It took several moments to realize the butler had not left.
In fact, Historia was surprised not to have noticed sooner. His piercing scrutiny was besieging, far more intense than any words he could have spoken. Perhaps he had something to say?
Unable to endure another agonizing second of his penetrating gaze, Historia opted to be the first to shatter the lingering stillness. “Did you have something to say?” she ventured, her tone wary.
Juliere savored the silence, stretching it out as if meticulously deliberating her simple query. Finally, he replied, “It chills me to the bone to see Her Grace before me, yet know it is not truly her inside.”
Historia opened her mouth, then faltered, caught off guard by his confession. What could she possibly say to that? An apology seemed inappropriate considering she did not–and would not–claim fault in this ordeal. Fortunately, the butler, in his unwitting mercy, spared her the burden of reply.
“I believe you speak the truth when you claim you remember nothing before the coma,” he continued. His posture was as rigid as the first time she had laid eyes on him, arms folded behind his back in a very stately manner. As usual, he was all business.
“Because I speak the truth,” the girl shot back, eyes darting away. “I don’t know how this all happened and now I’m being coerced into marrying someone I’ve never met. It’s sickening.”
“You seem unfamiliar with nobility. Most unions are that of convenience and contract. It is rare for an aristocratic couple to marry out of love. You should consider yourself quite fortunate that the circumstances regarding your union are somewhat different.”
Historia struggled to contain her disbelief at his antipathy. “I don’t feel lucky at all.”
Juliere merely shrugged, indifferent to her plight. “Then, consider it an honor to be of use to the duchess.”
His inflection implied more a warning than a suggestion–that regardless of her feelings, she should be grateful for the brevity of her role. Would he feel the same if he was in her shoes? Well, she didn’t intend to dwell on it for long, reminding herself that her words would change nothing.
“Can you explain what's going on?” Historia inquired, shifting the conversation. The cobalt flames flickering in the hearth cast a mesmerizing glow, tempting her focus from the man. “Perhaps a few details will help jog my memory.”
Juliere’s dark eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, forming the tiniest crack in his otherwise impenetrable demeanor. It was so elusive, however, leaving Historia curiously unsure of what emotion had tried to break through.
“I know as much as you do,” he admitted, an edge of caution in his cadence. “You had just started working as Her Grace’s personal maid. The previous one had unexpectedly stopped coming to work. When knights investigated her home, it seemed she had left in a hurry. We spent nearly a month trying to find even a scintilla of her whereabouts, but it was as if she had never existed. I cannot say much, bur it is disturbingly common these days for people to disappear without warning. Given the pay Her Grace offers and the years she invested here, it is most likely she had saved enough to just up and leave.”
“Was she really worth all that trouble?” Eternalli’s apparent concern for a mere servant astonished Historia. “Enough to send knights to check on her?"
The notion of someone disappearing without explanation was unnerving.
“Finding someone of her caliber is rare these days.” Juliere adjusted his spectacles, causing glimmers of light to dance across the lenses. “Soon after, Her Grace publicized her need for a new personal attendant. Ladies of various statuses applied, yet somehow”–he was certain to emphasize this–”you won her favor. Not even a month had passed before Commander Grimspire discovered both you and the duchess unconscious in her chambers one fateful morning.”
“How long was Eternalli–”
“Her Grace,” the butler interrupted sharply, as if she had uttered a curse.
“How long was she unconscious for?” Historia barely managed to refrain from contorting her expression into a scowl. It would require ample effort on her part to address that woman as such, and she wasn’t quite ready to put in the work just yet.
“No more than a day.” The viridian of Juliere’s irises darkened. “As you were unconscious, we could not be certain you had overtaken Her Grace’s body. Considering the circumstances, it was not unlikely. For the past three months, we operated under the assumption you were possessing her body. The faintest traces of life were detected, meaning someone was in there.”
“And your assumptions were, unfortunately, correct,” Historia finished grimly.
“Yes. Her Grace seemed to know precisely what happened the moment it occurred, though not how. At first, I advised her that this could be something else, but she would hear none of it. Not long ago, Her Grace would never have considered such fictitious nonsense. Recently, she has been acting quite…strange.”
Historia furrowed her brows, the pronounced crease forming between them reflecting the depth of her contemplation. “Can you still deem it ‘fictitious’ or ‘nonsense’ at this point? You’ve confirmed it with your own eyes.”
