The Confrontation
"What?" He blinked, honestly taken aback by how quickly she had responded. She hadn't even hesitated.
"Lenora."
"I won't," she said, locking her gaze with his. Her voice was sharp and unwavering, and her expression had shifted back to that cold, indifferent look he couldn't stand. He much preferred her when she was expressive—lively, even.
He took a moment to actually look at her. Her hair was wild and unkempt, her face pale, lips chapped, and her body was trembling ever so slightly. She clearly tried to hide it, but she wasn't doing a very good job.
'Come to think of it. She has ether so she shouldn't have gotten ill in the first place, right? Maybe she had burned through it all just surviving out there in the cold for a full week. That might have kept her upright all that time, but it had to have drained her completely—no food, no rest. Now, she was barely holding together.'
"Listen, Lenora..." he began, trying to reason with her.
"No, you listen, Master."
"What?" He faltered. He was seriously starting to feel overwhelmed. No wonder Anderson could never win against her. That unflinching stare, that iron will, her beauty, her strength—Anderson had probably kept forgetting she was supposed to be under his command.
"I will never prioritize myself over my master," she declared, each word filled with unwavering resolve.
"Lenora."
"Yes?"
"Who is your master?"
"Master Anderson..."
"And where is he?" He tilted his head slightly.
"Here?" she replied, tilting her head to mirror him. Also, he couldn't help but notice—this gown she was wearing wasn't exactly modest.
"Right. Now tell me: what's the first rule of being a servant?"
"To place their master above all else."
"Really?" That didn't sound right. At least, not from what he remembered of Lumiea's memories. Or maybe this place had its own version of servant protocols?
No.
"Lenora, I'm being serious. Answer the question properly."
"A servant must always obey their master," she finally muttered, her head dipping low in either shame or reluctant acceptance.
Yeah, that would have worked on him—if he didn't already know her tactics. He had seen this exact performance play out in all of Anderson's memories.
"This is a direct order, Lenora. From now on, you are to think of yourself before you think of me. I don't care if you insist on staying with me. Fine. Stay. But if you want that, then you'll follow this one simple command." He leaned closer, his voice resolute. "Because if you don't... I won't be able to stay with you."
Her eyes widened.
"You would leave me?" she asked, her tone strange. Almost alien.
Her eyes were unnerving.
Something about this situation made it feel like he had just stepped on a landmine of his own making.
Well... too late to backpedal now.
"Master, you can't do that," she said, a tremor in her voice as she struggled to rise.
"I said don't move," he snapped, grabbing her shoulders. Holy hell! Why is she still this strong?! Isn't she supposed to be sick?!
"Master... please... you can't leave me... please..." Her voice broke, and then she started crying.
Damn it. Why is this maid so emotionally attached to this scoundrel Anderson? Just thinking about it made his head throb.
"Lenora, listen—" But she cut him off, pulling him down with her onto the bed and clinging to him like he might disappear if she let go. Her skin burned with fever.
Wait.
"LENORA!" he barked, and she flinched.
"STOP USING YOUR ETHER! YOU'RE MAKING YOUR CONDITION WORSE! I forbid it."
Her grip eased slightly.
"Master," she whimpered, fragile and barely coherent. At this point, he was officially done trying to make logical sense of this madness. The look she gave him—it was the same one she would give Anderson when he came back reeking of alcohol and another woman. He wasn't even sure how she always knew, but she did. Every time.
If he didn't know better, he would say this woman was a walking red flag dipped in obsession. Good thing he did know better. She was just a devoted maid scared of losing her master. There was no way she was unhinged... right?
Right?
He cupped her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. His voice was firm, commanding. He needed her to calm down, because for a moment there, he genuinely thought she was going to restrain him to this bed. It wouldn't be the first time, either—Larson had lived through a timeline where that happened more than once. It had almost happened to Lumiea, too, when that psychotic fiancée had lost her mind because he had rejected her.
He sighed.
"I won't leave you, Lenora. I just need you to obey. Completely. Can you do that for me?"
She nodded slowly.
"Good. Now rest."
As much as he wanted to untangle himself from this incredibly awkward, uncomfortable, and oddly warm situation, he didn't. He stayed. Letting her feel safe might be the fastest way to get her to fall asleep. Then he could slip away.
"Mmm~ Master won't leave~ Ever~" she mumbled dreamily.
A chill ran straight down his spine.
He sighed.
On second thought, maybe he should start watching his back a little more carefully. And also... he really needed to do something about this excess weight.