Octavia shall enter.”
Klifford was on standby outside the door—the door part was key here. When you consider how my father had sent his own guards and everyone else away from his study, I think the gesture was rather generous for him. Case in point, Klifford was the only guard stationed outside the door to his study.
It was so far so good…until we hit a little snag.
Just after I entered the room, Edgar heard my tummy rumbling. Anyway, sensing I had skipped breakfast, it was decided that we would have breakfast together in Father’s study!
And boy, when my stomach growled, my cheeks almost literally burst into flames… My only saving grace was that I think only Edgar heard the rumbles in my gut! I mean, I usually pig out at the breakfast table, so was it because my stomach was unusually empty this morning? Nonetheless, I do wish my stomach would learn to read the room!
Since there was no dining table in my father’s study, we had snacks instead of a proper meal.
My father sat at the head of the long reception desk, and Edgar and I sat across from each other on the sides. And after a quick call to some servants, the table was covered with an assortment of things stuffed between pieces of black bread—basically, sandwiches—drinks, and fruit. Though where my father was sitting, there was also a stack of documents.
And we were right in the middle of Esfia’s version of itadakimasu—my father asking the Sky God to bless our meal.
As the pile of sandwiches stared at me, I glanced at the door to the study.
Klifford came to my room early this morning, didn’t he? I’m sure Sasha summoned him early for my sake, but did Klifford have to skip breakfast, too? If he did manage to eat anything, it would have to be pocket rations or something…
As I sat there, musing to myself—
“It appears the chef went a little overboard. I don’t think the three of us can finish all this food…” Reading my mind, Edgar spoke up on my behalf. “Why don’t we have Klifford help us eat this?”
“Good idea,” I replied.
“…Then have a servant bring it to him.”
But the servant in question had already left the room.
“No need for that, Father.”
“What?”
“I shall deliver it personally.”
I mean, Klifford isn’t exactly the kind of guy to take food or drink from a third party! But if his Sovereign feeds him, he can’t refuse!
“…” My father’s brows furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak—then shut it. Silence. In other words, “Do as you wish.”
And thus, I began the selection. I stared critically at the assortment of sandwiches and jammed breads.