∴ ∵ ∴
“I haven’t seen you before,” remarked an unfamiliar voice.
Rose carefully closed the chicken coop door behind her.
I haven’t seen you before, either. She stood in front of the coop and studied her rude new guest—a man around the same age as Harij.
Clothes fit for a gentleman tailored from the finest materials emphasized his tall and slender build. He had well-defined facial features and a sexy allure appropriate for his age, though it was a tad on the sweeter side. His long, glossy black hair was tied back with a few locks left loose around his face, increasing his overall charm. His eyes shone like well-polished jade in the morning light.
Two months had passed since Rose started living in the Azm mansion. In that time, there were only a few visitors: the miller’s son, the ash collector, and the mailman.
“That reminds me, Harij did say he hired a new maid. Hey, you. A young lady has recently moved in, right? Have you met her?”
Some might say he was a very unconventional man lacking in common sense to visit someone’s home without an appointment and at the early hour when the sky was still flecked with purple. Tala, at least, would deem him as such. She had been teaching Rose a lot about the world, which she’d had little experience with. Tala talked her ear off with warnings such as “Stay away from strange men” and “Don’t follow strangers even if they offer you candy.”
In this case, however, Rose suspected this unusual man came from a place where his lack of sensibility was permitted. Only someone of greater status than Harij, a nobleman, could skip out on the required formalities.
She wasn’t sure if he came at this early hour just to flaunt his close relationship with Harij, but she wished he would direct his insinuations elsewhere. After all, she was Harij’s fiancée, whom he wanted to marry soon. To repeat: she was his fiancée.
Feelings of rivalry brewing within her, Rose decided to ignore the man’s question.
She set aside her basket, which was filled with the warm eggs she had just fetched from the coop, and commenced scraping gunk off the soles of her boots with a stick.
“What do you think you’re doing when a guest has just arrived—filthy woman.”
The man was visibly repulsed by the sludge caked on the bottom of her boots, which only fanned the flames of enmity she felt toward him. I don’t think I’m very compatible with this man. Resisting the urge to throw the stick at his face, Rose pulled her robe’s hood back on to hide her mounting displeasure.
His face stiffened when he saw her like that.
“…You’re a witch?”
The frivolous air about him instantly transformed into palpable tension.
A witch’s robe wasn’t defined by any specific design features, but normal people avoided wearing dark-colored robes with deep hoods—because they would be mistaken for a witch.
In other words, it was generally only witches who could don robes darker than night with hoods deeper than a net.
Rose tossed aside the stick smeared with chaff clumped together with chicken droppings.
She glanced at the man and slowly walked toward him. He shot her a sharp look. She took one step closer, then another—then bent over beside him. That was where she had left the wooden bucket she had just filled with water.
With the bucket tucked under one arm, she dipped her opposite hand in and sprinkled water about the coop. She had determined it would be a hot day from the state of the clouds and wanted to keep the chickens cool. I should probably hurry to the hermitage soon.
As the man gawked at her actions, he scowled as if he were watching something unfathomable.
“Are you—”
“Ah—”
Rose had no time to warn the man approaching her before he slipped and fell. The fresh sprinkling of water alone made the ground slick enough—add in the straw and chaff strewn about the chicken coop, and it was a recipe for slipping.
The man landed on his bottom on top of the wet soil with a dumbfounded look on his face. The chickens clucked with glee inside the coop as if they were laughing at him covered in their droppings and feed.
Rose glared at the man for a long moment. He was glaring back at her.
After what felt like an eternally long staring contest, there was a rush of frantic footsteps from the mansion.
“What are you doing?!” Harij strode through the courtyard with wide steps.
Rose quickly called out to him: “Sir Harij, please be careful. That spot is slippery because I just watered it.”
At her words, Harij slowed down.
“HUH?! Why didn’t you give me the same warning?!” the man complained.
“I was wondering what urgent business brought you here at this hour without warning… For nothing, apparently. What’re you fussing over?” Harij offered his hand to the man sitting in the mud. If this man was the same person Rose assumed he was, then Harij was awfully casual with him.
While she watched the inattentive way he was being helped up with surprise, the now-standing man scowled at the soiled state his bottom and clothes were in.
“You got yourself a witch, not a woman.”
There was no originality in his trite words of contempt. Rose continued looking straight into the man’s jade eyes without so much as a wince on her perfectly composed face. Harij raised an eyebrow to express his disapproval.
“A witch is always a woman.”
“No, I’m not talking about semantics here…”
The man looked as if he were about to explain what he really meant, seemingly under the assumption his initial comment had been misunderstood, when he saw the expression on Harij’s face. Then he must have realized Harij was deliberately pretending not to hear his slight against her.
Harij imparted his thoughts on the matter to the silenced man with an unyielding tone: “I have no intention of debating the matter with anyone—even you.”
“Harij, tell me it isn’t true you…”
Harij forcefully handed the man the handkerchief he pulled from his breast pocket. He then turned toward Rose, ignoring the rest of what the man was trying to ask.
“I’m sorry. This man said some rude things to you. I’m sure his sudden visit must have startled you. He is my friend. His name is Yašm.”
She expected that. Yašm was the name of the royal personage Harij was currently assigned to protect, the older brother of Lau—Billaura, the princess who had formerly been her client—and the second son of King Marjan, who ruled over this region.
“Did he do anything else to you?”
Rose glanced at Yašm, who was using Harij’s handkerchief to meticulously wipe the filth from his clothes. Harij likely didn’t treat him like a prince because he was here incognito.
“He said some uncivil things, but we are even, now that he bears the same look he scorned me for.”
Yašm’s cheeks twitched as the Witch snorted at him. “Okay, Harij. I’m begging you to laugh this question off as a bad joke. Your fiancée can’t possibly be—”
“Her, yes. Her name is Rose. I will formally introduce you later. Come change your clothes first.”
Yašm stood rooted to the ground, directing a stunned look at Harij for the unsparing affirmation of his worst fears.