With the addition of ten new maids, Duskhold Castle suddenly buzzed with life—and no one was happier about it than little Irene.
At first, Irene had been nervous. Though she wasn't a professional maid, she could tell right away that these girls were far more skilled at the job than she was. It took her forever to polish the silverware until it shone, but the maids had it gleaming in no time. When it came to cleaning, cooking, and brewing tea, they were even more impressive. Irene had worried she might be sent away—after all, the castle was small, and with four of them already, there hadn't been much work to go around. Now, with ten more maids, she feared she'd become redundant.
Luckily, Ophelia had seen the little girl's anxiety and taken her under her wing, making her her personal maid. Irene's duties were simple enough: waking Ophelia every morning, preparing her breakfast and hot tea, and organizing her documents. It wasn't exactly easy, but it was far from overwhelming—and the little girl quickly settled into her new role.
Once Black had brought the maids back, he'd washed his hands of all other matters, content to play the role of the idle lord. For one thing, he'd never been interested in the tedious details of running a castle. For another, Ophelia was more than capable of handling everything on her own—there was simply no need for him to interfere.
So, for the next few days, Black's only pleasures were sipping delicious black tea every morning and watching Ophelia direct the maids as they cleaned the rooms and moved the decorations. Watching the former princess covered in dust and sweat, her hair sticking to her forehead, was a far cry from the elegant, regal figure she'd once been—and Black found it endlessly amusing.
"That's it! Right there!"
Ophelia looked up, directing two maids as they placed an ornament on the table. She studied it for a moment, satisfied, before turning her gaze back to the maids. They'd finished their task and were already walking down the corridor, but Ophelia's eyes lingered on their retreating figures for a long time before she finally looked away.
Then, the last voice she wanted to hear at that moment spoke up behind her.
"Jealous?"
"I'm not jealous, My Lord."
Ophelia spun around, glaring at Black, who'd appeared out of nowhere. She spoke firmly, but her cheeks were already flushing pink—and under Black's amused, triumphant gaze, the former princess found herself struggling to find the right words.
"It's just… those… those clothes. I've never seen anything like them before, that's all. I'm just curious."
"Really? Are they that strange?"
"It's very strange!"
Relieved to finally have an escape from the subject, Ophelia's voice grew stronger. But just then, another maid walked past them, glancing curiously at the two of them standing in the corridor. Ophelia's voice faded to a whisper, her eyes darting after the maid.
"They're just… so… so *unusual*. Or maybe it's just a little… a little bit…"
Ophelia trailed off, her gaze once again drifting to the maid's retreating figure. Black stood in front of her, a lazy smile playing on his lips, enjoying the princess's flustered state. He knew exactly what she was thinking.
The maid uniforms Black had designed had been made in no time. Dusk Town was small, and not many people needed new clothes sewn—after all, in a remote town like this, almost every family knew how to sew their own. As a result, the tailors in town rarely had any business. So Black's order had been a godsend—they'd jumped at the chance to earn some money, working with unprecedented enthusiasm and speed. They'd even sourced the expensive fabrics he'd requested at the first opportunity. Money solved everything, after all—and since Black hadn't haggled over the price like most picky customers, the tailors had gone above and beyond to deliver the perfect uniforms.
But once Ophelia had seen the sketches come to life, she'd been anything but calm.
In Ophelia's memory, maids always wore long, sky-blue dresses with white aprons tied around their waists and frilly white caps on their heads. That was the standard maid's uniform—even in noble households, the design varied only slightly. But the uniforms Black had designed completely overturned everything Ophelia knew about maid attire.
Unlike the loose, shapeless dresses she was used to, these uniforms were tight and form-fitting, accentuating the girls' figures and highlighting their youthful, vibrant charm. It was certainly novel, Ophelia had to admit—but there was one thing she simply couldn't accept.
They were all *miniskirts*.
Granted, the design was clever enough to prevent any embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions—the white ruffled lining underneath acted as a barrier, blocking any prying eyes. Paired with black knee-high stockings and black leather boots, the maids looked not only energetic and neat but also incredibly feminine and attractive.
But that was precisely the problem. In the world Ophelia had grown up in, women were never allowed to bare their thighs in public—it was considered shameless, indecent behavior. Noble young ladies always wore long dresses, even at home; exposing even their calves was considered far too revealing for the sheltered flowers of high society.
Ophelia's own outfit was hardly formal, but it still retained her noble dignity: her white knee-high boots and long dress covered her legs completely, leaving nothing exposed. But the maids were different. Mini skirts were worlds away from the long dresses she was used to—and watching the girls strut around the castle in such scandalous uniforms, their thighs on full display, was more than Ophelia could handle.
*Shameless! Utterly shameless!*
"My Lord, why on earth would you design such uniforms? I think they're… they're *indecent*!"
Ophelia's face was bright red with embarrassment as she finally forced the word out. As a princess raised in the royal palace, with the strictest education, she'd never even heard such vulgar terms before—let alone used them.
"Indecent? Why would you say that?"
