Chapter 16
Something and Nothing

As the sun sank, the forest darkened quickly.

Layla stared at the dead bird with unfocused eyes. Matthias, in turn, watched her. Silence stretched on for minutes, but Matthias felt no impatience. She was right before him, and for now, she would not escape.

“At least…”

At last Layla raised her head. In her gaze, fury glimmered, undimmed by the falling dark. Brazen, defiant—better than lowering her eyes, at least.

“At least tell me directly. What wrong have I done to Your Grace?”

“Wrong?”

“Yes. Tell me what I did to deserve… to deserve such a horrible punishment.”

“I’ve never punished you.”

Matthias’s tone was earnest.

“I do my work. You do yours. That’s all, Layla.”

And he meant it.

“A wrong… hmm.”

After a pause, his quiet eyes fixed on her.

“Why do you like birds so much?”

The same question as before. The same calm voice.

Layla shut her eyes tight, then opened them. She looked up at the darkening sky, at the bird on the ground, and finally back at Matthias. Her shoulders trembled, but her eyes still burned bright. The sight both amused and faintly irked him.

“Because they’ve always been there.”

Layla Llewellyn answered each word clearly. Her anger was plain, though it lent her little weight.

“I wandered from place to place as a child, but wherever I went, there were birds. Always close by. When the seasons changed, even those that flew far away would come back if I waited. The birds always came back.”

The more she spoke, the calmer her voice became—low and soft, perhaps from the gentleness of her diction.

“There’s no season without birds. No place without them. To know that the most beautiful, the freest creatures in the world are always close—that’s what I love.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Though to you, I’m sure it means nothing.”

Her face, on the verge of tears, still tried to posture.

Matthias gave a quiet chuckle and rose. The dinner hour was drawing near.

“Will you… will you keep hunting like this again?”

Her urgent question halted him.

“If necessary.”

His ready answer filled her eyes with despair, with fear—and with the defiance she couldn’t abandon. That look delighted him.

“Layla.”

On a whim, he turned back.

“I want everything in my world where it belongs. Not hiding, not fleeing—just where it ought to be.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Keep to your place.”

“I don’t… I don’t know what place you mean.”

“Think on it.”

“Your Grace—”

“Who knows? If you find the answer, perhaps I’ll give you a gentler hunt.”

Leaving her dazed, Matthias turned away without regret.

He wanted nothing in particular from Layla Llewellyn. Only that she remain in her place. As the orphan who lived in his forest. As the curious schoolgirl. And, in time, perhaps a schoolteacher—always where she belonged.

From horseback, Matthias glanced back at the thicket. Layla crouched small before the dead bird. Her cheeks glistened; she must be crying. Seeing those tears, his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

He had been born into a world of perfect order and would soon be its master. In that order, life was simple, clear. To fulfill the roles expected of him was never difficult—at times even dull. To his grandmother and mother, he was the proud heir. To the servants, the gracious master. On the battlefield, the fine soldier. To the directors, the competent businessman.

Matthias had always been someone’s something. And he had always played his part. Those who dealt with him had done the same. Roles, manners, emotions—all contained within their proper bounds.

But that lowly orphan in his forest?

His eyes narrowed.

She is nothing.

The easy conclusion made him smile.

It was the first time he had possessed something that was nothing. In the Duke of Herhardt’s life, there had never been space for an unnecessary existence.

To hold something that need not be anything at all—strange, but not unpleasant. In fact, the feelings that Layla stirred beyond the proper bounds were almost exhilarating. Like the thrill of striking a bird mid-flight with a single shot.

And her tears. He liked her tears. She was beautiful when she cried. He wanted to make her cry again. And again.

Matthias left the forest with a lighter heart.

Back at the mansion, life resumed as always. A noisy banquet. Hollow, polished conversations. Cold champagne and frothy laughter.

By the next morning, Matthias thought perhaps he might not mind granting her a gentler hunt, after all. Through the window, he saw Layla in the rose garden, helping Bill Remmer with her usual quiet diligence.

See?

Smiling, he turned from the window.

It’s easy, Layla.

“Thank you, Layla.”

Claudine’s voice was warm. Beside her, her friend smiled faintly in thanks.

“It’s nothing, my lady.”

Layla bowed politely. Her pale fingers bore faint green stains from handling stems. Tiny cuts, too, from the rose thorns.

“I should—”

“Could you fetch those red roses as well? Just a bundle will do.”

Claudine’s gentle request cut her off.

Layla turned her head. At Claudine’s finger, the central bed of the garden was ablaze with red blooms.

“Yes, my lady.”

Obedient as always, Layla accepted the task.

Claudine watched her retreating back in silence.

She had found Layla while strolling the gardens with her visiting friend. The girl hadn’t been around for some time, but today she was back at work, busily helping the gardener.

Claudine had suggested flower arranging instead of tea. Emilia had been delighted, and under the rose-covered pergola, the maids set out everything needed.

And then Layla.

As always, Claudine had sent a maid to summon her. That had been the pattern since childhood. Whenever Claudine wanted to arrange flowers, Layla Llewellyn’s role was to cut the roses.

Too low to be a playmate. But good enough for errands. And when boredom became unbearable, even Layla’s company was tolerable.

“That girl… she acts so politely, but it comes off strangely arrogant,” Emilia muttered, pouting.

“As if she knows her place too well—or not at all.”

“Don’t, Emilia. She’s a pitiable child.”

Claudine frowned lightly. The stem of a rose snapped crisply under her shears.

“I know she has her flaws, but we should still show her kindness.”

At her words, Emilia gave a sly smile.

“You’re too soft on the servants.”

“Those who fulfill their duties deserve respect,” Claudine replied softly. Her voice grew gentler still as she arranged the blossoms into a blue porcelain vase.

Before long, Layla returned with a bundle of red roses. Once more, her manners were flawless as she set them on the table.

Claudine paused, studying her. Emilia’s remark had been accurate. Even Claudine, who had watched Layla for years, thought the same.

And perhaps she understood why.

That meekness of Layla Llewellyn’s—perhaps it was born not of humility, but of indifference. Even when Claudine von Brandt herself offered her company, Layla never brightened, never flattered, never sought favor.

Always that same quiet endurance.

Claudine wasn’t used to such indifference. That a mere orphan could stir such unfamiliar feelings—it carried a sting of insult.

“Well done, Layla.”

Claudine smiled sweetly.

Layla bowed low and withdrew. The waiting maid stepped forward. Claudine’s favorite moment had come. To press a gold coin into the orphan’s hand, to watch those proud eyes flicker with real emotion.

Even after all these years, Layla still faltered at that instant. Her hand trembled faintly, as if the coin burned, and Claudine’s heart swelled with satisfaction. Today, there was even a little extra. An invitation. A gift of memory.

“You’re giving this to me?”

Layla’s eyes widened as she accepted the coin and the folded card. Her face was stunned.

“Yes. At my request—and with both ladies’ permission.”

“But, my lady…”

“I’d like you to come, Layla.”

Claudine’s voice, light and cheerful, cut her off. The paler Layla grew, the brighter Claudine’s smile became.

“I trust you won’t refuse my invitation.”

With the air of an old friend, she spoke with warmth, then turned her gaze away.

Before I become mistress of Arvis, I’ll see this stiff little girl properly tamed.

Claudine returned to trimming the roses, repeating her quiet duty to herself.

The vase she arranged was perfectly, flawlessly beautiful.