CHAPTER 71: VILLAIN

When I went to Annabel’s room that morning, I couldn’t find her, but soon enough I learned she was in the garden, having breakfast with Willabelle. That was unusual, because she had never liked Willabelle very much. Of course, she had never said so outright, but I could sense it from the way her eyes looked at her.

So, I told the servants to take me to them. When I reached the garden, I saw the two women seated across from each other, sharing breakfast amidst fragrant flowers, within the white pavilion of the camellias. Willabelle seemed more at ease than usual, while Annabel was, as always, cheerful.

Magnus and Lucareth, oddly enough, were playing together in a corner. Strange. I had thought they didn’t get along very well. Perhaps children could sense who their mothers favored or disliked; and since Annabel and Willabelle seemed to be getting along better these days, their sons had followed suit.

As I approached, both women rose to greet me. The morning sun spilled over the garden table, catching on the white petals of the camellias, as if it sought to highlight the serenity of the scene.

Annabel’s slender fingers brushed the hem of her dress as she offered me her customary warm smile with a graceful curtsy. Willabelle was more restrained, her expression touched with the delicate languor of someone only just awakened. As she inclined her head toward me, the faintest hint of a smile flickered on her lips.

"Good morning, Count," Willabelle said, her voice softer, warmer than usual.

Annabel quickly interjected, her tone lively: "We were waiting for you and Rebecca. Come join us. A breakfast this lovely shouldn’t be eaten alone."

For a moment, I was surprised. That such a distance could close so quickly between them seemed almost unbelievable. Yet as I stepped toward the table, I felt a quiet sense of peace within me.

Lucareth’s laughter rang out. He had tumbled onto the grass while playing with Magnus, his clothes smeared with green stains. Magnus, patient as ever, reached out his hand to pull him back up. The sight struck me as almost ironic. These two children would one day grow into men whose battles could lay waste to entire cities, yet here they were, laughing together in the grass.

Annabel set her silver fork gently onto her plate and turned toward me. "Where is Rebecca? We asked the servants to invite her to breakfast," she said.

Before I could answer, I heard the sound of familiar footsteps at the garden entrance. Rebecca appeared, her white hair glinting against the morning light as she walked slowly toward us. Her dark navy robe stood in striking contrast with the pale camellias, yet her gait was... strange.

She walked as though she were in pain. No, she was in pain, and I was the cause. I might have been a little rough with her last night, and though she was one of the Empire’s most powerful sorceresses, the fact that she now moved like a penguin amused me greatly.

As Rebecca drew nearer, a hush fell over the table, spreading like shadows around us. Annabel’s lips parted in curiosity, and Willabelle’s brow lifted ever so slightly, the silence growing heavier still.

But my mind was fixed on a single thought: last night. What had passed between Rebecca and me was a hidden bond that did not belong in the innocence of this morning tableau. No matter how straight she held herself, her body betrayed her in small ways; unsteady steps, breath that caught faintly among the camellias.

When she reached the table, she offered a brief bow, her eyes flicking to me for the briefest of moments. Was it anger I saw there, or veiled shame? Hard to say. Yet deep within her gaze lingered a spark only I could understand.

Annabel rose at once, as if nothing were amiss. "Lady Rebecca, at last. We’ve been waiting for you."

"Forgive me for keeping you. This is a lovely setting for breakfast," Rebecca replied.

She moved to sit, with the grace of habit but not of ease. As she adjusted her robe, a faint groan escaped her lips, betraying the stab of pain in her back. I caught the fleeting shadow that crossed her face, the involuntary purse of her lips, the narrowing of her eyes.

Annabel noticed nothing, still prattling on about jams and fresh bread. But Willabelle’s gaze lingered a little too long on Rebecca, a faint crease of curiosity forming between her brows.

When Rebecca finally sat, she hesitated to lean back. One hand braced discreetly on the table, the other slipped under her robe, almost unseen, pressing at her waist. I knew exactly what she was doing — holding herself steady, hiding her pain behind a shield. And I alone could see how fragile that shield really was.

At last, Willabelle broke the silence, her tone deceptively innocent yet edged with quiet irony: "You look a little tired, Lady Rebecca. I trust you slept well?"

Rebecca’s fork froze mid-air. A thin line of frost settled at the corners of her lips. She cast me a sidelong glance, just for an instant, before replying calmly: "Do not worry about me, I am well. But perhaps you should be the one to take care. It seems you may have sleepless nights of your own before long."

Her words fell like a velvet handkerchief on the table, soft to the touch, but with a thorn hidden at the corner.

