Grant led Wyatt inside by the collar of her shirt. Feeling the man's calloused hand on the back of her neck, Wyatt wanted to curse. Never had she been treated with such disrespect. She wished disaster on the entire Kass family, excluding herself. They trudged down a long stretch of grey hall before getting to the dining room.
As Marquess Kass took in Wyatt's battered and bruised appearance, he nodded appreciatively to Grant. Grant settled Wyatt in the seat next to him, across the table from the marchioness and their sister. Their father sat at the head of the table.
Wyatt's half-sister snorted as Wyatt's trembling hand reached for a fork. "There's no food for you," she said. Tiana's hair was blood-red, like her mother's and brother's. Her obsidian eyes narrowed. Platters of delicious food sat in the centre of the table. The surrounding maids served everyone but Wyatt, whose grip on her fork tightened.
"Let this be a lesson to you," the marquess said. "It's time for you to abandon your gay mannerisms and rebellious attitude."
"You walked in on me," Wyatt muttered.
The marquess fell quiet. Grant's hand touched Wyatt's thigh. Warm at first, then growing hot enough to make Wyatt think it would burn her. Inhaling sharply, Wyatt adopted a humble demeanour. "I'll do as you say, Father." Keeping petty emotions out of her voice and off her face was challenging, but Wyatt would do anything to make Grant stop.
Satisfied, Grant removed his hand.
Wyatt rubbed the warm spot on her thigh and listened to the gentle clinking of the utensils. Marques Kass said, "You'll leave with Tiana at the end of the week. The Grand Duke will send someone to pick you up. If you act out, I have given Tiana authority to punish you." The marchioness smiled, approving of her husband's actions.
One thing that had confused Wyatt while reading the original novel was why the previous body's owner was mistreated for her parents' actions. One had the nerve to sleep with a whore. And the other hoped to gain wealth from bearing a child for one of her affluent clients, using all sorts of magical potions to sustain the fragile life in her belly. When the woman realized that threats and pleading wouldn't shake the marquess's devotion to his legal family, she killed herself on his front step and cursed him to die if he ignored their child.
Once Wyatt joined the duke's army, she would find a way to split from this cursed family. She glanced at the empty plate in front of her. Her stomach whined for food, and she felt like she could drop dead any second from weakness. No one paid attention to her. With no food in the bucket, her body was reluctant to heal itself as it had in her past life. Unless she had lost her ability after rebirth.
She planned to test whether her gift remained after eating something.
Was there anyone in the house who sympathized with her, or someone she could threaten?
Wyatt glanced around the room. The servants all held their heads down, looking at their shoes.
The marquess glanced at Wyatt's pale yet bruised skin and nervous eyes. Perhaps feeling a little bad, he told one of the servants, "Give him some bread and soup."
A maid did as instructed.
"Thank you, Father," Wyatt said, eagerly dipping the bread into the soup and taking a bite. There were also plates of chicken and lobster, which were rare delicacies in her past life. Ignoring the items Wyatt had no permission to eat, such a perfectly seasoned soup was also rare. Wyatt's eyes squinted in delight as she ate, ignoring the urge to lick her fingers, as she was now a noble's son.
Her siblings watched her with puzzled expressions. Wyatt's father murmured, "You eat as if you've never been fed."
Wyatt smiled but didn't respond, focusing on eating.
*
Late at night, Wyatt lay in the guest room she had woken up in as her room was being remodelled. She held the gold coin with Wyatt Kass's face on it. If she had known the handsome face would have doomed her to her current reality, she wouldn't have kept it. Her stomach tightened with hunger. After dinner, a few of her bruises had vanished, but most remained. Her body was basically in a state of starvation, holding onto whatever it ate, out of fear of not getting more.
Wyatt walked over to the window. The guards beneath chatted for a while.
"I hate that we got stuck watching over this pathetic dog."
His partner chuckled. "As long as I'm paid on time, I don't care what I do."
"But doesn't it disgust you?"
Wyatt poked his head out the window. "Hello."
The guards screamed, then calmed down upon seeing him. Their expressions darkened. "Stay in your quarters, sir."
"You like money?" Wyatt asked, having overheard their conversation.
The guards watched him with skeptical expressions.
As they didn't respond, Wyatt teased, "I suppose you aren't interested in making money."
As Wyatt lowered the window, one asked, "What sort of money are we talking about?"
"A hundred shells." The Jovian Empire, which Wyatt was currently trapped in, had moved on from using shells for currency, but their paper money was called shells in honour of its predecessor. "Each."
The men showed signs of being tempted.
"How?" asked one of them.
"I'm an artist. If you take me to the night market, there are quite a few nobles wandering around. Some are bored with plenty of money to spend on someone talented."
"I have never seen the young lord with a paintbrush," said the shorter of the guards.
"Just because you haven't seen it doesn't mean it isn't possible. So, what do we say, gentlemen?"
The guards exchange a glance. The young master seemed more agreeable and less repulsive than he had been before. Extra money could be used to buy necessities, take care of their families, and, if there was any left over, buy something special for themselves. The taller one said, "Alright, but you do what we say. Find a mask and dress in muted colours. Don't be… your usual self."
Wyatt knew the 'usual self' referred to the gay tendencies she had entertained in the past. She smiled beautifully, making the men question their sexuality before saying, "Wouldn't dream of it."
*