Now outside Marcella's chambers, I pondered on what to do next, wondering if I should head for the butler quarters after dropping the tray in the kitchen.
'Okay, what's the next logical step?'
The kitchen would also give me a chance to find the Butler Quarters and, more importantly, figure out where Arthur stores things. I needed anything to fill in the gaps that the first thirty chapters of the webnovel had left out.
First, I needed to find the kitchen, but I couldn't just wander aimlessly down the hallway, it would just make everything too awkward and uncomfortable.
Walking with practice ease, I focused on the way the marble floor flowed around the corner near a tall window overlooking the manor gardens.
Then, a voice sliced through the silence, calling out to me.
"Arthur."
I quickly turned, heeding the call. Standing just a few paces away was a girl who looked like she'd stepped right out of a dream. Red hair, like velvet blood under the sun, flowed down over fair skin. Her eyes, large and a soft, deep brown, were currently fixed on me.
All these descriptions.
It had to be her.
Isolde.
She perfectly matched the novel's description. There was absolutely no doubt, it was truly her.
The best girl. The kind, righteous, tragic heroine I had spent hours reading about, the one who was forced into a marriage with that fucking prince.
I felt a giddy, adolescent happiness bloom in my chest. This wasn't just a character; this was the character.
She took a step toward me, a faint sign of concern between her brows.
"Is my mother in her room?" she asked, her voice soft.
"..."
I froze.
The reality of her presence, the scent of clean laundry and something subtly floral, the genuine concern in her eyes, it was overwhelming. I couldn't answer. I just stood there, staring at the most kind hearted character I had ever read, clutching a coffee tray like a lifeline.
Snap—
She snapped her fingers right in front of my face, pulling me out of my thoughts.
"Arthur? Are you quite alright?" She looked genuinely perplexed now. "Should I ask again? Is my mother, the Queen, in her room?"
"Yes. Her Majesty is currently in her chamber," I managed to spill out, trying to appear apologetic rather than enthusiastic. "She just finished her morning coffee."
"Thank you, Arthur," she said, her expression softening immediately. She gave me a brief, polite smile and turned to walk toward the Queen's chambers.
This was it. My chance to actually interact with her. To see if the real Isolde lived up to the fantasy.
"My lady," I called out.
She paused immediately, turning back to me, the polite smile widening slightly.
"You know no one calls me that here, Arthur," she replied warmly. "Isolde is just fine. And if you must be formal, 'Ms. Isolde' does the trick. You know how much I hate all that."
She was exactly as they described, kind and righteous, hating the formality that her position imposed upon her. And as beautiful as anything.
This was the moment. I had to say something that didn't sound like a transmigrated webnovel addict gushing.
"I just wanted to say you look pretty today, my la— I mean, Ms. Isolde."
The genuine compliment, stripped of formality, clearly caught her off guard. A soft, pink blush bloomed high on her cheeks, making her look even younger and more endearing.
"Aww, thank you, Sir Arthur," she replied, her voice now filled with a sincerity that made my heart thump.
She gave me a beautiful, blushing smile, then turned and quickly disappeared down the corridor.
I stared at the empty space where she had stood.
'Sir Arthur. That sounds right,' I thought with a smirk.
....
After dropping the tray in the kitchen, I saw a group of butlers heading downstairs. It looked like they were heading towards the butler quarters. I couldn't know for sure yet, so I decided to follow.
Acting like I knew exactly where I was going, I followed them. Every turn they took, I took; every person they greeted, I followed suit. I wanted to blend in, avoid trouble, and definitely avoid that Sebastian guy asking any more questions.
"Good night."
"Remember you're handling breakfast next time."
"I don't know why I always get laundry duties every time."
The butlers talked among themselves, before they stopped in a corridor lined with a row of identical, dark wooden doors. This has to be it. As they began to disperse one by one, slotting keys into locks and disappearing into their respective rooms.
When the last butler had entered his room, I took a chance and walked up to the nearest door, reaching out to try the knob.
"Hey! What are you doing?"
I flinched, pulling my hand back as if the door was hot. The voice belonged to the butler whose room I had just tried to enter. He was a stocky man with perpetually tired eyes, leaning against his door frame, already half undressed.
"My apologies," I began. "Long day, I suppose. I must be more stressed than I realized."
"The Queen, you know? She's such a task load," I continued.
The butler's tired eyes sized me up and down, a sarcastic expression forming on his face.
"Yeah, the Queen is such a workload," he said. "Let me guess, she asked you to get her more cups of coffee?"
"Something like that. Exhausting, isn't it?" I quickly stepped away from his door and moved two doors down.
"Right," the tired butler muttered, unconvinced, before slamming his door shut.
Then, I saw another door that no one had opened. I decided to wait it out, Incase it belonged to someone else, to check if anyone would walk towards it, but after a hefty fifteen minutes of just waiting, I concluded that this door had to belong to Arthur's room.
I quickly checked for the key in the pocket of the uniform—it was there, thankfully.
....
CREAK
Opening the door, the room was small, a full blown opposite to the Queen's elegant chambers. It held just the essentials— a narrow bed against the wall, a simple wooden desk piled with neatly stacked papers, and a wardrobe that looked like it was from the cheapest part of the castle's budget.
A single window offered a view of a back courtyard, currently dark under the night sky.
I walked straight to the desk and ran a hand over the papers. Tax forms, inventory lists, duty rotas. The life of a competent butler.
I sighed, collapsing onto the bed. It wasn't the comfy mattress I missed, but it was safe. For now, this small room was my home in this new life of mine.
Some people might try to find a way back, back to their previous life.
But not me.
This is my chance to truly understand love. I can start fresh, building relationships with new people—not as Arthur, but as myself.
But the major downside of this whole transmigration trope is when you inherit the body of an unmentioned character.
And that, tragically, is exactly what I got.
Arthur.
A name I didn't even remember seeing. It wasn't that I had a bad memory; that wasn't even close to the case. It was that Arthur was never mentioned, not even once.
A character about whom I knew absolutely nothing.
I opened his drawer. The only things inside were some dirty combs, stray pins, and various male grooming supplies.
But then, one thing caught my eye.
A letter.
He had left a letter right there in his drawer.
My hands settled on the letter, and I immediately knew this was my chance to understand what kind of person Arthur truly was, and what relationships he kept.
----
To Whosoever Is Reading This,