The Villainess was Loved

Chapter Sixty-Four: Yes, Your Lordship

**Disclaimer**

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. TRIGGER THEMES HAVE BEEN DISCUSSED.

**Attempted r**e**

For those that cannot read, I will provide a brief summary in ch sixty-five {A paragraph or so}



The town, not to mention the ports, were absolutely ghastly.

It could easily be brushed off as the effects of their constant battle with the neighbouring theocracy wishing to claim Clay from Norvig because the island bordered closer to their country by a meter than it did Norvig.

‘This is ridiculous.’

‘I do not care about any of this! Where the hell is my meat? They should be here by now!’

‘Should I have gone hunting then left this boring tour to Breca?!’

“So then, when will you stage my dethroning? Before or after I pour my coin into this place? I’d rather it be before. But you know…”

The older man frowned, then turned his gaze to the ground.

“We…we have sought aid from the Emperor for seven years now. Each time we wrote a letter, a messenger would return with the message, ‘you are not forgiven’. We have lost so many of our people because of our pride, so we…we will not make the same mistake again.”

“Seven years? That’s a damn long time. Did you exhaust the resources of the island?”

“No, heavens no.”

“You say that as though my question is preposterous.”

He flushed.

“If you did not exhaust them, I doubt that it is due to your wisdom as a leader; I bet none of the Norvig territories wanted to trade with you; those that did, wished to rob you blind.”

The older man cleared his throat then turned his gaze in the general direction of the town.

Clearly, he loved Clay, but it was too little, too late.

At most, he had a few years left in him.

Even with a cane, he tripped twice on level ground. His coughs were louder than his voice, which at first was off-putting, but…

‘…eh, it's still off-putting.’

All he had to give was information.

“Hey, old man. Do you have a kid, related or not, that can be my butler?”

His eyes turned to me, and rather than offer his characteristic sheepish gaze; his eyes were filled with the wonder only children hold.

“Will…will you really keep our customs?”

“Hold up! We are discussing different matters at the moment. Once I restore the castle and the town, we can talk about culture. I have brought in new people, so rather than ask me to preserve yours, Clay needs to accept new cultures, to diversify.”

“But eating each other has to go, you know.”

“It…it was only during war. We…we are not savages! Theocracy spilt oil in our waters, so the fish died and the animals in the forest-“

“I don’t care. You did the best you could with the knowledge you had at the time.”

His eyes watered.

“Urg…don’t cry…”

I took a step back from him when he broke out in sobs.

“There…there.”

*

It took about ten minutes to calm him down; even then, he would not shut up about the ‘hero of Oakwood being magnanimous.’

‘Who the hell is magnanimous? At the time of saving it, I wanted to become too important to kill…but that backfired.’

“Listen, Benjie, tomorrow, send your butler candidate at the c***k of dawn. Send one with accurate information on Clay. They do not have to be strong or well versed in combat, but they need to be sharp and, this goes without saying, loyal. I will not hesitate to kill a rat.”

“U-understood, my ladyship.”

“Also, Henceforth, I wish to be addressed by the title ‘Lord’ while in Clay. The title ‘Countess’ stands, but many expect leniency from a lady, so they fault. I want perfection.”

“B-but ladies here are-.”

“As I said, I came here with a lot of people. While your culture may hold deep respect for a particular gender, it is different elsewhere. I don’t have time to wait for matters to change, nor do I wish to pioneer matters.”

“Y-yes, my lord.”

“One last thing…”

*

*

*

“Leon and Tara should be here with the deer in a few minutes; we can have some stew-”

“I don’t want stew!! I want rare deer steak!!”

“Gods, alright, but they, the general populous of the castle, will have stew. We only have two chefs, so stew is easier.”

“Two expensive chefs.”

I clarified, and Breca rolled her eyes.

“We still need a doctor; none of the fresh physicians from the academy wanted to come to a back wood place like Clay.”

“Maybe we can get indigenous ones; they know the terrain well enough, plus each locale has its common diseases.”

I suggested, then sighed.

“Or maybe we can have two? Gods, we need a school here!”

“The people already have schools.”

“Okay, let me clarify, we need good schools here!?”

“Or just teachers.”

“Fine! Fine.”

“I can stroll into town tomorrow and survey the land-,”

Breca stopped mid-sentence, her gaze heavily transfixed on something in the distance.

A knight parted from his group then grabbed a girl from the slave troop-carrying firewood.

The wood was passed on to a larger lady, and the girl followed the knight to an abandoned barn.

“Hmm... isn’t it too early for mischief?”

I asked.

“It's probably because of their state; we can hide that they are slaves, but there are malnourished…so there is only so little that we can do to conceal their identities.”

I gazed at the darkening sky.

It was evening now, the odd period where the land resembled blue because of the sun’s absence, yet it was not entirely dark, perhaps because we were in a high-altitude region.

I let out a deep sigh, then turned to Breca.

“We need a blacksmith as well; perhaps I can get Benjie-”

“You mean our new butler?”

“No, I mean Benjie. He will bring someone who will be the new butler, but I want you to handle the finances.”

“I thought I would be your knight?”

“With your travel schedule? No way. You need to do more art, get Clay on the map, get us more money!”

“Urg...”

“I would rather you became my aide. Is that fine with you?”

