Millicent pondered for a moment.
These days, she was growing rather confused. When she had first set foot in the palace, she had been an assassin disguised as a maid. Yet now, she had been so overwhelmed with menial chores that she felt as though she were forgetting how to kill a person.
“You do know your own name, don’t you?”
As her silence stretched on, the man asked again playfully.
“I do.”
Millicent glared.
*No, after all, I really am an assassin disguised as a maid.* Millicent hastily clung to her fading identity.
That was why she had hesitated. She was supposed to be an assassin, after all—was it really appropriate to make her presence known to just anyone?
But on the other hand, while she was stuck working as a maid, she would frequently encounter the people who supplied the palace, so she thought building a moderately cordial relationship with them wouldn’t be bad. If she became friendly with them, she might pick up some rumors.
“Millicent.”
In the end, she chose to offer a brief introduction.
“Your family name?”
“I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have a family name?”
There was no reason to explain further.
“If you need one, just think up whatever. Hmm, how about Smith? Millicent Smith.”
Because she had made it up on the spot, it became an astoundingly terrible name.
“…Think up whatever?”
The hunter made a blank expression. Thanks to that, his impression—which had felt as cold as he was handsome—softened considerably.
“Well, fine. Millicent, was it…?”
He muttered quietly.
“It’s a fine name, but I think a different one would suit you better, miss.”
“What did you say?”
The man tilted his head to one side. At that, his black hair cascaded down in an attractive manner.
“…Anne, or something like that. That would suit you more.”
For a moment, Millicent felt as if she’d been struck in a vital spot.
But she did not waver. There was no need to think deeply about it. This man was merely flirting; he had not pierced her true identity.
“Do you have some name that fits you like a glove?”
Judging that she was being teased, Millicent raised an eyebrow.
“Freddie.”
He said.
“Though no one calls me that, it is my name, for what it’s worth.”
“I suppose no one calls you that because it doesn’t suit you.”
There had been something meaningful in his tone, but Millicent was too focused on retorting to notice.
“Because your face is too fierce for such a friendly name.”
“That’s harsh.”
The hunter laughed again, as if amused, just as before.
“No one has ever said that about my face. Everyone has merely… said I look good.”
He seemed to be speaking modestly in his own way. Millicent scoffed.
“Why? Did everyone faint the moment they saw that handsome face of yours?”
Surprisingly, he did not deny it and only smiled. Yet he did not look shameless or arrogant. Rather, it was a reaction befitting a face like a marble statue.
“That’s a relief. There are plenty of people to faint in my stead.”
“In your stead?”
“Yes. I feel no excitement from just that much.”
Millicent deliberately needled him.
“Then make sure you’re even more handsome the next time we meet. Enough to actually feel a thrill.”
“That we will meet again…?”
The man smiled.
“I’m glad to hear you think so too, miss.”
The whisper that followed was meaningful.
“What’s so glad about it?”
Millicent took it literally.
“I mean, why must I manage the palace storage? And these sorts of errands too. It’s nothing but exhausting and bothersome.”
She grumbled, gripping the cart handle.
“If you pity me so much, then only bring fresh meat from now on. I don’t want to get scolded by the head maid.”
She turned around, pulling the cart laden with deer.
“…Millicent.”
But the man stopped her.
“Ah, what is it?”
“Make sure you remember.”
“Remember what?”
Millicent was growing annoyed at him detaining someone who was about to leave just to spout such lines.
“My face.”
The man paid no heed to her curt reaction.
“You’ll need to remember if you want to compare whether I show up even more handsome next time.”
His attitude was somehow ambiguous. He spoke as if it were a wish. Yet at the same time, she had a strange feeling that the real wish he wanted to make was not that.
“Fine, then you’d better properly prepare to become more handsome.”
Millicent, who had no sense for such things anyway, took it lightly.
“I have high standards.”
She turned sharply away. The back of her head continued to prickle, but the man did not call out to her again. And Millicent did not look back either.
However, the result of this bothersome errand was somewhat strange. The moment the old maid Tracy saw the meat cart Millicent had brought, she jumped.
“Why did you bring deer? And only two at that?”
“Why?”
“You should have brought larks! They are to be the main dish for this banquet.”
“But there were only deer?”
Not understanding why, Millicent tilted her head.
“Wait, what is this? They weren’t shot with arrows. They look like they died naturally. How am I supposed to dress these…!”
Tracy examined the dead beasts far more expertly than Millicent and was shocked.
“Give me the receipt.”
Only then did Millicent realize what she had forgotten.
“I forgot.”
Tracy’s eyes went wide.
“Then I shall have to deduct the shortfall from your weekly wages.”
She was about to protest, then realized that the wages earned from maid work were pennies anyway. That was not where Millicent made her real money.
“Very well. It can’t be helped.”
