Into the Mire

Their appraisal of me had gradually unraveled into aimless chatter, but I was still required to stand before them like an ornament.

Viscount Cecilia, who had been waiting for a chance to insert himself into the conversation, clapped his hands with a great show of fuss.

"Come now, come now. On a night like this, Wyrd Mountain whisky is just the thing, wouldn't you say? You there—what are you standing around for? Get it ready at once."

At the viscount's gesture, the bartender waiting behind the bar produced an enormous bottle.

A nobleman whose belly swelled like a hillock, sporting a ridiculous mustache, laughed heartily and clapped Viscount Cecilia on the back. He was the same man who had been going on about the viscount's discerning taste.

"These days they say you can't get Wyrd Mountain whisky even if you pay a premium. That's Viscount Cecilia for you."

"As if whisky were all of it. I've prepared a separate gift for you gentlemen as well."

Viscount Cecilia smiled obsequiously and gave the bartender a look. The man opened the door behind the bar and beckoned.

Four women dressed much as I was hesitated on the threshold, then stepped into the private room.

"What are you all standing there for? Come here and greet the gentlemen."

At the viscount's prompting, the women—their faces still girlish—approached the sofas.

The potbellied nobleman laughed until his belly shook.

"The viscount never disappoints me, I'll give him that."

"To your liking again this time, Marquis Collins?"

It was a name from the chart Noel had drawn up for me. One of the eleven ordinary members. That this man—who looked like nothing more than a greedy, potbellied old uncle—was a close associate of the prince was enough to leave me speechless.

Marquis Collins stroked his mustache, pointed to a woman, and seated her beside him. Viscount Cecilia placed the remaining women one by one at the nobles' sides. None of the others selected a companion as assertively as Marquis Collins, but they seemed well accustomed to this sequence of events, and set the women to pouring their drinks.

They had been scrubbed clean and dressed up in finery, but they looked to be commoner women. How had they ended up in a place like this?

A desperate urge to save them flared in me—then collapsed under the realization that my own situation was no different from theirs. I stood staring at the floor, wishing I could simply look away, when Viscount Cecilia addressed me.

"Won't you come have a drink as well, my lady? I daresay you've never tasted anything like this in Dvorden."

The other nobles snickered at his words. When I remained standing without a reply, the viscount stepped close and whispered in my ear.

"This won't do, you know. Didn't you say you wished to meet Him?"

I looked at the viscount, who had just reminded me of the goal I had briefly forgotten. He glared and jerked his chin toward the sofa. Sit down, he meant. It was the seat beside the nobleman who had found fault with my age and the color of my hair.

I unclenched the fist I had been holding so tightly my nails had nearly split. I had resolved to roll in the mire. A fear crept in that perhaps this mire had no bottom at all—but instead of fleeing, I dragged the corners of my mouth upward.

Wearing a smile, I went and sat beside the nobleman Viscount Cecilia had indicated. He filled the glass set before me as he spoke.

"This may be a bit strong for a lady."

It was neither concern nor consideration. It was a sneer. I manufactured an even richer smile and lifted the glass.

"I like strong drink."

And I tossed it back in a single swallow. The cold liquor scraped a burning path down my throat and into my stomach. I couldn't help frowning, and a mean little smile appeared on the face of the nameless nobleman in the dark beige jacket.

"Good. You don't flinch—unlike some people."

I understood at once whom he meant by some people, and I wanted to smash the glass into his face. The heat boiling up from my stomach bloomed into a headache, but I clenched my teeth and endured it.

The fact that Viscount Cecilia had seated me beside this man meant that an audience with the prince depended on this man's choice. I pretended not to have understood him and held out the empty glass.

"You said it was a rare whisky. The aroma is lovely."

"You know your liquor, I see."

The man refilled the empty glass, a gleam of interest in his eyes. Each time I emptied it, he unspooled another piece of his own story. By the time I had learned that his name was Elliot Nord and that he was a cousin of Prince Renjer, I had already drunk a considerable amount.

Count Nord.

He was the one. The snake who had bitten Dorothy—that bastard who deserved to be beaten to death.

"So... I hear you wish to meet the master of the Rose Garden?"

My hand kept straying toward the dagger I carried against my chest. Across from us, Viscount Cecilia was busy shooting me looks. Enduring the distant, crushing sensation in my gut, I dragged the corners of my mouth up once more.

