Jemero, the secretary to the Duke, lacked the title of a butler, but his influence over the servants was not inferior to Jocelyn. Rather, those who dared to murmur behind Jocelyn couldn’t even move against Jemero’s orders.

It would have been better if they had organized things like this earlier, Meiana thought. However, she didn’t know one crucial fact. If Meiana hadn’t stood up to Jocelyn, revealing Ariante and opposing her at every turn, such a change would never have been achieved easily.

“Lady Ariante, have you arrived?”

Jemero, who saw Ariante, stood up and greeted her politely. Ariante nodded politely, but she still couldn’t help but feel tense. She grabbed Meiana’s hand and tried to hide behind her.

“Lady, please go in.”

Meiana’s words were only half true. It was more likely that Jemero also hoped Meiana would bring Ariante with her. But it couldn’t be done. This issue needed to be left to Cedelois and Ariante to resolve.

Ariante persisted and tried one more time.

“Meiana…”

“You can’t force it, Lady. You know that, right?”

Reluctantly, Ariante pouted, pushed her lips out, and let go of Meiana’s hand. Then, like a peacock showing off its feathers, she walked to the closed door without even looking back at Meiana. She said to Jemero in front of the closed door, showcasing her sophistication.

“Knock.”

Nodding, Jemero raised the golden-decorated handle and knocked on the door a couple of times.

“Is it Ariante? Come in.”
Cedelois’s voice was heard. Ariante’s back straightened. As the door opened, the child briskly walked inside. When Jemero pulled the handle again to close the door, Meiana finally let out a long sigh.

Jemero said, “Care for a glass of sherry?”

She, who had her forehead in her hands, glanced at Jemero. Although it was expected that he would say, ‘Just kidding,’ unexpectedly, Jemero had a serious expression.

Meiana said, “I think I’d rather have a glass of rum. Or maybe empty a whole bottle of absinthe.”

“No absinthe, but we do have rum.”

Whether intentionally or with a relaxed attitude, Jemero walked towards the shelf. Once the door was opened, a row of various bottles of liquor was revealed.

Meiana asked unexpectedly, “Do you drink all of these, Mr. Jemero?”

“Sometimes even the Duke asks me to when he desires.”

He brought two small glasses and poured rum, pausing for a moment. Then, filling one glass a bit more, he handed it to Meiana.

As she took the glass in the fluctuating wave, Meiana wrinkled her nose at the strong smell. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a drink. It was before entering the Poet’s Atelier, so it had been over two years.

In fact, even then, she had never tasted such a strong drink. She just said whatever came to mind at the time, and now it was being retrieved like this…

“If you can’t drink, you shouldn’t have started in the first place.”

Jemero, who noticed Meiana hesitating, said. He sipped the rum with a calm expression, as if drinking tea. Suddenly, a myriad of emotions surged from the depths of her stomach. A feeling of wanting to vent her anger towards almost everyone in the world, except for Ariante.

Meiana tilted the glass and gulped down the rum. At first, it seemed drinkable, but soon a sensation as if her throat was burning emerged. She raised the glass higher to avoid spilling the drink and coughed heavily.

“Tsk, I might die like this.”

“…If you felt like you were going to die from this, you would have died ten times over already, Meiana.”

Jemero raised his eyebrows gracefully, and then, seeming indifferent, took another sip of rum. Looking at him, suddenly, countless emotions surged from Meiana’s stomach. She couldn’t pinpoint one person and wanted to vent her anger toward almost everyone in the world. Except Ariante.

Meiana swayed with the glass of rum in her hand for a moment, sighing. Holding the glass higher, she took another sip and wiped her mouth with a frown.

“So, what do you think, Mr. Jemero?”

“What do you mean, ‘What do I think’?”

“About what the Duke mentioned, the boy he referred to. His successor, Swan. Have you ever met the boy, Mr. Jemero?”

Jemero moved his ash-colored pupils with an ambiguous attitude, neither nodding nor shaking his head.

“I saw him once a long time ago. I performed a mission for the Duke and went to the royal palace, and at that time, the young master was eight years old or so, if I remember correctly.”