Chapter 90
And thus, after what could only be described as a full-blown emotional meltdown, I wandered about the study, basking in my newfound balance.
My thighs quivered. My lower abdomen clenched with every shift. And my poor, wretched womanhood howled with betrayal at each step, as though it had not enthusiastically invited such ruin mere hours ago.
But I paid it no mind. This was a moment for triumph. Millicent remained at my side, walking with me, until a knock sounded at the door.
"Enter," she called out.
Eris stepped in and offered a swift bow. "Lord Vincent is having another... moment. He demands your presence, Your Grace."
At this, I lit up all over again. "Let us go to him, Millicent!"
"Let us go," she said with a gentle smile, before turning to Eris. "Thank you. There is no need to escort us."
"Yes, Your Grace," Eris replied respectfully to Millicent, then turned to me, and all formality vanished as expected.
The staff and I had long ago agreed that if they ever treated me as stiffly as they did Millicent, I would fake my death out of sheer boredom.
"Your Ladyship, do take care!" Eris said. "He's in a tantrum. And when Lord Vincent is angry, he prefers violence as a coping mechanism!"
She stepped closer and rolled up her sleeve like she was unveiling a relic of war. "Look!" she exclaimed. "He bit me!"
Indeed, there were small, vicious little teeth marks on her forearm. Millicent sighed softly, though it was the sigh of a woman who had long accepted the chaos of motherhood.
"We shall see about that," I said with a mischievous grin, and seized Millicent's hand, dragging her from the room. Though in truth, I allowed her to lead, for I hadn't the faintest idea which chamber our little duke had currently claimed as his battlefield.
"Your Ladyship! You are walking without your cane? Merciful heavens!" Eris cried out behind me.
Millicent and I exchanged a glance, our smiles quiet but full of knowing warmth.
As we neared a particular door, a high-pitched shriek tore through it like a herald of doom.
"Such a brat," I muttered fondly, just before flinging the door open.
The moment Vincent laid eyes upon Millicent, his screaming came to an abrupt and suspiciously obedient halt. I surveyed the scene like a general stepping onto a battlefield after the dust had settled.
He was clearly in the middle of a lesson, or, rather, what remained of one. A young noblewoman, presumably the tutor, stood beside the desk awkwardly. The desk itself was buried beneath an avalanche of books and papers, all in varying states of disarray.
Vincent was sprawled dramatically across the floor. Around him, the fallen comrades: Lina, Maria, Kathy, and two unfamiliar maids, all seated on the ground, staring into the void with the hollow expressions of those who had tried.
Then I felt it. A sudden drop in temperature. The air grew heavy. The maids stilled. I turned, slowly, and there it was.
The Look.
Millicent's expression had darkened into that infamous, terrifying stare. Her crimson eyes now sharp and cold, gleaming with a silent fury. Even the shadows seemed to inch away from her.
I turned back to Vincent just in time to see him burrow his face into Kathy's lap, clutching at her skirts like a prisoner begging for sanctuary.
"Mother, I do not wish to study history!" he blurted, his voice petulant but muffled.
"Rise," Millicent commanded.
To my immense surprise, Vincent complied at once. He slithered from Kathy's lap and stood upright, spine ramrod straight, though his wide eyes betrayed a fear only Millicent's maternal wrath could inspire.
I sighed. "Oh do cease, Millicent. You are going to freeze the walls, and the maids look halfway to fainting."
At this, Vincent blinked and turned to me as though seeing me for the first time. Charming. So much for maternal presence. Apparently, unless I descend from the heavens wreathed in mist, I'm utterly invisible to my own son.
But all was forgiven a moment later.
He sprinted toward me, flung his entire weight into my arms, and I, unprepared for the impact, collapsed to the floor. Vincent promptly climbed into my lap like a small conqueror claiming new territory.
"The pretty lady with the same hair as me!" he declared, seizing a handful of my white hair.
"Agh!" I gasped, the sting immediate and wholly undignified.
"Vincent!" came the collective scream of the room from five maids, one flustered tutor, and, of course, Millicent's voice cleaving above the rest like a thunderclap.