Juliere ignored her question, seamlessly continuing with his train of thought. “We have scoured every corner of the capital, even pursuing leads beyond the empire’s borders, in search of anything or anyone that could remedy your condition. Regrettably, our efforts have yielded minimal success.”
“Not even the slightest inkling?”
Historia could not shake her annoyance at the stagnation that had persisted for months, especially given the vast resources and influence of a duchess. Yet, could she truly voice her complaints? After all, she had been largely absent, having slept through the better part of the struggle thus far.
Juliere shook his head. “Even the most venerable wizards and most learned alchemists, or the most devoted priests and bishops with immeasurable divinity, had never encountered a single account of anyone in the annals of history undergoing such an extraordinary phenomenon.” He sighed, the sound strained from the burden of deep-seated frustration. “In our desperation, we even dispatched knights to the farthest reaches of the south, to the oldest of civilizations in existence. Absolutely nothing.”
Nothing clicked into place or fell into alignment; it remained a tangled web of mysteries, resolute in its defiance against understanding. She tried to bury the burgeoning hopelessness, holding onto the notion that if this could even happen in the first place, then it could, somehow, be reversed.
“But bear in mind that you are not entirely free of suspicion,” Juliere warned, narrowing his eyes pointedly. “At least, not in my book. Very meager information was available on your personal background. It was not even clear what status you held, if any, or what family you hailed from. By some stroke of luck, you somehow beguiled Her Grace into choosing you of all candidates. A girl of unknown origins switches bodies with Duchess Von Schayer the moment she worms her way into the mansion… If you are responsible for this, you will sincerely regret it.”
Juliere’s threat hung heavily in the space between them. Every response she considered only caught in her throat, refusing to be uttered. Her memories, even the most basic reveries of life before today, had vanished. Their absence allowed no evidence to support any conviction she could dare make in proclaiming her innocence.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she muttered, though more to herself. “Actually, I’m surprised. I expected to awaken in confinement of some sort.”
Juliere scoffed, stopping just short of nearly rolling his eyes. “You occupy one of the most precious nobles in all the Grandeltas Empire. Even if you were the iniquitous Dark Lord of the Lowestlands, we would still not have thrown you in jail."
“I assume you have records on me from when I applied, yes?”
“Indeed.” Juliere held up a finger, an edge to his voice. “But you must seek the duchess’ consent first.”
“Well, can you ask her?” Historia scanned his face, gauging his reaction. “If that’s too much to ask, then show me where she is, so that I may ask her myself.”
“Do you not realize what time it is?” Juliere was authentically appalled. “She will have retired to her chambers by now and I don’t intend to further inconvenience her tonight. Do not get ahead of yourself I am only telling you all this as a one-time courtesy.”
Historia could hardly agree to that, but knew her dissent would only be met with pushback of greater force.
“How grateful I am for your sympathy,” Historia grumbled, reluctantly relenting despite the overwhelmingly cynical desire to be obstinate.
Juliere ignored the animosity laced between her words, unaffected. “Now, I have said what I needed, so I shall take my leave. I suggest you get as much rest as you can. Tomorrow may be extremely busy for you.”
“And what could I possibly have scheduled already?”
“I know the duchess like the back of my hand. She is many things, and patient is not one of them,” he explained, readjusting his glasses that had slid down his nose. “I am certain a priest or the family’s physician will be summoned to assess your condition as soon as tomorrow. If you are deemed noncritical, Her Grace is sure to have you preparing to marry the emperor as soon as possible. I am certain that if she could, she would have you walking down the aisle in the Grand Cathedral right this very moment.“
Ah,” Historia exhaled. That woman intended to suffocate her, denying her even a breath of air or a moment of peace. “I see. She’s truly serious about that.”
“The duchess has no time for jests or pranks.” He halted at the threshold of the door. “Oh, and if you happen to require anything throughout the night, there is a knight stationed just outside the door.”
After cutting the power to the chandelier, he abandoned the girl in solitude and shadows. For a long while, the girl stared blankly at the canopy, periodically relinquishing spurts of attention to the bluish silhouettes lurching along the dimly lit walls. What she learned so far was of comparably very little value in comparison to the yearning for a clearer understanding of the circumstances that had led her here.
