First Impressions Rarely Lie

But really — who do I want to kill first? My life isn't a game.

As I pressed a hand to my throbbing forehead, a sigh escaped me of its own accord. It wasn't as if I had any solid proof that the killer was definitely among them, and if I pointed a finger at the wrong person, patching things up would be anything but easy.

Still, I have to try something.

I had left myself no road back; all that remained was to press forward.

I turned to the regional newspaper I'd asked Romaine to fetch. Right there on the front page, an article seized my attention.

"The Relief Charity Exhibition, hm…"

Just then, Romaine, who had finished clearing the meal, came back in pulling a trolley.

"Madam, I brought you a snack!"

"Ah, thank you."

"Were you reading the paper? Oh, I saw that article too. They say this year's exhibition is going to be the biggest one yet."

"Really?"

"Everyone's been in an absolute frenzy over it. On the housekeeper's orders, some of the staff have already been called off to help with preparations."

Through Romaine's chatter, I could gauge just how much attention the Ortega family was pouring into this exhibition.

Well, charity work has always been their bread and butter.

Beyond the sponsorship exhibition, the Ortegas ran a whole array of philanthropic ventures — the operation of the Agnus Orphanage, a free soup kitchen, even charitable clinics on the empire's frontiers.

Meanwhile, as I sipped the tea Romaine had poured for me, something occurred to me and I asked abruptly.

"By the way, did anything happen while I was gone?"

"Pardon?"

"The mood in the house has been so uneasy. Everyone keeps looking at me like I'm a ghost."

"Oh, come now, don't say that!!"

At that, Romaine launched in as if she'd been waiting for the chance.

"The very moment you went missing, Madam, I went straight to Lady Belladonna, and you'll never believe—!"

Once I'd heard from Romaine what had happened with Belladonna, I quietly crossed my arms.

If you're not back within a week, clear out of your room, she said.

It was such a quintessentially her thing to say that, honestly, it didn't even surprise me. What struck me more was that Romaine had stood up for my sake. Not that she seemed aware of it, judging by how her nostrils were still flaring.

"And Lord Claudel, if you please! Not one word in my defense when I was dragged off so unfairly!"

"…Ah, you mean Camille's younger brother?"

"That's right! The two of them are awful as a matched pair! Absolute cold fish, the both of them!"

"Still, you should bear with it. You're in your prime — you've got money to earn."

"Ha, I suppose I do, don't I? Money is the root of all evil…"

It was rather amusing, watching a girl not yet twenty talk like some world-weary office veteran.

As an involuntary laugh slipped out of me, my gaze drifted, almost of its own accord, to the window.

Far off in the distance, a black-haired man was approaching the estate with a single knight in tow.

Who's that? I've never seen that face before.

"Uh… that's him! That's the person!"

"That man?"

"Yes! Lord Claudel!"

That man is Camille's younger brother?

Unlike Camille, who had been as resplendent as a flower in full bloom, this man was sharp-featured — a crow with ingots of gold sunk into its eyes.

Curiosity flooded in at how thoroughly the real thing defied my expectations, and I couldn't tear my eyes away.

Then, sensing my gaze, Claudel lifted his head and our eyes met.

And then…

He promptly scrunched up his entire face in disgust.

"Huh."

"Did you SEE that just now! That rotten—!!"

Leaving Romaine seething, her eyes practically on fire, I stared after Claudel as he vanished into the manor.

What is with that insufferable bastard?

A first impression doesn't always tell the truth.

But in Claudel's case, it had been the exception. He was, by any objective measure, an thoroughly insufferable man.

"Ah."

When I ran into him again in the corridor the next day, I ducked my head on pure reflex.

"Hello. It's a pleasure to meet you. I am—"

"Yes."

Whoosh—

That was the entirety of our first greeting.

"…"

"That— that—!!"

Watching Claudel brush straight past us with his knight in tow, Romaine stamped her foot, her face flushed scarlet.

Well, everyone's entitled to one slip. I tried to let it go. He might simply have been in a hurry, after all.