Vincent mercifully ceased his tugging, though, alas, he did not release his grip. His tiny fingers remained entangled in my hair. Slowly, he turned his head toward Millicent. The moment his gaze met hers, terror visibly overtook him once more. But in the span of a breath, he whipped back around to face me and beamed as though nothing in the world could be wrong.
"I like your hair!" he chirped with blinding innocence.
Excuse me?
How does one ricochet from existential dread to cheerful flattery in the span of two heartbeats? Is this child possessed? Was he dropped as an infant? Did I birth a defect? Then again… Millicent is defective in her own elegant, sword-wielding way. Perhaps it runs in the bloodline.
"Let go of my hair," I said, trying to keep the maternal exasperation from overtaking my tone. "You are hurting me. And truly, this is quite rude. You cannot greet me in this fashion every time you see me."
He giggled and began petting my hair now. "It's soft!"
Millicent lowered herself onto the floor beside me with a sigh that spoke volumes. "Perhaps he is defective," she murmured.
"I just had that very thought!" I exclaimed. We both broke into laughter, and just like that, the room lightened.
"Darling," Millicent said, reaching out to tousle his mop of chaotic hair, "her name is Florence Lorynthall. She is your mother."
Vincent paused, fingers still nestled in my scalp, then gave a small shake of his head, laughing as though the notion was absurd.
"No, you are my mother," he replied cheerfully to Millicent.
"You have two mothers," she said gently, her fingers combing his wild curls with habitual affection.
I couldn't resist. My heart was too full, my limbs too light. I leaned in and planted a kiss upon his soft cheek. "Actually, you have one mother. Me," I said grandly, unable to resist a smirk. "And Millicent shall be your maaather."
The moment the word left my lips, Millicent burst into laughter. "Mather," she repeated.
"I want to eat lollipop!" Vincent declared.
"Oh? You wish to snack on sweets, yet refuse to apply yourself to your lessons?"
Vincent nodded with the confidence of a general confessing to a justified rebellion. "Yes! Mother will not share hers. She keeps it locked in her desk with an actual key."
That serious? I turned to Millicent, entirely amused, until I caught the way her eyes suddenly flicked away, as if I had pointed a spotlight upon her in the midst of some secret crime.
I narrowed my gaze.
"Millicent?"
"That one is mine," she said, her tone quieter than usual.
"It is a piece of candy," I replied, utterly baffled. "Since when have you become possessive over confections?"
"Well," she muttered, without meeting my eyes, "that one is... special. And it is mine."
My suspicions grew. She was being evasive. Oddly so.
"Are you hiding something else in there besides the sacred lollipop?"
"No," Vincent interjected with far too much eagerness. "It is just a lollipop. She even holds it when she sleeps sometimes."
I turned to Millicent once more, now properly invested. I leaned in, watching her squirm under my scrutiny. "Millicent. Do tell. Why are you safeguarding a single piece of candy in a locked drawer? And, quite curiously, why are you cuddling it like a beloved relic whilst you sleep?"
She shifted. Her voice dropped further still, barely audible.
"It is... because you gave it to me."
"When did I-" The words caught in my throat. The memory emerged.
Zalvanica. Last year. That day.
I had given a lollipop to Vincent and another to Millicent, a meaningless gesture, thoughtless in its execution. I had spoken cruelly. Dismissed her. Turned my back with bitter finality. And still, she had kept it. Treasured it. Held it.
Held me, in whatever small form I had given her.
My vision blurred, but I had no time to properly wallow in my own sorrow, for at that precise moment, Vincent launched himself onto my back like an untrained monkey. I let out a most undignified yelp as his little arms flung around my neck.
"I want a lollipop!" he cried with delight.
Millicent spoke with quiet grace. "It is the past," she murmured with a smile. "You asked me to relinquish it, Florence. I would now ask the same of you. Hm?"
I looked at her, my heart still aching, yet struck by the clarity in her gaze. Of course she was right.
And so, I took a breath and steeled my heart. We were together now. That, above all else, was what mattered.