27.
Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over to track hot paths down her cheeks.
“Isn’t the Duke human? Things like that can happen to anyone… Ugh, I’m so embarrassed! I’m absolutely mortified!”
Marin sniffled, scrubbing at her eyes. She had lived her entire life as a refined noblewoman until she realized she had been reincarnated, and this current display of fallibility felt like a strike against every social grace she had ever cultivated.
As she wiped her nose, her gaze landed on the Mandlesong overflowing in the basket. Marin weakly raised a trembling finger toward the culprit.
“You, you… you wicked flower.”
Her hand, drained of strength, flopped back onto the bed. What was the point of blaming the flora? It was her own foolish fault. She should have tested the potency on a small morsel instead of devouring a whole handful.
Knock, knock.
Yuria’s voice drifted in through the door.
“Lady Marin. It’s Yuria.”
“Come in.”
As the door creaked open, Marin pulled herself into a sitting position. Yuria pushed a trolley into the room.
“Lady Marin, I heard you were ill?”
“How did you know, Yuria?”
Marin stared, eyes wide. Yuria gestured to the medicine bottles resting on the trolley.
“Mr. Olive told me to look after you. Are you feeling quite unwell?”
“Mr. Olive? Even Mr. Olive knows about this?”
The room seemed to spin. Marin buried her face in the bedcovers. Was this what death by shame felt like?
“Lady Marin, are you all right?!”
Startled, Yuria rushed to the bedside.
“Ah, my body is fine. It’s just… other parts of me are a bit…”
As her face flushed with heat, she felt a throbbing, pulse-like sensation drumming against her temples.
“Lady Marin, your face is flushed. You have a fever. Although, the medicine I brought is specifically for a stomachache.”
Yuria held up a bottle. Mr. Olive knew exactly where the trouble lay. The tears, having finally ceased, burst forth once more.
“Ah… I’ve already taken that… *sob*.”
“Lady Marin, don’t cry. You must be in significant pain.”
Yuria hovered, her expression etched with genuine concern.
“No, I’m not in pain. It’s just that my heart hurts… *sob*.”
Marin shook her head, frantically drying her eyes. Her physical distress had passed; she was simply dying of mortification.
“Oh, this is Mandlesong! How fortunate. Lady Marin, may I use a little of this?”
“Yes. You can take it all!”
She never wanted to see a Mandlesong again.
“I only need a little. Just a moment.”
Yuria grabbed a handful of the greens and hurried out. Marin sniffled, glaring at the remaining bottles on the trolley. That wretched Duke. To think he had broadcast her stomachache throughout the entire estate. As a male protagonist, was his discretion truly that thin?
“Such a betrayal…”
Who had she ruined her constitution for, anyway? She had only been trying to repay a debt. Marin grumbled at the absent Duke, desperate for a way to salvage her dignity.
Knock, knock. Another knock followed.
“Lady Marin.”
“Come in.”
Marin sat up and inspected the tray Yuria had returned with. It held a white cloth and a pile of mushy, green, lumpy grass crushed beyond recognition. Seeing Marin’s puzzled expression, Yuria smiled brightly.
“I learned this when I was young. If you have a fever, a poultice made from Mandlesong helps draw the heat out.”
“It does?”
So, the folk remedy she had improvised as an excuse for Zero was actually grounded in truth.
“Please, lie down.”
“Okay.”
As she closed her eyes and settled back, a cool cloth touched her forehead. Along with the refreshing, earthy scent of the herbs, she felt the burning in her head begin to recede.
“I think it’s working.”
“Right? I used to do this for my siblings all the time.”
Yuria’s voice was bright, as if she were delighted to be of service.
“You have siblings?”
“Yes. Twins. They work in the castle, just like me.”
“I see. Thank you for looking after me, Yuria.”
“Hehe. It’s nothing. I’m just happy to help, Lady Marin.”
Yuria smiled shyly.
“Right. A really big help… that’s it!”
Marin sat up so abruptly that the cloth and plant paste slid down her face.
“Lady Marin!”
Yuria stared, eyes wide.
“Yuria! That was a huge help! Thank you! Truly, thank you!”
Marin grabbed Yuria’s hands and beamed. She could never force the Duke to ingest the Mandlesong; even if her own stomachache had been minor, the plant was listed in books as toxic. The risk of poisoning him was too great. But what if she didn’t feed it to him—what if she applied it as a compress?
She didn’t know how effective it would be, but even a minimal improvement was worth the effort.
*I shouldn’t hope for too much.*
Restoring his sight entirely was the female lead’s role—the rising star of the herbalist world. Marin nodded to herself, determined.
Yuria watched her intently. Marin, her face smeared with green plant matter from the failed poultice, smiled happily, revealing a flash of white teeth. Yuria returned an awkward, concerned smile.
*Ah, is this why Mr. Olive told me not to take my eyes off her for a single second until tomorrow?*
Marin’s behavior was, as usual, quite eccentric. Yuria decided to stay by her side all night, just as Mr. Olive had instructed.
* * *
“Come in.”
Marin looked down at the trolley she had meticulously prepared. It held a plate of Mandlesong paste, a sheer cloth, a fairy tale book, and a single candle. She opened the office door and pushed the cart inside with calculated care.
“……You’re alive.”
She flinched. The shame she had buried the night before threatened to resurface, but Marin steeled herself. She would simply have to be shameless. With her green eyes shining, she feigned ignorance.
“Pardon? Did something happen?”
If she were still clinging to the standard of a fragile noble lady, she would have died of embarrassment, but she was made of sterner stuff than that.
“Nothing happened.”
She saw his head nod slightly. He seemed to prefer her current demeanor. Marin pushed the trolley closer with newfound confidence.
“Before we read today, I have a favor to ask, Your Grace.”
“A favor?”
“Yes.”
“And why should I grant it?”
Tch. He never let anything pass easily. Marin plastered on a sweet smile—the sort that supposedly disarmed the bitterest of hearts. Of course, he couldn’t actually see it.
“I believe it will be helpful for you, Your Grace.”
“Helping me is the only reason I should consider your request?”
“Yes.”
“And what if I refuse?”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Her expression twitched, but she forced her facial muscles back into a pleasant mask.
“You will say yes.”
“And if I don’t?”
This man was relentless. Marin dropped the sweet act and pouted.
“If you don’t, I’ll do whatever Your Grace wishes.”
“Fine.”
*Wow.* Even when she was trying to be helpful, why did he have to be so difficult? Marin pushed the cart closer.
“Then, excuse me. I need to get close to Your Grace and touch you to…”
“What?”
The Duke cut her off mid-sentence. Marin stopped the trolley and blinked, bewildered.
“Pardon?”
“What did you just say?”
The Duke’s voice dropped into a dark, dangerous register. As his demeanor shifted, Marin nervously darted her eyes about.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Repeat exactly what you said.”
Marin stammered, carefully echoing her previous words.
“Then, excuse me. I need to get close to Your Grace and touch your…”
“Are you warning me now that you intend to pounce on my body? This is a new tactic indeed.”
The Duke curled one corner of his mouth and smoothed his lapel with long, elegant fingers.
“Whaaaat?”
Her face turned a scorching shade of red as the implication dawned on her. What on earth was the Duke talking about?