Unfortunately, the next encounter was no different.

"My name is Aub. Since we'll be seeing each other often, I thought I ought to at least introduce—"

"Claudel. Good day."

Despite my carefully rehearsed resolve to make a proper introduction, he swept right past me again without so much as slowing down.

Is this man out of his mind?

Powerless widow with no backing or not, this treatment was simply discourteous.

Just as my irritation was beginning to boil over, his knight stopped in his tracks — apparently deciding that this truly could not go on.

"I beg your pardon, Madam. My lord is terribly shy, you see…"

At that, Romaine pounced as if she'd been handed her moment, and words came pouring out of her unchecked.

"Well, isn't this a bit much, though? Madam has greeted him goodness knows how many times!"

"I, er, I do bring it up with him constantly, but it's just not so simple—"

"What's so difficult about introducing yourself? Does he claim his name is over twenty syllables long or something?"

"Romaine. That's quite enough."

She was scraping at him so openly that I braced myself for sparks to fly at any moment — but the reaction that came back took me entirely by surprise.

"Hope. What are you dawdling for? I'll leave you behind."

Claudel tossed his head carelessly and strode on ahead.

"Ack, don't abandon me!"

"One more word out of you and I'll make you walk home alone."

"Eep! Such terrifying words!"

…So this is what it feels like to be run over by a passing carriage.

Watching Claudel's retreating back with his knight scrambling frantically after him, I let out an empty little laugh.

"…Ha."

Even after that, we crossed paths any number of times, and Claudel remained unwavering in his policy of ignoring me outright.

By this point even I could tell. This behavior was very definitely not normal.

And that left exactly one person I could ask about Claudel.

"Your younger brother?"

"Yes. Apparently he's to take your place as acting lord. Does anything come back to you?"

"Hm…"

At my question, Camille — sprawled in the flowerbed like some idle rake, nibbling at a bungeoppang — fell briefly into thought.

When no answer was forthcoming even after a while, I narrowed my eyes and asked again.

"You do know, don't you? Or don't you."

The answer popped out at once.

"Nope. Don't remember."

I didn't expect anything anyway.

I resigned myself to the fact that extracting information about the past from this man was now all but impossible.

"Well, being my brother, he must be handsome at least. Takes after me, after all."

"…"

First order of business: pretend I didn't hear that.

At any rate, going strictly by what I'd gathered, it seemed Claudel was not Belladonna's child.

Was that why? His personality was certainly worlds apart from the start.

Camille had been a man steeped in composure and courtly manners, while his brother's bearing was nothing short of frigid.

Come to think of it, Camille never once mentioned Claudel while he was alive, either — so they likely weren't close.

Between a legitimate heir and one born on the wrong side of the sheets, closeness was never in the cards to begin with.

Just then, Camille half-rose from the riot of flowers, snapped off a small blossom, and held it to the tip of his nose.

"It's not as though the Ortega blood would run thin. He'll surely be tall, and superior in this way and that."

"Ah. Yes."

"Anyway — so, have you decided? Who you're going to probe first."

"Ah. No, not yet."

Camille's words jolted me awake. The choice I'd momentarily forgotten was now standing right in front of me.

Camille smiled softly.

"You'd best decide quickly. Every clue has a lifespan, you know."

"…I know."

Camille was right.

If my husband really had been murdered by someone, I had to move fast — before someone destroyed the evidence.

But I couldn't afford to judge hastily, either…

"…Which is what I wanted to talk about."

After a moment's deliberation, I jumped in before he could speak again.

"I'm thinking of looking at all three of them again before I decide."

"All three? How?"

And as I watched Camille blink at me with round, curious eyes, I let the end of my sentence trail for a moment.

"That's…"

My plan was decidedly abstract, but of one thing I was certain: sooner or later, I was bound to come face to face with those three men — the ones who hadn't even turned up for my husband's funeral.

"A grand stage is about to be set — one those men will have no choice but to walk onto of their own two feet."