Willabelle’s teacup hovered in her hand, her eyes narrowing for the briefest moment before her lips curved into a diplomatic smile. "There is no need for you to trouble yourself over my nights, Lady Rebecca," she said, her voice silken but with steel beneath. "I know quite well how to sleep... and how to make others sleep."

Annabel looked between them wide-eyed, like a child caught watching her parents quarrel. "Sleep? But Rebecca, you hardly sleep at night. Just last night, I saw the light shining from your room," she said innocently.

I nearly burst out laughing. Poor Annabel, her guileless words were unintentionally hilarious. Rebecca’s brow twitched, and Willabelle’s lips trembled at the corners.

To me, it was divine comedy. Two powerful women trading veiled barbs, while Annabel stumbled in with disarming innocence. And it seemed clear Rebecca would not be warming to Willabelle anytime soon.

Soon, I excused myself and went to join the boys. The women’s veiled words and Annabel’s naïve attempts at peace had amused me, but now it was time to spend a little time with the children.

Truth be told, I had never been overly fond of children. Babies and toddlers could be sweet enough, but after five years old, especially boys, they quickly lost their charm. And yet, strangely enough, in my previous life I had always ended up being the "favorite older brother" figure.

When I reached them, Magnus was earnestly giving Lucareth advice. "No, if you hold the sword like that, the enemy will knock you down immediately. Look, you have to plant your foot like this."

Lucareth, covered in grass stains, folded his arms and scowled. "Why am I always the enemy? You’re always the hero!"

The line was so familiar I couldn’t help but smile. Yes, little one. The author of this tale wrote you as the villain. But unfortunately for him, I’ve taken that pen away.

"Listen, boys," I said solemnly, "life is not fair. Sometimes one of you falls, and the other helps him up. But in the end, both of you end up covered in the same grass." I stood between them, quite certain I had just delivered a wise piece of counsel.

Lucareth looked at me in confusion. Magnus nodded as if he understood. Then Lucareth suddenly sprang to his feet and pointed at me. "Then that means you’re the villain!" he cried.

Magnus chimed in without hesitation: "Yes! You must be the villain. Because villains always talk like they’re giving advice."

For a moment, I froze. Behind me, Rebecca was probably biting her lip to keep from choking on her coffee, Willabelle hiding a quiet smile, and Annabel desperately protesting, "No, no! Lord Leonardo isn’t the villain!"

But seeing the certainty in their little eyes, I shrugged, drew in my deepest voice, and bent low with exaggerated flourish. "Yes... I am the villain."

Chaos erupted instantly. The two small warriors pounced on me with laughter. In seconds, I was a disheveled count, my cloak tugged, my hair mussed, and my clothes smeared with grass.

At least I was certain of one thing now: these two rascals had no intention of killing each other, not today. I wondered fleetingly. If the future Magnus and Lucareth could see this scene, with their mothers seated together and themselves playing like brothers, they would never believe it.

Lucareth had shoved a twig into my hair, and Magnus was brandishing the corner of my cloak like captured treasure. Straightening with a sigh, brushing grass from my shoulders, my gaze drifted instinctively back to the women.

Rebecca still wore that faint, mocking smile, her lips curved ever so slightly, her eyes hinting at something else. Willabelle raised her cup to her lips, glancing at me sidelong — was that the twitch of a smile, or merely my imagination?

And Annabel dear, innocent Annabel, clapped her hands in alarm. "Oh my Lord, you’re all covered in grass!" Her pure concern, unfeigned and childlike, gave me a peace I had not expected.

When the boys’ laughter finally subsided, Magnus suddenly fixed me with a grave look. "Count Leonardo... are you truly a villain?"

Lucareth chimed in at once, eyes wide with curiosity: "If you’re a villain, why do you make us laugh? In stories, villains never laugh."

I fell silent for a moment. Their innocent curiosity stirred a strange ache in my chest. If only it were that simple, I thought. But aloud, I smiled and answered:

"Villains laugh too. The only difference is... they laugh at the wrong things, in the wrong place, at the wrong time."

Lucareth narrowed his eyes, as though trying to understand. Magnus nodded solemnly, as if he had drawn a great lesson from my words.

Then Annabel called out: "Come, let’s go back to the table. The breakfast is getting cold!"

The boys groaned but stood, and I brushed the last of the grass from my cloak before following them along the garden path. As my steps echoed on the stones, I felt a strange stirring within me: perhaps my views on children were beginning to change. In fact, for the first time, I felt an unexpected desire to have one of my own.