No One Here Is On Your Side

Creeeak.

"You've arrived, my lady."

A stern-faced butler greeted us as we entered the manor. He glanced at my face—badly swollen and flushed with fever—and his expression flickered with mild surprise. Saying he would fetch the family physician, he quietly disappeared. His efficiency was admirable, I supposed, though a single word of comfort or concern wouldn't have killed him.

The maids, too, merely bowed their heads without expression before hurrying past, showing no particular interest in me whatsoever.

That settled one thing for certain. In this house, Arabella being ill was apparently no special occasion at all.

But my condition is genuinely serious today. I died and came back to life mere hours ago, and now even my own home treats me like yesterday's leftovers?

It was a moment of clarity about why affection-starved children so often turn into little troublemakers. As if sensing my mood, Becky hurried to my side and supported me.

"You should get to your room and lie down right away, my lady."

"Yes. Um... where's my mother, though?"

Becky's eyes went wide at the offhand question.

"Your ladyship went down to the countryside with young Master Lucas, didn't she? It's been half a month already. Have you forgotten?"

"Ah, that's right. My head's aching so badly I can hardly think straight."

Come to think of it, a vague memory of that did resurface. It was certainly inconvenient, not remembering recent events clearly.

In any case, I wasn't lying about being out of sorts. The steadily worsening fever and itching made my whole body burn as if it were being consumed by flames.

Watching me pant weakly, struggling just to remain standing, Becky shot a sidelong glare at Eusilif.

"Don't just stand there gawking—help me support my lady, won't you?"

But Eusilif merely stood with his arms crossed, staring at me with an expressionless face.

The handsome face that seemed to be silently asking, And why would I?—and the broad shoulders beneath it—I eyed with open regret, clicking my tongue inwardly.

It would be so comfortable to just ride on his back.

Still, there was nothing to be gained by showing weakness in front of the male lead so early in the game. The moment I turned my gaze from his prickly face and forced my foot forward, a furious bellow tore through the air.

"Arabella has returned?"

Accompanied by heavy, thundering footsteps, the man who appeared was none other than Graham Miona—Arabella's uncle. Sharp-featured, with a goatee and sanpaku eyes, he frowned fiercely at the sight of me and barked without preamble.

"Arabella. What on earth were you thinking, disgracing yourself like that at the Crown Princess selection? The palace is all abuzz with talk of you. I can hardly show my face anywhere!"

Despite his stern scolding tone, his eyes were sweeping over me rapidly. Unless I was sorely mistaken, what flashed across his face in that instant was unmistakable dismay and irritation.

"Disgracing myself? How disheartening, Uncle."

I answered him in a thoroughly hoarse voice.

"That's rather cold talk for a niece who just came back from the brink of death. Anyone listening would think you weren't pleased I survived."

My words set him off even further.

"What? Brink of death, my foot. Making a scene over nothing—how do you intend to become Crown Princess like that? And who in blazes is that?"

So saying, Graham glared at Eusilif standing at my side.

But instead of shrinking from his gaze, Eusilif met it head-on with a heavy, unflinching stare of his own.

I swiftly inserted myself between the two men.

"This is... that is to say, he's a bodyguard I've hired. After what happened earlier, I was so shaken that I thought it safest to travel with at least one guard."

Since Graham already knew about the incident at the selection, it was obvious he'd soon learn that I'd wrested Eusilif back from the Princess. I had no desire to hand him ammunition right now, so I told a plausible lie.

And just as expected, Graham flew into a rage.

"A bodyguard! Since when do you hire such people on your own authority? Whose money is paying his wages, exactly?"

"...I won't be asking you for it, so don't worry yourself. I'll handle it."

"Ha! All mouth and nothing else, talking back so glibly. No wonder you were humiliated at the palace, learning your etiquette in such a fashion."

The way he clicked his tongue and rained down insults revealed just how thoroughly he had always looked down on Arabella.

Arabella, there really isn't a single soul on your side here, is there.

Sighing inwardly, I spoke up.

"Uncle. I did nothing at the palace that violated etiquette. Someone simply poisoned my food, and I collapsed and nearly died."

I made sure not to miss the way Graham's face drained of color at my words.

"Wh... what? Poisoned? What kind of nonsense is that? I heard it directly from the imperial physician. He said you yourself admitted you'd merely overeaten!"

"I only said that because I didn't want to be examined at the palace—it was an excuse to leave."

"Don't spout such ridiculous rubbish. The imperial physician is the finest healer in the land, and he examined you personally. If it truly had been poison, he couldn't possibly have missed it! What grounds do you have to be throwing around such enormous accusations, Arabella?"

"That's—"

"If it really had been poison, the palace would be in chaos right now! Surely you know every piece of tableware used by the imperial family is made of silver? You would have been using silver cutlery on the spot. If I'm wrong, then by all means, tell me I'm wrong!"

Graham fired off his lines in a relentless, aggressive barrage, as if determined to leave me no room to argue back. Was it just my imagination, or did his delivery sound strangely stilted—like an actor reciting lines someone else had drilled into him?

I tried to face him directly and refute him, but the ground seemed to tilt beneath me, and I ended up staggering uglily instead. My temples felt as if they were splitting open, and every breath that escaped my lips came out scorching hot. It was all I could do to stay conscious.

So this is what a body on borrowed time feels like. Gritting my teeth against pain I'd never known before, I strained with every ounce of strength to straighten myself and glared at Graham.

