Chapter 6
Kyle's birthday had finally arrived, a rare occasion where the man would not be venturing into the forest with his axe. At my insistence, he was staying home for the day, and I had grand plans to ensure it was a celebration to remember. Or, at the very least, not one to regret. A proper breakfast, a hearty lunch, and a splendid dinner were on the menu, and, of course, the pièce de résistance: the new shoes.
Years ago, before fate and a particularly malicious branch conspired against him, Kyle would bring home game from the forest alongside his usual haul of logs. On lucky days, there would be surplus meat to sell at the market. But ever since the aforementioned branch took a direct hit to his skull which left him a little slower in thoughts, his hunting prowess had suffered. Now the game he once brought back daily appeared perhaps once every few days.
Fortunately, luck had favored us yesterday. Kyle returned with a rabbit, which meant rabbit stew was firmly on the lunch menu. I was determined to stew it for hours until the meat was as tender as a cloud. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to buy carrots during yesterday's errands. Stew without carrots! A tragedy.
I rose slowly from bed, careful not to disturb Kyle's sleep. The man deserved rest, particularly since he worked seven days a week like some relentless automaton. He was up before the sun, gnawed on a piece of bread for breakfast, and spent the day hacking at trees with a vigor that defied common sense.
Grabbing my cane, I stepped out of the bedroom, lowering the cane softly with each step to avoid the faintest creak of the floorboards.
Since Kyle was home, so was the carriage, a delightful convenience. I climbed aboard and steer the horse to the market. Upon arriving at the market, I guided the horse to a stop along the side of the bustling street. I climbed down from the driver's seat, cane in hand. My thoughts were firmly on the stew when something unusual caught my eye.
There, near an alley, was a small figure. I squinted, my disbelief mounting. It was him again. Vincent Vaneeri, rummaging through a trash. For heaven's sake, what is wrong with this child? Has he utterly lost his senses, or has madness claimed him entirely?
I let out a deep sigh. Adjusting my grip on the cane, I made my way toward him. Reaching the boy, I grabbed the back of his collar and hoisted him away from the vile-smelling heap.
Vincent turned, his crimson eyes lighting up with joy.
I released him. "Are you lost?" I asked.
He nodded enthusiastically, his face a picture of shameless delight. "And I am hungry!"
I closed my eyes briefly, counting to five as I wrestled with the urge to shake some sense into him. This boy needed more than a scolding. He needed structure, discipline. Perhaps a small army of nannies. And why was he always hungry? Was the Duchess starving him? Surely not; the child looked perfectly healthy, aside from the alarming lack of common sense.
I reached for his small hand and pulled him toward the carriage. "Get on," I commanded.
To my astonishment, Vincent obeyed without hesitation. He climbed into the driver's seat with an enthusiasm that rendered me momentarily speechless. This boy was willing to follow strangers into carriages now?! Was he truly this reckless, or was there something wrong with him?!
Muttering under my breath about the absurdity of it all, I climbed up beside him, gripping the reins tightly as though they could anchor me to some semblance of sanity.
"Where is your mother?" I asked, fully prepared for some nonsensical response.
"There!" Vincent exclaimed, pointing ahead.
I followed the direction of his pointing finger. Duchess Millicent Vaneeri was running toward the carriage with urgency, her entourage of staff and soldiers in tow. Her long, wavy and voluminous golden hair streamed behind her like some celestial banner. Her delicate, triangle-shaped face was etched with unmistakable worry.
She reached the side of the carriage and came to an abrupt halt, her gaze locking onto mine. For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to freeze in place, as though it were holding its breath for whatever was about to transpire.
Her crimson eyes quivered. Her lips parted as though she meant to speak, but no sound emerged.
"Collect your child," I said dryly. "I had intended to return him to you and had wondered how I might locate you. Yet, since providence has placed you here before me, just take him."
Yet Millicent did not move. Instead, her eyes filled with unshed tears, the raw emotion behind them impossible to ignore. With a reluctant pang of acknowledgment, I realized that even after all these years, her beauty remained infuriatingly flawless. This blasted creature had aged with the grace of fine wine, her beauty only becoming more striking with time. It was almost enough to make one forget her flaws. Almost. How old was she now? Twenty-five?
Her emotions seemed to suggest that I had wounded her somehow, though I could not fathom how merely sitting in my carriage had managed such a feat. Suppressing the irritation rising within me, I grabbed my cane and climbed down from the driver's seat.
My gaze briefly flickered to her towering high heels so absurdly impractical that they seemed to mock the very concept of comfort. Though she and I were of similar height, I being a perfectly respectable five feet seven and she an already statuesque five feet eight, she always contrived to appear taller. It was as though her heels were some grand declaration that five feet eight simply would not suffice for a woman of her stature. How she managed to walk in such torture devices without crumpling into a heap of regret was beyond me.
Without a word, I stepped past her, my focus fixed firmly on my destination.