Millicent perched on the table and ate black bread and overripe, mushy strawberries. Beside her, the old maid Tracy was making custard pudding with milk and eggs.
“Is this for us?”
Even though she knew the answer perfectly well, Millicent asked with a shred of hope.
“It’s for Her Majesty the Queen.”
Tracy replied indifferently as she strained it through a sieve.
“The two Majesties always have pudding or biscuits soaked in milk for their evening dessert.”
“But why are you only making one?”
Despite saying she served it to both of them, there was only one pudding being made, cooled, and set.
“His Majesty the King doesn’t eat pudding.”
“Why?”
“Oh, you’ve never seen His Majesty?”
Tracy scoffed.
“He’s not someone who would eat something like this.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll understand when you see His Majesty later.”
Seeing Millicent tilting her head in confusion, Tracy giggled.
“He’s a truly magnificent and fearsome man. Not a man who would spoon up pudding with a tiny teaspoon.”
Something seemed like it would come to mind—a memory she had brushed off as unimportant.
But Tracy shoved the pudding tray at her, and Millicent’s thoughts cut off abruptly.
“You’ve finished eating, right? Now it’s my turn to have dinner.”
Tracy smacked her lips.
“Go on, take it to Her Majesty the Queen.”
While brushing breadcrumbs off her skirt, Millicent suddenly came up with a clever idea.
“Then can’t we pretend to make pudding for the King too, make two, and eat one ourselves?”
“…You really are crazy about food despite being a scrawny little thing.”
Tracy clicked her tongue.
“I’m tired enough just making the Queen’s pudding. Hurry up and go.”
Left with no choice, Millicent gave up.
In any case, it had worked out well. She had promised to meet Charlotte Brennan after dinner, after all.
Millicent hopped along, holding the tray with the pudding. It took enormous patience not to wolf down the Queen’s dessert.
The Queen’s drawing room was bustling.
Five ladies-in-waiting were holding colorful silk fabrics and conversing. And Queen Jaydalin was leaning back in a tall chair, watching them idly.
“We’ve decided to hold a masquerade play at the banquet,”
Jaydalin said to Millicent, who approached with the pudding.
“My ladies will participate in the play as well, wearing masks and dancing. They’ve been fighting for over a fortnight because they all want good roles.”
“Good roles?”
“It’s a play where they mimic the gods of ancient mythology, but the importance of each role differs.”
“Which role is the best?”
“The God of Beauty, of course. The costume is the prettiest, and there are many scenes where she sings alone.”
Millicent quietly pricked up her ears toward the ladies. Sure enough, while the tone going back and forth was polite, the content was no different from a war of words.
“…Lady Adriana is too tall to take the role of the God of Beauty.”
Among them, the lady with the loudest voice was Charlotte.
“And pink is a color befitting the God of Beauty. It wouldn’t even fit you anyway.”
Charlotte snatched away the pink silk that the tall lady called Adriana was holding.
“Take the God of Hunting and the Moon or something.”
“And aren’t you too short to take the role of the God of Beauty?”
While Adriana snapped back at Charlotte in indignation, Jaydalin whispered.
“…Charlotte Brennan approached you, didn’t she?”
“How did you know?”
Millicent was startled.
“That poor lady pricks up like a dog that smelled a bone whenever she hears the word fate. I casually mentioned your story, and her eyes sparkled.”
There are always people who are overly obsessed with that kind of amusement. Millicent nodded.
“So, how do you plan to cook it?”
“It’s better if you don’t know.”
She cut off Jaydalin’s curiosity in one stroke. No matter how generous a client was, there were lines that could not be crossed.
Jaydalin stared at Millicent with light brown eyes. Then she offered back the tray that Millicent had managed to carry without succumbing to appetite.
“I don’t particularly like pudding. Would you eat it in my stead?”
To Millicent, it was an unexpected stroke of luck. Without refusing, she plunged her spoon deep into the jiggling pudding. A soft, rich flavor filled her mouth.
“…Whether you will disappoint me or not, I shall soon know.”
Jaydalin’s cold gaze swept across Millicent’s cheek, busy chewing.
“And I am not accustomed to disappointment. You should be careful.”
Despite having watched the entire process of its making and having carried it here herself, Millicent felt a strong fear that the pudding might be poisoned.
That was the inherent, terrifying quality of Jaydalin—a woman who had nearly become Empress. Impressive.
“You won’t be disappointed.”
Though momentarily flustered by unexpected forcefulness, Millicent replied calmly. She scraped her spoon clean, regretting that the sweet dessert had disappeared without a trace.
“I wonder where Cardinal Mullery found such an unusual child.”