"If I might dare to be granted an audience with so distinguished a personage, it would be the greatest of honors."

"Indeed. Indeed it would. He is not a man one meets easily, after all."

"How might I go about meeting him?"

"Hmm... Before long, my house will be hosting a charity ball for the poor. A gathering of such worthy purpose—I expect He will accept the invitation."

"A charity ball. What a meaningful occasion that will be. I should very much like to attend, my lord."

"Well now. The guest list has already been drawn up. What is one to do..."

Count Nord let the words trail off, then raked a sly gaze over my entire body. It felt as though hundreds of snakes had coiled around me. His stare was so blatant that I was as stunned as I was furious. Did these people have no shame at all?

Whether from the succession of strong drinks or from Count Nord's leering gaze, a wave of nausea rose in me. At this rate I was going to be sick all over the count's face, so I rose on the pretext of needing the washroom.

I managed to walk upright all the way there, but the moment I was alone, my legs began to shake. Makeup be damned—I splashed cold water on my face and washed for a long time before I could finally tamp down the drunkenness.

"Go back."

I said it to my reflection in the mirror, the skin beneath my eyes gone dark. A sense of danger told me that if I grew greedy and tried to extract anything more tonight, I too would be bitten by the snake. I decided I would withdraw for the night. I dried my face and left the washroom.

When I returned to the private room, only Count Nord remained on the sofa. Viscount Cecilia and the two other nobles were nowhere to be seen. Marquis Collins was in a corner, groping the woman who had been waiting on him. I sat down beside Count Nord again and asked,

"Has Viscount Cecilia gone somewhere?"

"Worried he might have slipped off and left you behind?"

Count Nord pushed a glass toward me as he asked. He seemed to think I had come here with Viscount Cecilia.

"No need to worry. I'll take personal responsibility for seeing you home."

"That won't be necessary, my lord. I have my own carriage. I should be going before it grows any later."

"Already? We've only just begun. It would be such a shame to leave now."

"I had only meant to pay my respects and leave, but I so enjoyed our conversation I quite lost track of the time. I should go before the drink makes me do something I'll regret."

"Tut, tut. If the young lady is so determined, I suppose I cannot stop her. But at least finish this glass before you go."

"I've already had quite a lot."

"Would you waste a pour already made? Empty this one glass and I shan't detain you any longer."

The count smiled as he pushed the glass even closer. I had no desire to wrangle with him, so I picked up the glass he offered. Count Nord watched me swallow the liquor with a gaze like a snake's.

I had already felt that look was not right—and the moment I set the glass down, I realized something was wrong. Heat rose not through my throat and stomach but through my entire body. Something was off from the tips of my fingers and toes.

"Ah—?"

I swayed in my seat, losing my balance, and Count Nord caught me, his arm wrapping around my back as if in an embrace.

"What's this? Feeling the drink, are we?"

Drunkenness did not come on like this. Alarm bells rang through every inch of me. I forced strength into my uncontrollably shaking legs and stood. Count Nord rose with me and caught hold of me in a low, insinuating voice.

"I'll see you home."

"No. I can go alone."

"That won't do. No, no. Not when you're swaying like this."

I needed to push away Count Nord, who had wrapped his arm around my waist—but there was no strength in my arms. I threw my weight against him, but it was useless. The count all but dragged me out of the private room and into an empty corridor.

"Where are you taking me?"

I asked as I struggled to twist free of the grip clamped roughly around my shoulder, but Count Nord only chuckled and opened a door at the end of the corridor, shoving me inside.

The small room held a table, a chair, and a bed. The moment his intentions—which I had been hoping against hope weren't true—became unmistakably clear.

Count Nord removed his jacket and walked slowly toward me. I backed away from him and nearly tripped over the chair. He laughed at the sight of me staggering, catching myself on the table, and came closer still.

"Don't come any closer."

"No need to bristle so. Whatever it is you want, I'll give it to you."

"You... madman..."

My breath was growing short. The words would no longer come properly. The count trapped me between himself and the table and ran a leisurely hand down my back. A strange sensation nearly wrung a sound from my throat. It was so repulsive my stomach turned—and yet the place where his hand touched my back went numb and tingling. I turned my head away from the approaching lips and bit down on my lower lip, clinging to my senses.