"Overate, was it? Have you ever seen anyone reduced to this from eating too much, Uncle?"

When I thrust my flushed, hives-covered face toward him as I asked, he grimaced as if something foul had crossed his path.

"...How would I know that? I'm no physician. But if you'd truly been poisoned, you wouldn't be strolling about hale and hearty right now, would you? Not to mention every other young lady who took the very same test came through it perfectly fine!"

"Well, there's a reason for that."

"What? What sophistry are you spouting now—"

"Because I already know what poison I ate, Uncle."

"...What did you say?"

In that instant, I caught it—the flicker in Graham's eyes.

I'd hoped I was wrong.

Swallowing down the bitterness that welled up inside me, I continued calmly.

"The other candidates survived because that poison only works on me."

"What in the—"

"The Urutu kumquat, I mean."

"What? Th-that's impossible. There's no way!"

Watching his flustered face, caught square in the vital point, I was all the more certain my suspicion was correct.

The wild kumquat that grew in the rugged terrain of the Urutu Mountain Range. With its pink-fleshed fruit, it was extraordinarily difficult to harvest and boasted a sour, astringent taste—so unappealing an ingredient that no one but starving slash-and-burn farmers ever bothered with it.

And yet that ordinary, worthless little fruit happened to trigger fatal abnormalities in the direct bloodline of House Miona.

It was presumably something akin to what would have been called an "allergy" in the world before my transmigration—except that it appeared to be inherited exclusively by Miona blood.

But the outside world knew nothing of this. And with good reason: had it ever reached the ears of their enemies, it would have become a lethal weakness. It was information kept in the strictest confidence, passed down only within the family.

Breathing through the fever's heat, I drew something from my dress pocket and held it out toward Graham.

"Here. The cookie I ate today that nearly killed me."

When I unfolded the handkerchief, it revealed a sinisterly crumpled cookie—evidence I had carefully carried with me even amid the rush to leave the palace. Embedded dead center in the cookie, a shred of pink dried fruit was clearly visible.

"If you can't bring yourself to believe me, Uncle, then by all means—eat it and see for yourself."

At those words, holding out the handkerchief to him, Graham jolted backward and put a good distance between us. The way he sprang away as though I might actually touch him with it was transparent beyond all measure.

Suppressing a bitter laugh, I drove each word home like a nail.

"Someone inside our own household appears to have passed information about the Urutu kumquat to the very people who want me dead. A truly shameless act, isn't it? Selling your own kin to the enemy."

At my words, Graham's sanpaku eyes blazed with fury. But the serpent was smooth—he buried his agitation beneath a veneer of calm.

"...That's an outrageous leap. Nothing is proven, is it? What can anyone possibly learn from a crushed piece of some cookie! Hand it over. I'll give it to the palace and have its contents examined...!"

He reached out to snatch the handkerchief from me, yet at the last moment his hand faltered, stopping just short of contact. I shook my head with a wry smile.

"No. I was nearly poisoned at the palace. I have not the slightest intention of entrusting the investigation to anyone belonging to it."

At my hardline stance, Graham's cheeks trembled faintly with rage.

"You—why are you being so unreasonably stubborn today of all days! What would a girl who's never left this house know about anything—"

"Even a girl who's never left this house can tell right from wrong."

"What?"

"Don't worry yourself. You've been terribly busy coming and going from the palace lately, Uncle, so I'll arrange the examination of this cookie's contents myself—the cookie that nearly killed your ill-mannered niece."

With that, I turned on my heel without giving him a chance to respond. I wanted to appear ruthless and resolute, but the truth was I simply had no strength left to keep talking. I was fleeing as much as anything.

Yet before I could take a step, Graham's grim voice stopped me in my tracks.

"You—what is going through that head of yours, truly? If you go around making baseless claims about being poisoned at the palace, you really could die, quietly, without a soul ever knowing. Surely you understand that much."

"At the very least, it's better than a dog's death, isn't it—stabbed in the back by the family I trusted."

"Wh—why, you...!"

I heard Graham explode behind me, but I paid him no mind and kept walking, hurrying up the stairs toward my room.

The truth was, my condition was so wretched that even moving my feet demanded everything I had.

Some kind of low rumbling drifted from behind me, but the ceaseless ringing in my ears drowned it out entirely. I couldn't make out a word.

A chill crept up my spine, as if my whole body were blaring a warning that it might simply shut down at any moment.

Wait. The fact that the cursed, short-lived heirs of House Miona all died within a year of turning twenty—doesn't that mean they could die at any point before that year ran out?

In other words, there was nothing strange about me dropping dead right this instant. The moment that realization landed, all the strength drained out of me. And in the very next instant, I lost my grip and stupidly missed my footing on the stairs.

"Oh no—my lady!"

I saw Becky, gone ghost-pale ahead of me, fling her arms toward me as if in slow motion. But the speed at which my body toppled backward was far greater than the speed of her outstretched hands.

Damn it. Not even a full day since I died and came back...

The moment I murmured that inwardly and screwed my eyes shut, I felt—unexpectedly—two strong arms catching my waist and back at once.

Even as I realized they were Eusilif's arms, the back of my head settled naturally against his shoulder.

The instant I leaned into that shoulder—broader and far more solid than it had looked—fatigue flooded over me like a burst dam.

"...You really are one absurd creature."

A disapproving voice reached my ears, and then, at last, I lost consciousness.