Ophelia frowned, tearing her gaze away from the girls and fixing it back on Black, who stood before her.
"These are the servants you spoke of, My Lord?"
"Well? What do you think?"
In response to Ophelia's skeptical tone, Black shrugged and snapped his fingers, a cunning smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"I'd say they're *exactly* what you asked for."
And truly, Ophelia could find no fault with them. Though she'd anticipated that Black might surprise her with something extraordinary, seeing the girls in the flesh left her utterly stunned and bewildered.
Behind Black stood ten young women, varying in height but all radiating the vibrant energy of youth. They were beautiful, without a doubt—their plain, rustic dresses did little to diminish their natural charm, and Ophelia had no doubt that a little grooming and finer clothes would make them positively dazzling.
If that were all, however, Ophelia might not have been so taken aback. Beautiful girls were a rarity in the ordinary world, a sight many commoners might never lay eyes on in their lifetime. But to Ophelia, who had grown up in a palace teeming with elegant ladies and had attended countless balls where maidens of every shade of beauty—innocent, alluring, lively, or cute—gathered, this was hardly remarkable. So Black had managed to procure a handful of pretty faces? It was hardly surprising.
Perhaps the young lord had connections with a slaver.
It was a malicious thought, one Ophelia quickly dismissed. What truly astonished her was the girls' *discipline*. According to Black, they were bought slaves—but there was none of the confusion, despair, or unease that usually clouded the eyes of such unfortunates. It was unnatural. Shouldn't they be trembling with anxiety, having been purchased by a stranger and brought to this unfamiliar place, where they might well spend the rest of their days, their youth and vitality wasted away?
Ophelia studied them again, more closely this time. Whether older or younger, there was no trace of shadow in their expressions—no nervousness, no fear, no uncertainty about their new surroundings. Instead, their eyes sparkled with excitement as they took in the castle and the princess before them. It might have been her imagination, but Ophelia could have sworn their gazes held none of the curiosity of strangers meeting for the first time. It was the look of old friends, reunited at last.
*Ridiculous*, she told herself. She'd been dead for thirty years. Anyone who had known her back then would be in their thirties or forties now—these girls hadn't even been born yet. How could they possibly recognize her?
If their demeanor left Ophelia confused, their *bearing* left her utterly astounded.
Even under Ophelia's piercing gaze, not one of the girls faltered. They stood tall and straight, their heads bowed slightly in a posture that was both humble and dignified—the perfect balance of a "well-mannered servant." It was a delicate equilibrium, one that took years of careful training to master. Too meek, and they would be dismissed as spineless; too proud, and they would be labeled insolent and unfit for service. Few could strike that balance so flawlessly. Yet these girls did it with ease, their every movement declaring their station while simultaneously asserting their self-respect.
And most perplexing of all—Ophelia could see *pride* and *honor* in their eyes. It was unimaginable. If Black had been the lord of a great, influential noble house, it would have made sense for his servants to take pride in their position. But Black was the descendant of a fallen noble family, one with no prestige or renown to speak of. Why would these girls stand here, their chests puffed out with such glory and pride? That kind of devotion took generations to cultivate—like the loyalty of the royal household staff, who served not just a monarch, but a legacy of centuries of rule and glory. Even old Marfa, who had worked in the castle all her life, felt a sense of belonging rooted in the castle itself, not in Black personally.
Had Black filled their heads with lies?
Ophelia shot him a suspicious glance. She had to admit, the young man was silver-tongued. Could he have sweet-talked these naive girls into believing they were serving a noble and glorious house? It was possible—but to fool *ten* of them so completely?
The odds were laughably low.
"Welcome," Ophelia said after a moment, deciding to set her doubts aside for now. She offered the girls a warm smile and a nod. "I imagine Lord Black has already told you the gist of things, so I won't repeat myself. Marfa will show you to your rooms to settle in..."
"You'll be staying in the servants' quarters on the first floor," Black interrupted, earning himself a sharp frown from Ophelia.
"I expect you to adapt to your new lives quickly. Now, if you'll excuse us—Lady Ophelia and I have matters to discuss."
"Yes, Master!"
The girls answered in perfect unison. In one fluid motion, they lifted the hems of their dresses and curtsied deeply to both of them, then turned and followed Marfa out of the hall, their faces still lit with smiles. Not once did they make a single misstep or show the slightest hint of impropriety. Their movements were quiet, graceful, and utterly composed.
"*Where* on earth did you find them?" Ophelia demanded the moment the door closed behind the girls.
"They're not common village girls, and they're certainly not slaves. What *did* you do to get them?"
"I told you—I didn't steal them, I didn't kidnap them, and I didn't trick them. Everything was done through fair and legitimate means," Black replied, feigning innocence as he spread his hands and smiled earnestly. "Trust me—there's nothing to worry about."
"Nothing to worry about? I beg to differ..." Ophelia frowned, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as she stared at the young lord before her.
"Especially that girl named Charlotte. Don't think you can fool me—she's no slave. You can tell from her skin—she's been pampered and cared for all her life. That's not the kind of treatment a slave gets!"
She clapped her hands lightly for emphasis, her sapphire-blue eyes locking onto Black's, clearly demanding an explanation.
"Could she not be the daughter of a fallen noble?" Black countered with a shrug. "Surely that's not so strange, Lady Ophelia?"
"The daughters of fallen nobles don't know how to *serve*, Lord Black," Ophelia retorted, her tone sharpening—when she used his full title like that, it meant she was growing serious.
"You're the descendant of a fallen noble family, are you not? Did *you* ever learn how to wait on other nobles? To smile and bow and humble yourself before them?"