“It is. What about Kat?”

“I was thinking head maid? But she has terrible fashion sense.”

“Just awful.”

“Right? I think she’ll suggest her role, plus who knows. She’s always been a nomad.”

*

*

*

Marcela June

“Look at me. What is your name?”

Paul, a large older man, the same one that picked her apart from the crowd and sent his kiss to said.

“…”

“You can’t talk?”

“….”

“Can you understand me?”

“…”

“I bet you can; it’s even better that you can’t talk. Come here.”

He beckoned her, but she hesitated.

It was one thing for this to happen after months of being together, but this was her first day.

‘Is this it?’

‘Is this how it's going to be all through my sentence?’

‘What happens if he invites his friends? What happens when-’

He must have noticed the worry on her face.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

She shook her head.

“I knew you could understand me!”

He said with a smug look.

“Anyway, my name is Paul Foyle, son of Viscount Foyle.”

‘Gods…a noble, a knight and now…my captor.’

‘No! I don’t-’

She took a step back.

“You know, four years ago, the countess was supposed to be my stepmother. She was rejected on the spot so-,"

Marcela couldn’t hear anything he said next; her heart dimmed after he mentioned the countess.

Her resistance to her bleak future lessened, and the glassiness of her eyes resumed.

She took a step forward to comply with his wishes.

The knight cupped her cheek and forced his fingers between her jaws to open her mouth forcefully.

“You still have a tongue. Hmm, that’s good for me…means you can at least put it to use. I like that you can’t talk. It’s the quiet ones that rile you up.”

Marcela shuddered, but what was the point?

‘What is the point of emotions if nothing ever changes…’

‘I want to sleep.’

He pushed her to her knees.

“If you do well, I’ll help you out next time. Hell, I can even make you a noble, you know. Get a title that even the Countess coveted.”

He unbuckled his belt. Apparently, the crest of the imperial family was not enough to make him hesitate.

“You’ll feel good! Might even say your first word today!”

He forced her head to his underwear. Even without actual nudity, he was too pungent to ignore.

‘It’s okay; it’ll be quick!’

He brushed her face against him and lowered his underwear.

“It’s not diseased or anything. This place is s**t; we have to walk for water to bathe, so….”

Nausea claimed her, but there was only so much one could do.

He would undoubtedly hit her if she threw up on him.

“What’s with that expression! I am not a bad person! I am your friend; friends do this all the time. Plus, we are both benefiting, you know!”

‘Amazing…how can they all utter similar words? Was everyone similar, or is it just me that never changes?’

Marcela closed her eyes and steadied her heart, only, instead of his limpness shoved to her face, the door to the barn burst open.

“f**k…”

The countess cursed.

“We forgot to account for horses.”

“We can rent for a while.”

“I don’t want to rent; if we rent, they’ll insist on attaching a travel wagon! Those wagons are bumpy and- ,”

“Where the hell is this motion sickness thing coming from?”

The knight pushed Marcela to the ground in such harshness that she needed a moment to reorient herself.

“C-Countess Evergreen! M-my lady”

The knight chirped as he struggled to pull his pants back on.

“I told you, it’s the machinery that’s old. The problem isn’t me. We have only used rusty ass boats and carriages that don’t have a good centre of gravity.”

“Gods, how is it that the common denominator in all the problems has this much confidence in her answers?”

The Countess did not acknowledge the knight’s greeting.

“Oh, you did not just call me the problem!”

“Okay, maybe not the main problem, but you could be stressed out. This is the perfect time for a weekend cruise if I do say so myself.”

“Do I look like I want to go back to a boat?”

“Well, no, but if we pack non-fishy foods then-”

The knight was seething. It was evident in the way he clenched his fists.

It was odd the compulsion she had to beg for his forgiveness or plead that they acknowledge him.

‘What if he takes it out on me?’

“I greet the Countess of Clay, Lady Arusei Evergreen.”

He repeated with more volume, halting the ladies in their chatter.

“I am Sir Paul Foyle, son of Viscount Foyle, an imperial knight that is an integral part of your troops.”

“Hmmm…”

The knight sent the countess a warm smile, and after tilting her head to the side, the Countess returned it.

A pitiful feeling settled in the depths of Marcela’s belly. One she was not certain how to address, but all she knew was that she felt incredibly sleepy.

She turned her gaze to the countess, but she was no longer by the door. Instead, she was behind the knight.

“Hmm, maybe we should add some light crystals here; these don’t even work.”

The countess said.

Her words sounded as though they were meant for the maroon-haired woman. But there was a stillness in the air too nerve-wracking for Marcela to ignore.

“I will get a handyman tomorrow.”

Immediately, the maroon-haired woman responded; the head of the knight slid from its neck and dropped to the ground.

On instinct, she coiled her body and turned harshly away so as to not make contact with it.

From her experience, dead bodies were often diseased.

It took Marcela a few seconds to understand what had just occurred.

Her heart’s beat grew too erratic, too suddenly for the scream in her lungs to escape.

“Hang his head on the walls as a warning, then send his body to the Viscount’s estate with a condolence letter and a charge of attempted r**e attached.”

“Understood, your lordship.”

The green of the countess’s eyes turned all too suddenly towards her, and she felt the compulsion to hide her neck.

“You smell like a witch.”