"Whoa, uhm… is my comment really necessary here?"
Jemina blinked once, then twice, taking in the structure before her. Raisa simply stood there, waiting. She and the other lamias had worked tirelessly for three days to build this.
"…No."
Because no.
No, absolutely not.
"That is not a lodge. That is what happens when a lodge decides to rebel against its parents and do everything they warned it not to do."
Raisa tilted her head slightly, unsure if that counted as praise.
Jemina took a few steps forward, squinting.
"…It's huge."
"Yes."
"It's layered. Why is it layered? We have levels now? We're a level-based community?"
"So we have more space."
"Right. Of course. Vertical expansion. Very modern. Very forward-thinking. I support it."
She pointed again.
"Those are bridges."
"Yes."
"They are high bridges."
"Yes."
"I am going to walk on them."
"Yes."
"…Ooooh. Here I go!"
She stepped onto one.
It creaked.
Jemina froze.
"…It made a noise. That was a very intentional noise."
"It is wood."
"I understand that, but you know. Haah...This is very exciting!"
She took another step. Then another.
"Oh! Oh—this is fine. This is actually fine. Look at me, being brave and not falling to my death. Oh, I just imagined myself flying and then doing somersaults before landing!"
A Ghastly darted past her as if urgently summoned by destiny.
"Excuse you! Some of us are having a moment!"
It did not apologize.
Unbelievable.
She made it across and stopped again.
"…Oh wow."
The main platform opened before her, wide, warm, glowing.
"There's a fire."
"Yes."
"A controlled fire."
"Yes."
"…I'm proud of us. I don't know who specifically did that, but I'm including myself emotionally and spiritually."
She walked closer, hands clasped behind her back like she knew exactly what she was doing.
"I mean, look at this. It's cozy. It's structured. It's not actively trying to kill me. That's new."
Then she turned—
and saw the rooms.
"Wait. WAIT. Are those beds?"
"Yes."
She walked faster. Then faster.
Then she ran.
She threw herself onto one.
"…Oh."
She bounced once.
"…Oh no."
She lay flat on her back.
"…Oh, this is dangerous."
She sat up immediately.
"No, I cannot get attached to this. I have responsibilities, I have—oh, who am I kidding, I love this."
She jumped up and spun.
"There's more, isn't there? There's definitely more. This feels like a 'there's more' situation."
"Yes."
"…Of course there is."
She hurried toward the edge.
"…Why are the wolves going under the house?"
"They made tunnels."
"They made-of course they made tunnels. Why wouldn't we have an underground system? We're practically a kingdom at this point."
That might have been an exaggeration. Jemina had only nine mudwolves, but Raisa suspected it would not remain so for long.
Jemina had already tamed six more, all brought by the elder without resistance. Now they were building beneath the structure, expanding in ways Jemina didn't fully understand but enthusiastically supported.
Jemina turned again.
"…Wait—are those plants?"
"Yes."
"Are those our plants?"
"Yes."
"We're growing things?!"
"Yes."
"We're farming?!"
"Yes."
"…I need a moment."
She pressed a hand dramatically to her chest.
"…We have infrastructure."
She resumed walking, faster now, peeking into every corner.
"This connects to that—oh, and this goes up—there's an upper level? There's always an upper level. Why is there always an upper level? I love it."
She climbed halfway, then looked down.
"…I feel like I'm in a very fancy treehouse."
A pause.
"…Like if I fall, I die—but in a stylish way."
She turned back to Raisa.
"You built all of this."
"Yes."
"While I was gone."
"Yes."
"For three days."
"Yes."
"…I need you to explain your process, because I was gone for three days and I came back to civilization."
Raisa said nothing.
Which somehow made it more impressive.
Jemina looked around again, slower this time.
Taking it in.
The light.
The movement.
The way everything simply… worked.
"…This is ours?" she asked.
"Yes."
She blinked.
"…Like… ours, ours?"
"Yes."
A smile crept in.
"…Oh no."
She laughed softly.
"…Oh, I really like it."
She spun again, pointing at everything.
"I like that. And that. And—oh, especially that. That's a very good 'that.'"
She stopped in the center and clapped once.
"Okay! Official feedback time!"
Raisa straightened.
"It's perfect."
A beat.
"I have no notes."
Another beat.
"…Well. Maybe one note."
She pointed at a nearby room.
"I'm claiming that one."
"Already prepared."
Jemina gasped.
"You knew."
"Yes."
She pressed a hand to her chest again.
"…This is the best day I've had since being thrown into a death forest."
She looked around once more, softer now.
"…Thank you."
Jemina's room sat just above the main hall, tucked into the curve of one of the largest trees.
Not at the very top, she wasn't that dramatic.
But high enough to look down at everything.
Because of course she could.
They had prepared it for her immediately.
Either they understood her perfectly, or she was simply that predictable.
Jemina lay on her back, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other resting over her stomach.
"…This is dangerous," she murmured.
The bed was far too comfortable.