Jaydalin smiled. Millicent’s placid reaction seemed to have won her favor once again.
But the Queen’s smile was buried by the rising voices of the ladies.
“Enough!”
The displeased Jaydalin stood up and intervened.
“The God of Beauty shall be taken by Lady Adriana Beasley.”
“No, Your Majesty!”
Charlotte jumped up. But Jaydalin raised her left hand as if telling her to be quiet.
“Indeed, Your Majesty is benevolent.”
Adriana, who had been quarreling with Charlotte, knelt with a triumphant expression.
As Charlotte had said, she really was a tall lady. Her legs stretched out so long, and her waist, cinched by a bodice, was more than a handspan higher than everyone else’s.
“Lady Charlotte shall take the role of the God of the Hearth.”
“But that’s a really trivial role!”
At Jaydalin’s continuous cold commands, Charlotte pouted her lips like a spoiled child.
“The importance is small, and the dance is too easy. I can’t even sing a good song!”
Charlotte protested in a shrill voice.
“You’re telling me to sit by the hearth and sew throughout the masquerade play?”
“Oh my, it is a role that suits Lady Charlotte very well.”
A woman standing opposite Charlotte cut in. She was a lady with white skin and a voluptuous figure. She looked just like a soft, plump marshmallow.
“If you keep practicing how to calm down, perhaps Lady Charlotte will fix the habit of leaving Her Majesty the Queen’s dog on the street every time.”
A smile close to mockery spread among the ladies. Charlotte glared fiercely, but the voluptuous lady didn’t bat an eyelid.
“Lady Jane Grant understands my deep intentions.”
Jaydalin too raised the corners of her lips at Charlotte, as if saying she brought it on herself.
“The wise God of Wisdom would suit you well.”
The voluptuous Jane knelt respectfully. Then she held a crimson silk gown against her body. It was the color the God of Wisdom wore.
“Lady Elizabeth shall take the God of the Earth…”
Then a woman with dark brown skin and large, protruding eyes like a frog knelt respectfully. A cross necklace hung crudely around her neck.
“The God of Marriage would suit Lady Ophelia.”
A lady whose rugged, angular jaw gave her a strong impression, but who at the same time exuded an elegant atmosphere, also bowed.
“Now, it’s all settled. Don’t make a racket.”
Jaydalin, who had cleanly sorted out the situation, sat down again.
“Hurry up and dance and sing.”
Indeed, once the ladies’ commotion died down, the Queen seated a wolfhound puppy on her lap and petted it.
“Hunter… no, did that man called Frankie bring this fellow properly?”
Millicent asked, pointing at the dog.
In the meantime, someone had washed him, and there was not even a trace of the dirt that had been caked all over him.
She wanted to touch him again too. She tried to get his attention with her finished spoon, but the little fluffy one was content with his owner’s hand and didn’t even glance at her.
“Frankie?”
Jaydalin asked back.
“The tall man without a mustache.”
He had said he wasn’t a hunter. He had acted like an annoying riddle, saying she would understand later. And Millicent didn’t have the knack to describe his appearance properly.
She wasn’t even sure if his name was really Frankie.
“Lady Charlotte left him behind, and he said he would bring him to Your Majesty instead.”
“One of His Majesty the King’s grooms brought him. That fellow’s name must be Frankie.”
Jaydalin didn’t think much of it.
Not a hunter, but the King’s groom? Millicent scoffed at the thought of him putting on airs over such an insignificant identity.
The ensemble began to play. The Queen’s ladies-in-waiting danced and sang according to their assigned roles.
They didn’t even seem to need practice. They had memorized not only their own roles but all the roles in the play. They all clearly had received high-level educations. They overflowed with dignity and refinement.
Millicent, who had been watching blankly, felt a strange mood.
Was it anger? Or was it jealousy? She was always clumsy at defining her emotions, so she wasn’t sure.
Then suddenly she realized that all her prey were gathered in one place. If she set fire to the place and locked the door, it would be over in one blow.
But Millicent tightened the hat strings tied under her chin even more. She suppressed the surging desire inside.
One at a time. Hunting was more fun when done carefully. It would also reduce the risk of being caught and hanged before escaping the palace.
Like a predator hiding its body in the undergrowth, Millicent watched Charlotte Brennan—whom she had marked as her first prey—with gleaming eyes.
Charlotte, who knew nothing, pouted sullenly throughout the practice.
Soon, when the practice ended, Queen Jaydalin retired to her chambers. After combing the Queen’s reddish-blonde hair and attending to her nightclothes, the ladies left one by one.
“Follow me.”
Finally, Charlotte grabbed Millicent’s arm and pulled her.