“Should I just run away?” Historia whispered, staring into the black void above. Almost immediately, she laughed at her foolishness. “I can’t. Not without a place to go.”
Closing her eyes, she attempted to calm her mind, believing that in the end, things had ways of working themselves out. And if they didn’t, she would make sure they did.
She swore on her life.
****
Early sunlight shyly peeked through the glass windows, timidly infiltrating the cream-colored curtains with thin strands of brilliance.
Somehow, she had managed an unsatisfyingly fitful slumber in spite of being riddled with anxiety late into the night. Historia had assumed sleep was unreachable so soon considering the months she spent unconscious, but life often had a way of proving her wrong for its own amusement. She could not remember when her consciousness had faded, but now, awakening for the second time in less than a day, a profound sense of misery enveloped her as she groaned.
Any moment now, someone would come to rouse her from sleep; the strangest prickling upon her skin warned her so.
As if mere thought alone conjured her thoughts into existence, a dreadful knock rattled the door. The sound crackled through the quiet, and without awaiting a response, the intruder flung the door open and burst through. Historia became alert instantly, jerking upward as quickly as her sluggish form would permit.
“Good morning!” the newcomer chirped, smiling largely. Her vibrancy caused Historia’s skin to crawl, a feeling which only deepened when, without prompting, she took it upon herself to draw the curtains, allowing sunlight to flood in. “I am so honored to serve you, Your Grace. I am–”
“Lore Brighthaven!” The familiar voice of the butler rang down the hall, low but clear. He arrived soon after, flustered. At the sight of the sprightly young girl in the maid’s uniform, anger flashed in his face. “Do you crave punishment?”
“No, sir,” Lore squeaked. “I-I was only introducing myself to the duchess.”
“Barging into the room without explicit permission to enter is unacceptable,” Juliere growled, looming over his subordinate. “Have you forgotten your training?”
Lore clasped her hands at her chest. “I apologize, sir. I was too excited.”
“Apologize to Her Grace.” Juliere jabbed a finger at Historia, who sat frozen in confusion. “Now.” His tone brooked no argument, emphasizing the gravity of her actions.
Lore, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, curtsied deeply. “Forgive me, Your Grace.”
She humbly lowered her gaze, seeking forgiveness. But it seemed it was not enough for the butler. Juliere shoved the maid forward suddenly, causing her to stumble. Catching herself, she glanced back at him, rattled by his act of aggression. In an act of further contrition, she dropped to her knees, pressing her face into the plush carpet in repentance.
“Your Grace, I am sincerely sorry." The carpet stifled her pleas as Historia’s bewilderment outshadowed any sympathy she might have felt. "I will accept any punishment you deem fit!”
“You keep saying ‘Your Grace.’” Historia, in spite of appearing insane, furtively glanced around the room in search of the duchess. "Is she here?"
Before things could further spiral, Juliere advanced, commanding the attention of the room. “This is your new personal attendant, Your Grace. She is very new and has no idea what is going on.”
Historia deliberated the unusual intonation and the sharpness of his gaze as he addressed her, dissecting the emphasis of specific words. Gradually, the underlying implications of his speech began to crystallize in her mind, revealing his subtle insinuations without explicitly stating his intentions.
“O-Oh, me–the duchess,” she stammered, tongue fumbling. “It’s quite alright.”
For whatever reason, the maid was not part of the inner circle, unaware her new master was an imposter.
"How lucky you are, Miss Brighthaven. Never, in all the years I have served the duchess, have I witnessed such compassion," Juliere said, derision woven into his words. “Bear in mind, you may not be so lucky next time.”
Lore perked up, springing to her loafer-clad feet, bee-lining to Historia. A childlike spark twinkled in her pale, blue eyes, unfazed by what had just transpired.
“You are so kind, Your Grace!” she beamed, fawning over her seemingly benevolent master.
Frowning, Historia disagreed, “I am not kind.”
Lore’s cheerfulness remained undeterred. “I can tell that was a genuine response,” she stated brazenly.
“Do you have mind-reading abilities I’m unaware of?” She barely had the energy to crush Lore's spirit, but felt an impulse to be crass. Maybe it was her optimistic nature clashing with her own wryness. "Or perhaps you somehow know me better than I know myself?"
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