Red eyes are the mark of a lie.
The truth of those words had been sufficiently proven over the past two years.
Adel kept silent about this troublesome ability.
At first glance, having an ability might seem like a good thing, but in reality, it wasn't.
In the few books Adel had read, the lives of the 'Gifted' were pitiful.
They were used and then killed more often than not.
So, even those who were Gifted rarely revealed it, and those who occasionally did were mostly frauds.
Because of this, ordinary people believed that these 'Gifted' individuals had all disappeared along with the kingdom's peace.
'In truth, they all exist just fine, though.' Anyway, the nursemaid's eyes glowing red earlier was not Adel's imagination.
The red light appearing in her words about protecting the Marquis's health meant that those words were a lie.
Why? There could be several reasons.
Perhaps now that Clara is grown enough, she's thinking of changing jobs.
She has the title of 'Nursemaid to the Prodigy Girl Marquis.'
She could get a good job anywhere with favorable conditions.
But if that's not the case, then the nursemaid might be... toward Clara... 'No, that can't be.' Adel slapped her own cheek.
The band-aid the nursemaid had applied yesterday touched her fingertips.
"You've turned sixteen today, and you're going around with an injury like this?" She was someone who spoke such affectionate words.
Moreover, having raised Clara since she was little, her affection must be deep.
Adel quickened her steps to leave the Marquis's residence.
And she immediately went to find a real estate agency.
"The spider would be good." "Perfect timing! Someone else just came to see that room yesterday.
If you were any later, you might not have been able to sign the contract!" Yes, a lie.
How can lies flow out so effortlessly, as naturally as breathing? 'It's to make me feel good so there's no hitch in the contract.' Just like how Rose told Adel she 'loved her.' Those words were an effective whip.
A whip to make Adel into an excellent lady.
So that when she married into a good family, the household would improve her treatment, if only for appearances.
In other words, Rose only thought of Adel, whom she had raised all her life, as a tool.
For her own safety. 'Uh...?' For a moment, a contradiction came to mind.
The reason she had been so sure the nursemaid's affection for Clara was deep was...
Because she raised her from a young age.
'But, that might not necessarily be true, right?' Suspicions followed one after another.
'It's strange that rumors about me receiving a guardian offer spread so quickly.' Clara wasn't the type to go around talking about such things.
It was clear she would just get annoying nagging for it.
'That means there's someone else who spread that story.' In the study, it was just Clara and Adel.
'And the person who could have possibly overheard that story is...' The person Adel had run into right in front of the study.
'The nursemaid!' Adel shot up from her seat.
"What's wrong, miss?" The agency manager asked in surprise, but Adel was in no state to answer.
Adel grabbed the leather bag she had brought and snatched up her hat.
The manager's shout came from behind as she hurriedly ran out. "If you leave now, you'll never get to contract this house again!" "I don't care!" Adel shouted back and kept running.
She had to get back quickly.
Because the nursemaid had suddenly become suspicious? No, actually, it wasn't just that simple.
There was one more thing bothering her.
"...Take care." At that time, Clara seemed like she was about to say something before her farewell.
Adel frantically reached out toward a passing public carriage.
But the carriage, already full of passengers, passed by her indifferently.
What to do? Would running be faster? A carriage stopped in front of the anxious girl.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
After sending Adel off, Clara returned to the study.
The portraits of successive Marquises lining the study walls came into view.
The girl met the gazes of them all with her transparent eyes.
They had owned the salt mines for generations.
Producing an essential resource, their pockets were always ample.
In addition, the royal family gladly granted them tax exemptions.
However, that was the price for honestly distributing clean salt at a fair price.
Thus, 'honesty' had always been the most important value for the Merriweathers.
If only to keep themselves and their family safe.
The ritual of gazing at the portraits was to reaffirm that sentiment.
Clara had learned this from 'Rufus Merriweather'—the previous Marquis, her father.
Along with a hand stroking her head.
Was she four at the time?
"Isn't it a wonderful ritual? It means not to forget the trust built up by successive Marquises."
She was certain that for the past five years, he had not performed this ritual.
If he had thought of the family even once, he wouldn't have mixed sand with the salt to sell or siphoned it off to the black market.
Her slowly sweeping gaze finally arrived at the last portrait.
The black cloth draped over it.
Behind it hung Rufus's portrait.
He now awaited execution.
For dishonestly using a royally supported business for personal gain, it was the natural result.
In truth, it shouldn't have ended with just this.
The Merriweathers could have had their title and mines all taken away with nothing to say.
Thanks to the Duke of Winchester's mediation, he was able to protect the family with just his own life, the one who committed the deed.
Once the execution was carried out, Clara would have to take down that portrait and throw it into the flames.
That day... when would it be?
*Knock knock.*
Just as her gaze lingered oddly on the black cloth, a welcome knocking sound was heard.
"Master, I've brought milk and a letter."
It was the nursemaid.
"Come in, nursemaid."
The nursemaid placed a thick mug on Clara's desk.
It was steaming hot chocolate milk.
"...?"
Clara looked back and forth between the sweet milk and the nursemaid, a little surprised.
The nursemaid had a firm philosophy.
"Adding sweet flavor to milk is something only devils do."
So what wind had blown today?
"Well, I thought it might be okay sometimes."
And she placed the letter she had brought in front of Clara.
"Nursemaid."
"Yes?"
"Are you trying to comfort me with chocolate milk?"
The letter she brought was from the royal prison.
She could guess what was written inside without even opening it.
"So the date has finally been set."
Clara opened the seal with an impassive expression to check the contents.
A notice stating that in one week's time, the former Merriweather Marquis who had committed fraud would be executed.
"It says he wants to meet before then."
"Master."
The nursemaid seemed troubled.
"Don't worry, it's not asking for my opinion."
"W-well then, how about... drinking the milk... slowly and thinking it over?"
"There's not that much to think about. Father—."
Clara looked down at the letter and corrected herself.
"I should meet the criminal. The source of the gambling funds hasn't been fully uncovered yet."
The former Marquis had enjoyed gambling with large sums of money from untraceable sources.
With no concrete evidence, they couldn't just randomly search surrounding figures or trading partners.
Ultimately, the source of that money remained a mystery even now.
Surely he wouldn't remain silent about that money until his death.
Clara swung her dangling legs that didn't reach the floor and soon reached a conclusion.
"I'll go meet him the day before the execution."
And without delay, she wrote a letter of request while saying.
"You know, nursemaid. On the day I return from the execution, could you prepare the bathwater on time?"
Clara liked baths.
That was the nursemaid's doing.
She taught her how blissful a cold sorbet tasted while soaking in warm water.
"Don't forget the fruit sorbet either."
Now having completely sealed the letter, Clara looked up at the nursemaid.
The woman, who seemed startled and flinched, nodded awkwardly in reply.
"I... I will."
And soon, she forced a bright voice as she spoke.
"I'll make it just the right pleasant temperature and wait."
A faint smile finally formed at the corner of Clara's mouth.
"So, Master."
The nursemaid pushed the mug of still-warm milk right in front of Clara.
"Drink it now. If you keep this up, the milk I went to the trouble of heating will really get cold."
Under the nursemaid's urging, Clara picked up the mug.