To Ophelia's utter frustration, Black didn't look the least bit apologetic. On the contrary, he looked genuinely shocked, as if he'd never imagined she'd react this way.
"Don't you think they look beautiful?"
"I think they're *indecent*!"
Ophelia clenched her fists, her voice steadier this time.
"How could you let these girls walk around with their thighs exposed like this? It's an insult to their dignity! And if anyone else sees them, they'll question your taste as a nobleman!"
"Anyone who questions my taste isn't worthy of being a noble."
"Well, I'm questioning your taste as a lord right now."
Ophelia rolled her eyes, annoyed.
"Not even in the royal palace would you see such bold, immodest clothing… and if you let them walk around like this, they'll be harassed by every lecherous nobleman in the kingdom."
Ophelia's concerns weren't unfounded. In this era, maids had no rights whatsoever. Take her own mother, for example—even though she'd been a lady-in-waiting, she'd never been able to refuse her master's advances. Privately, many nobles even traded maids like property, taking any they fancied to bed without a second thought. Maids had no right to say no—not even if they belonged to another lord. After all, maids were nothing more than ornaments. Would any master fly into a rage just because a guest had touched one of their decorations?
In that sense, the plain, shapeless maid uniforms of old had been a form of protection. If a maid didn't stand out, she was less likely to catch a nobleman's eye—and less likely to be taken advantage of. But Black had done the exact opposite, putting these girls' youthful beauty on full display for everyone to see. It was hardly a sensible decision. If these girls had been noble ladies, it might have been acceptable—but as maids, it was asking for trouble.
"I see."
Black nodded, listening to Ophelia's complaints. He'd already considered all of this, but he wasn't worried. These maids weren't to be trifled with. Even though they hadn't regained their original powers yet, they were all skill-based spirit warriors—they'd never relied on brute strength in the first place. Any man foolish enough to try and harass them would quickly regret it.
Of course, Ophelia knew nothing about this. To her, these girls were just a group of strange, mysterious but otherwise lovely young women—and she certainly didn't want them to suffer because of some lord's perverted tastes.
But there was one more problem…
"So you were worried about them, huh?"
"Of course I was!"
Ophelia frowned, staring at Black's unchanged smile. A sinking feeling settled in her stomach—she knew something was wrong.
"What else would I be worried about?"
"Nothing. It's just… you've been staring at them so intently, I thought you might want to wear one too…"
"Me?!"
Ophelia's eyes widened in shock at the unexpected reply, her sapphire-blue irises nearly popping out of her head.
"Why would I…!"
"If these uniforms are really as indecent as you say, then as a well-bred princess, you should just ignore them, shouldn't you?"
Black was clearly enjoying every second of Ophelia's flustered reaction.
"But you can't seem to take your eyes off them… It was my mistake. I had uniforms made for everyone, even Irene. There's no reason not to make one for you too—after all, you're my second-in-command. You deserve a uniform of your own."
"Make me wear one?!"
Ophelia's body trembled slightly, her mouth hanging open in shock. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"But… this is…!"
"Don't worry. As my second-in-command, you'll get special treatment."
Black smiled elegantly, placing a hand on Ophelia's shoulder.
"If you don't like the skirt length, we can always make it longer. But personally, I think women should show off their beauty. It would be a shame to cover it up, don't you think?"
"I-It's not a shame!"
Ophelia jumped back, her face burning bright red as she glared at Black.
"That's enough, Lord Black! I want you to drop this ridiculous idea right now! I'm perfectly happy with my current clothes—I have no need for a uniform!"
"That's a shame."
Black frowned, clearly disappointed by her answer.
"But I suppose I can understand. After all, no one likes to show off their flaws. It seems I've overstepped my bounds."
"That's not true!"
The implication was obvious—even a fool could hear what Black was really saying. Ophelia felt like she'd been struck by lightning, her face turning even redder as she snapped back, her voice trembling with anger.
"It's not because of that! My legs are perfectly fine! They're not ugly at all!"
And with that, Ophelia lifted her dress up, flipping the hem to show Black her legs.
Silence.
"A-Ah!"
Black stared at her, dumbfounded by the former princess's sudden outburst. Ophelia froze, her mind going blank as she looked down at her hands—they were still clutching the hem of her dress, holding it up high, exposing her beautiful, smooth, slender legs for all the world to see. The soft curves of her thighs were fully on display—and if she lifted the dress any higher, she'd be exposing far more than just her legs.
"A-Ah… A-Ah… A-Ah!"
Ophelia's face was crimson, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find words. Black, after his initial shock, quickly regained his composure. He studied her legs carefully, then nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"They're very beautiful, Lady Ophelia."
He spoke sincerely, his tone as warm and amused as ever.
"A-Ah! I-I… I have to go!"
Ophelia let go of her dress, freezing like a statue for a moment before spinning around and fleeing down the corridor as fast as her legs could carry her.
Black watched her retreating figure, shaking his head with a smile.
Who would have thought the calm, collected princess had such a childish side to her?
It seemed he'd have to order one more uniform after all.