After returning from the market, even before she started hauling the wheat sacks into the pantry, Mylene first checked the ring of keys at her waist with both hands.
Her white bobbed hair brushed her cheeks as her grey eyes darted between the open bags and her ledger. Wheat, beans, dried meat, herbs, salt, and oil. None of it was luxurious, but seeing the once-empty shelves filled again made the manor feel as though it were slowly coming back to life.
I leaned against the pantry doorframe, watching her with my arms crossed.
Not bad.
Truthfully, I didn’t even like the fact that I was standing here. I was a nobleman—the young head of House Razugrim. Counting sacks of wheat was work that should have been dumped on an underling. But that underling consisted of Mylene and Mylene alone. If I wanted to squeeze any use out of this dilapidated manor, I first had to ensure the person I was squeezing was actually capable of moving. Honestly, preparing for a life of leisure was far too much work.
"Master, there are three sacks of wheat, two of beans, and four small bundles of dried meat. I’ll prioritize the herbs that won't keep. If we’re frugal, the oil should last seven days, but it’s a bit sparse if we’re also using it for the lamps."
"Don’t cut back on the lights. If you trip in a dark hallway and injure yourself, I’ll just end up having to call the apothecary again."
"Then I’ll reduce the fires in the hall at night. I’ll keep the lamps as they are in your office and the dining room, Master."
"And in your room as well."
Mylene’s hands went still.
"The moonlight is enough for my room. I believe the oil should be reserved for your use."
"What if the one holding the keys to my manor ruins her eyes reading ledgers in the dark? It’s a hassle for me if you misread a word. I’ll buy more oil. If it’s not enough, we’ll cut costs elsewhere."
Mylene looked down, her expression troubled. She was likely still afraid of using oil for her own sake. In her previous household, she had probably been told that lamps in a servant's room were an unnecessary luxury. But it would be a problem if I let her write in the dark and she got the numbers wrong. In the end, I would be the one stuck chasing those errors.
I tapped a bundle of dried meat on the shelf.
"Also, use that for tonight’s supper."
"I’ll make sure to serve the portions with the most meat on your plate, Master."
"That again? Don’t make me repeat myself. Stew it all in the same pot. You’re eating it, too."
Mylene let out a small, sharp breath.
"I... the broth and beans are more than enough for me. The meat is for—"
"If I eat four bundles of dried meat by myself, I’ll ruin my stomach. And who’s going to take care of a head of house with an upset stomach? You. In other words, you’ll be the one suffering. So don't make things difficult for me."
Mylene remained silent for a long moment, then nodded while clutching her key ring.
"...I understand. I shall prepare it in the same pot."
The way she said it made it sound less like she was following an order and more like she had been granted a pardon for some great sin.
◇
In the evening, steam rose from the kitchen.
Beans, wheat, and scraps of meat simmered slowly in the pot over the fire. The scent of herbs drifted into the hallway, gradually mingling with the chilled air of the dining room. During the predecessor's time, silver plates would have lined this table and rich wine would have flowed. But behind the scenes, the pantry was being emptied while the wine bill for banquets grew larger than the cost of my father’s medicine. A table set only for vanity wouldn't fill a stomach.
The current pot was humble, but there was no lie in it.
I took my seat in the dining room and watched Mylene set the plates. Tucking her white hair behind her ear and holding back her cuffs, she placed the plate with the most meat in front of me. Then she served herself a portion consisting of almost nothing but beans and wheat.
"Mylene."
"Yes, Master."
"Bring that plate here."
Mylene’s face turned pale instantly.
"I am so sorry. Did some ash get into it?"
"No. There’s not enough meat."
"It’s plenty for me—"
"I ordered you to eat from the same pot. I didn't say to pile the meat on my plate and take it away from yours. Don’t dilute my orders."
Mylene stood frozen, plate in hand. Even though she was being scolded, she looked as though she didn't understand what she’d done wrong. No, it wasn't that she didn't understand. In her world, it was only natural to give the master the best and take the leftovers for herself.
Her sense of "natural" was skewed.
I took a piece of meat from my plate and dropped it onto hers.
"Eat."
"Master, you don't need to do that, I truly—"
"Just eat. A manor with a gaunt maid stumbling around looks like a house in poverty to outsiders. It affects my pride."
It was a flimsy excuse. But for Mylene, it was probably the right one. She held the plate with both hands, her gaze lowered as she stood by the table.
"Sit."
"I shall eat while standing."
"I said sit. If you eat while standing and spill the broth, the floor gets dirty. You’re the one who has to clean it. Don’t create extra work for yourself."
After a moment of hesitation, Mylene quietly took a seat at the edge of the table. Her movements were incredibly stiff, as if she were sitting in a chair meant for a punishment.
I picked up my spoon first. The flavor was mild. The meat was tough. But it was far better than gnawing on cold bread.
"Not bad."
At those words, Mylene’s shoulders twitched slightly.
She finally picked up her spoon. She scooped up a few beans, took a bite of wheat, and finally stared at the small piece of meat. Her throat moved before she even took a bite. It wasn't that big of a deal—it was just scrap meat, the cheapest stuff I could find. I thought it, but I didn't say it.
Mylene chewed the meat and closed her eyes.
"...It’s warm."
"Because it was boiled."
"Yes. But... it’s not just that."
She trailed off. She didn’t cry. Instead, she just gripped her spoon tighter. Her cheeks, visible through the gaps in her hair, were flushed a faint red.
Good grief.
If she makes a face like that just because I fed her, it makes me look like some kind of saintly master.
"It’ll be the same from tomorrow on. When you make my meals, include your own portion in the count. Any portion you fail to account for, I will record in the ledger as a failure on your part."
"A failure, Master?"
"Yeah. The failure of forgetting to count one of the workers in my manor. As the keyholder, don't get the numbers in this house wrong."
Mylene set down her spoon and bowed her head deeply.
"Understood. As a worker of House Razugrim, I shall include my own meals in the count."
Her tone was a bit stiff, but that was fine.
She had included herself.
That alone made today’s supper worthwhile.
◇
That night, Mylene added a new entry to the pantry ledger.
Wheat, beans, dried meat, herbs, oil. Beneath those, in small script, she wrote: "Manor meals, for two." I saw the entry and closed the ledger without a word.
For two.
That was all. But until recently, this manor had been an empty box where I was left all alone. Now, there was a maid whose keys jangled, a warm pot on the stove, and a ledger that said "for two."
"Master, tomorrow I can make thin cakes with the remaining beans. If I mix in some herbs, I believe they’ll go well with the morning tea."
"Fine. Just don't overexert yourself before I’m even awake. If you collapse in the morning, my breakfast gets delayed."
"Yes. For the sake of your convenience, Master, I shall not collapse; I shall eat, and I shall work."
It had turned into another strange vow. I started to correct her, then decided against it. As long as she was counting herself, it didn't matter if it was a bit odd.
It was dark outside the dining room window, but the oil lamps in the hallway were lit. There was surely a small light in Mylene’s room as well. It was a bit irritating to think that the oil I’d paid for was being burned away, but it was better than her ruining her eyes in the dark.
I leaned back in my chair and sipped my cooling tea.
Not bad.
This manor was still poor. The domain’s ledgers were piled so high I didn't even want to look at them. My life of luxury was still a distant dream. Even so, the dining room, lingering with the scent of a meal shared from the same pot, felt just a little bit better.