If she allowed herself, she might never leave.
Which was…
tempting.
Very tempting.
A Ghastly shifted near her feet, letting out a soft, content sound before curling tighter. She glanced at it briefly, then back up.
The ceiling didn't fully close.
Branches parted just enough to reveal the sky.
Dark.
Endless.
Scattered with quiet light.
"No," she whispered. "I must focus. I will have his heart."
She insisted.
And then, her mood soured.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
It was a banquet.
A large one.
Which is to say, too many people, too much glitter, and not nearly enough food worth eating.
She had been doing well.
Exceptionally well, actually.
Smiling at the right people.
Laughing at the right jokes.
Saying just enough to be interesting, but not enough to be offensive.
A delicate balance.
One, she was very good at according to her standards.
But the others did not share the same standards, and unfortunately, Jemina is not caring enough to know that.
"Well," a noblewoman said, her voice sweet in the way spoiled milk is sweet, "I suppose some habits are difficult to refine. Even with proper instruction."
Ah.
There it was.
Jemina smiled.
Of course, she smiled.
Because she was gracious.
And charming.
And occasionally a terrible decision-maker.
"Oh, certainly," she replied. "Though I find some people are simply born unpleasant. No instruction seems to help at all."
In her defense, it was very funny.
To her.
The room did not agree.
The laughter came, but not the good kind.
More the oh, she shouldn't have said that kind.
Another voice joined.
Then another.
Polite.
Sharp.
Layered with just enough cruelty to entertain everyone else.
She held her smile.
Because she always did.
Until a chair moved.
Soft.
But somehow louder than everything else.
…Ah.
Him.
She didn't turn.
She didn't need to.
You always knew when he moved.
He approached slowly.
Unhurried.
As if nothing in the world required urgency.
He stopped beside her.
Close enough to feel it.
That shift.
Here he comes, she thought, a quiet thrill rising.
He will defend his beloved, adorable wife.
His hand settled at her back.
Firm.
Steady.
"We're leaving."
No explanation.
No discussion.
Just a decision.
And she, like an absolute fool, felt her heart soar.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Jemina frowned.
"…Wait."
She shifted slightly, staring at nothing.
"That… doesn't feel right."
She hugged her knees tighter, squinting at the memory.
"…Was that how it really went?" she muttered. "I feel like that was how I filtered it through my love-stained glasses."
A soft huff escaped her.
"Very unreliable glasses, by the way."
She closed her eyes.
Tried again.
No embellishments.
No hopeful little interpretations.
No romantic music playing in her head.
Just the truth.
We walked in silence after that.
Long corridors.
Too many turns.
Too many opportunities for him to say literally anything else.
I waited.
Patiently.
Gracefully.
Internally composing at least three different ways he might express concern.
Perhaps something like:
Are you alright?
Or...
You handled that well.
Or even...
Ignore them.
Simple things.
Reasonable things.
Normal things.
What I got was...
"You have not fulfilled your duty as a proper duchess. Were the words you uttered fitting for your position?"
I blinked.
Because,
that felt… incorrect.
"…It—" I started.
"It wasn't," he repeated, not raising his voice, just narrowing it.
The words caught in my throat.
Because now that he had said it like that, it sounded weak.
"I—no, that's not what I meant," I tried again, softer this time. "It wasn't improper. I was only—"
"You were drawing attention," he cut in.
Ah.
There it was again.
Clean. Precise. Final.
"I will not tolerate that," he continued, his tone even, as though he were discussing something trivial. "You will conduct yourself accordingly."
I held my smile.
Because I always did.
"…Yes, my lord," I said.
Smiling, because apparently, I cope with disappointment by being charming.
A terrible habit.
Would not recommend.
Jemina sat up abruptly after remembering the true events that had happened.
The Ghastly at her feet startled.
She stared ahead.
"Wow. Look at that. I wasn't the beloved wife being dramatically escorted out of danger…"
"…I was the problem being gently removed from public view."
A pause.
"…I really went all in on that one, didn't I?"
She let out a small laugh.
"Gave it meaning. Gave it depth. Gave it a whole personality it did not ask for."
"…It was just… logistics."
She shifted slightly, eyes drifting upward.
"I turned a management decision into a love story."
Another pause.
"…I added music to that memory, didn't I?"
She frowned.
"Yeah. Strings. Possibly a piano."
A beat.
"…There was no music."
Her fingers curled slightly against the blanket.
Softer...
"…I really thought he chose me."
A pause.
Then, quieter...
"…Did he ever?"
She punched her pillow...
and instantly froze.
"…Oh no."
Slowly, very carefully, she patted it, as if apologizing might undo the offense.
"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. You did nothing wrong."
She pressed her face into it anyway, groaning.
Because of course, the moment she chose to be dramatic...
It was also the moment she remembered the lamias had spent three whole days building this place.
"…I just assaulted handcrafted bedding," she mumbled into the fabric.
She let out a long, muffled groan, burying her face deeper into the pillow.