"Everyone is different," Black said, his gaze meeting hers steadily. "Perhaps that young lady had her own reasons for choosing this path?"
Ophelia let out a long, exasperated sigh. She didn't believe a word of it—but for now, she had no choice but to drop the subject.
"Why are you having them stay *inside* the castle?" she asked, shifting gears. "Surely you understand the risks? If there's a panic..."
Every midnight, the restless spirits that dwelled in the castle's dungeons would roam the halls. To prevent chaos, the servants had always lived in the outbuildings outside the castle walls, and Ophelia had enforced a strict rule forbidding anyone from entering the castle after dark. Now these girls were being housed *inside*—what if they stumbled upon the spirits in the middle of the night? The consequences would be disastrous.
"Where there's a will, there's a way," Black waved a hand dismissively. "I assure you, they'll follow the rules to the letter. And I'll speak to the spirits—they'll understand."
"Lady Ophelia, I know what you're thinking. But we're about to host a viscount. Do you really want me to say to his lordship, 'I'm terribly sorry, sir, but we have a rule in this castle—no one is allowed to walk around after midnight. We'd appreciate it if you'd comply'?"
Ophelia opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. She knew he was right. While guests were expected to respect their host's rules, the other party was a *viscount*, and Black was still technically a man without a formal title. It was true that no guest in their right mind would wander the castle halls at midnight—but stating the rule outright would be an insult to the viscount's dignity. Noble etiquette, for all its hypocrisy, was built on mutual respect. And given Black's current standing, it was simply not his place to dictate what a higher-ranking noble could or could not do.
Not to mention the alternative explanation: *Oh, sorry, but our castle is haunted by ghosts every night after twelve...*
"I see your point, My Lord," Ophelia sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead in resignation. "I suppose I didn't think this through..."
"Nonsense—it's not your fault," Black said, now that he'd successfully placated her. He leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting to one of business. "How have things been while I was away?"
"Everything is proceeding smoothly, My Lord," Ophelia replied, her demeanor brightening at the change of topic. She retrieved a stack of documents from her desk and handed them to Black. "The road repairs are complete, and I've resolved all the issues you assigned me. And..."
As she reported on the state of Duskhold Castle, however, a flicker of confusion lingered in her mind.
Before he'd left, Black had entrusted her with full authority over the castle's affairs—and had given her a list of orders that had left her utterly baffled.
Not only had he ordered the roads leading out of Dusk Town to be repaired, but once he'd provided the necessary funds, he'd gone even further, commanding her to completely rebuild and repave the roads *inside* the town as well. Ophelia had been utterly perplexed—she'd even discussed it with the old mayor, wondering if the young lord had some kind of bizarre obsession with roadwork.
But road repairs were just the beginning. Black had also ordered her to demolish all the abandoned, dilapidated houses in the town, expand the irrigation canals, and redesign several of the town's public spaces. To Ophelia, it seemed like a colossal waste of money. While these improvements would certainly enhance the townsfolk's quality of life, they would bring *no tangible benefits* to the castle's coffers. And frankly, even though Black had come into some extra cash lately, spending it on infrastructure when the castle's finances were still far from stable was hardly a wise decision.
At first, Ophelia had assumed Black planned to raise the townsfolk's taxes to recoup his expenses. But to her shock, he'd done the exact opposite—issuing a decree that *lowered* Dusk Town's taxes by a full thirty percent.
Thirty percent! That meant the castle's monthly revenue had dropped from a hundred gold coins to a mere seventy. Did the young lord even realize that seventy gold coins wouldn't even buy a decent teapot in the capital?
Despite her misgivings, however, Ophelia had carried out his orders without complaint. And to her surprise, while she might have been hopeless when it came to matters of war and combat, she was a *natural* at governance and administration. She'd not only managed to calm the initial unrest among the townsfolk but had also overseen Black's so-called "infrastructure projects" with impeccable efficiency. It had only been five days, so the results weren't yet visible—but every detail, no matter how small, had been organized and executed flawlessly.
And her efforts had not been entirely in vain. Two days ago, a merchant had approached her, expressing interest in building a lumber mill in Dusk Town. Ophelia had negotiated the initial terms and conditions, and was now just waiting for Black to return and give his final approval. Once the deal was signed, the castle would have a steady, substantial source of income.
"Excellent work," Black said, flipping through the documents with a satisfied nod. He'd sometimes wondered if his memories of the "genius princess" had been overly idealized—but now, seeing her in action, he had to admit she was every bit as capable as he'd remembered.
"If a merchant is interested in setting up shop here, we can't let the opportunity pass us by. Let's use this to boost the town's commercial development."
"Commercial development?" Ophelia raised an eyebrow, a note of skepticism in her voice. "Are you planning to spend even more money, My Lord?"
"Relax—this time, it's an investment, not an expense," Black assured her with a grin.
*Unlike all the other times you've thrown money away?*
Ophelia bit back the retort, rolling her eyes as she waited for his next order. She had a feeling she was in for another surprise.
"I remember there's a tailor's shop in town—their work is quite good," Black said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Our maids can't very well wait on guests in tattered, dirty dresses, can they?"
He paused, the corners of his lips curling up into a mischievous smile.
"I've already designed their uniforms... If we're going to renovate the castle, we might as well update the maids' attire to match, don't you think?"
"Update... their attire?" Ophelia repeated, frowning in confusion. She stepped forward, taking the sketch Black handed her and studying it carefully. Her eyes widened in shock, and she looked up at her lord, her voice barely a whisper.
"My Lord... Is this *really* a maid's uniform?"
"Of course it is," Black replied, wearing an expression of perfect innocence.
"What else *could* it be?"