Despite her easy acceptance, Tracy flew into a rage.
“Everyone is desperate to obtain the honor of supplying the palace, and that fellow is simply ridiculous!”
She gripped her apron tightly.
“I shall call him back and give him a piece of my mind. I ought to rip that disgusting mustache off while I’m at it.”
“What mustache?”
Without answering, Tracy huffed away.
In the end, Millicent recalled the hunter’s face—as smooth and bare as could be, without a trace of a mustache—and fell alone into a perplexing labyrinth.
Now seemed like the time to understand why Millicent herself insisted she was an assassin.
Night had deepened. Pretending to run an errand from the kitchen, Millicent headed toward the queen’s palace. It was late, so the queen’s ladies-in-waiting had all retired. Only a maid preparing a warming pan for the bed was bustling about.
“So, is playing at being a maid bearable?”
A woman appeared, drawing aside a luxurious curtain.
Beneath her pearl-embroidered coif, reddish-golden hair cascaded down. On her pale face, light brown eyes, a sharp nose, and thin lips were distinctly set. Her waist, cinched with a bodice over a yellow gown, was exceptionally slender.
“Your Majesty.”
Millicent abruptly stopped the leg she had been swinging restlessly from boredom while waiting. She hesitantly bent her knees. She swayed, ending up with a clumsy curtsy. She could only hope she did not look like a drunkard.
“Still amusing.”
The queen appraised the sight with cold wit.
She was undeniably beautiful, yet at the same time, there was something androgynous about her.
Her eyes were especially so. Beneath a languid, dreamlike atmosphere, a cynical side was visible. They were eyes that could even feel coarse and rebellious. They did not suit her frail frame in the slightest.
She was not at all queen-like.
“But I did not hire you for my amusement.”
She added coolly.
Indeed. Jeidalin, Queen of the Holy Kingdom of Kintrenland, was precisely the client of the assassin Millicent.
“Well, I have spent enough time to realize that this disguise is the worst stakeout I have endured in my entire life.”
Millicent, who was rude to everyone regardless of whether they were queen or client, replied curtly.
“What is so difficult?”
Queen Jeidalin did not appear to take particular offense.
“The mountains of laundry are dreadful.”
Millicent said.
“Managing the kitchen storage is even worse.”
Just the day before yesterday, she had grown thoroughly fed up clearing out bowl after bowl of ingredients that had rotted before they could even be dried or pickled.
“The work of a palace maid is obvious.”
As if it were someone else’s problem, Queen Jeidalin waved her hand dismissively.
“What were you expecting?”
“Adjusting Your Majesty’s dress hem, or sewing for the poor… Was that not the sort of thing one normally does?”
Millicent grumbled.
“Those are tasks for the ladies-in-waiting from noble houses.”
Jeidalin’s eyes gleamed coldly.
“…The very women you are to kill.”
“That is correct. There are five women I must kill, all lined up.”
Unconcerned, Millicent muttered.
“I have been washing about a hundred shirts every day, so I have not yet been able to do any groundwork.”
“You shall need some excuse to approach my ladies-in-waiting.”
Jeidalin fell into thought for a moment.
“Do you happen to have any particular skills?”
“I am well-versed in medicinal herbs.”
“Nothing that might win the favor of young women bored with life?”
“I can tell fortunes with cards.”
Millicent pondered what an aristocratic young lady with no worries for food or shelter might enjoy.
“I can more or less read the stars as well.”
“Good.”
Jeidalin nodded.
“I shall spread a rumor that you wash bedsheets while also doubling as an apothecary and an astrologer. Once it passes through many mouths, you will be no different from a jester.”
“It will be troublesome if my presence becomes conspicuous.”
Millicent objected, clearly displeased.
“You fool.”
Jeidalin scoffed.
“The ladies of the court pay no attention to what does not stand out. As a nobody, you would not be able to get close enough to administer poison to them.”
Millicent could roughly guess the atmosphere of the court social circle that pursued vanity and pleasure. Having to kill someone not as a shadow but as a tangible presence—the difficulty of the commission had grown even greater.
“Can you do it?”
Jeidalin asked deliberately.
“Yes. Somehow.”
Hence, Millicent too had to answer firmly.
“When I first met Your Majesty through Cardinal Mullory’s introduction, I simply accepted the commission, but…”
Carefully, Millicent changed the subject.
“Why does Your Majesty wish to kill the ladies-in-waiting?”
Since it was a commission she had never intended to refuse from the start, she had accepted it readily without knowing the circumstances. However, the thought had suddenly occurred to her that the more she knew about the client, the better.
“Are you perhaps hungry?”
Jeidalin pointed to the white bread, lump of cheese, and biscuits heavily coated in chocolate on the table.
It was surely a signal that the story would be a long one.