Chapter 178: Camellia’s Apologies
The royal breakfast hall was smaller than the ballroom, though it still felt far too grand for a morning meal.
Tall windows lined one side of the chamber, their glass catching the weak morning sun above the inner courtyard. Pale light fell over a long table of wood, set with silver dishes, porcelain cups, warm bread, fruit, honey, cheeses, and several covered trays that released the scent of roasted meat and herbs.
A pair of royal guards stood outside the doors.
Two more waited near the windows.
The sight made Esther slow.
Even breakfast had guards now.
Camellia noticed her looking.
"They are here because of last night," she said as she led them toward the table. "Mother has ordered guards placed near every royal chamber until the investigation is finished."
"And near Lord Ulrich?" Esther asked immediately.
Camellia nodded.
"Yes. Especially near Count Rubenhart."
The answer eased Esther only a little.
They took their places at the table. Camellia sat at one end, while Hermione chose the nearest chair rather than the place that had been set across from the princess. Esther sat beside Hermione, quiet and small in the large royal chair. Airam took the seat on Esther’s other side, her posture straight, her pale hands resting near the edge of the table.
A maid stepped forward to pour tea.
Esther watched the steam rise from her cup without touching it.
Camellia did not begin eating either.
For a short time, no one spoke.
At last, Camellia looked toward the sisters.
"I wished to thank you," she said.
Hermione raised her eyes.
"For what, Your Highness?"
"For staying with Count Rubenhart." Camellia’s fingers touched the handle of her cup. "And for caring for him."
Esther looked up as well.
"We did not do much," Hermione said carefully. "The physicians were the ones treating him."
"But you were there."
Camellia’s gaze moved between them.
"After the barrier broke, everyone was staring at the demons. At the blood. At my mother." Her voice grew quieter. "You were the only ones looking at Count Rubenhart as though he was hurt."
Hermione did not know what to say to that. Why was she thanking them for that? It looked like Camellia was very grateful toward Ulrich as well.
Airam looked toward the breakfast spread with the same detached expression she wore whenever she did not wish to reveal a thought.
Esther lowered her gaze.
"Of course we were," she said. "He was bleeding."
Camellia’s lips curved faintly.
"Yes," she said. "He was."
A maid placed warm bread before them, but Esther did not reach for it. Hermione tore a small piece from a roll and placed it on Esther’s plate without comment. Airam took a cup of tea, tested its warmth with one cautious sip, and then set it down again.
Camellia noticed all of it.
"You have known him for a long time?" She asked, trying to know better about their circumstances.
Hermione nodded.
"A little over two years."
Camellia’s gaze fixed on Esther first, then Airam, then Hermione.
Even though they looked different than each other, they watched one another.
Hermione pushed food toward Esther without asking whether she wanted it. Airam sat close enough that her sleeve touched Esther’s. Esther’s eyes moved between her sisters whenever she became too quiet.
They were real sisters.
Camellia understood that better than she expected to, and she was a bit envious, even.
"He is different with you," Camellia said.
Airam’s eyes moved to her.
"What do you mean?"
Camellia paused.
She had only seen Ulrich for a short time. Before the night of the event, he had been Count Rubenhart: a powerful lord, a man about whom people spoke carefully, a guest whose presence changed the feeling of a room. He seemed distant. Too composed. At times, even frightening.
But when Esther had cried near him, he had not moved away.
He had told her not to cry, awkwardly and quietly, as though he had no idea what to do with her tears but could not bear seeing them.
"He does not look at you as if you are burdens," Camellia continued. "Or servants. Or tools."
Hermione’s fingers stopped around her cup.
Esther looked toward Camellia with widened eyes.
Airam gave a questioning stare meanwhile, wondering why she was saying that.
Camellia seemed to read the question in her expression.
A small, almost self-conscious smile touched her lips as she lowered her cup onto its saucer.
"My apologies," she said. "That was poorly phrased. What I meant is that I am sincerely glad to have met all three of you."
Esther’s expression softened at once.
"I am glad too, Your Highness," she said, offering Camellia a small but genuine smile.
Camellia inclined her head.
"Until recently, I believed Astrid was my only true friend." Her gaze drifted between the sisters, thoughtful rather than sad. "But speaking with each of you has given me a perspective I did not know I lacked. I hope you will forgive me if I was distant, restrained, or discourteous during the celebration."
Hermione blinked.
"Your Highness was never discourteous to us," she replied, her tone carrying honest confusion. "I cannot remember a moment when you treated us poorly."
"That is kind of you to say." Camellia’s fingers folded neatly in her lap. "Still, I was raised in Skargardia. I was raised amid stories that painted witches as cruel, dangerous, and unnatural. Even though you are all close to my own age, I may have allowed that upbringing to make me guarded when I first met you."
She paused briefly.
"I wanted to apologize for that. Not because you demanded it, but because I think you deserve better than an apology left unspoken."
Esther shook her head quickly.
"T—There is no need to apologize, Your Highness. You have been very kind to us."
"I hope so," Camellia said gently.
Hermione looked at her for a long moment, then asked what Esther and Airam were wondering as well.
"Does that mean Your Highness has changed opinions about us?"
Camellia nodded without hesitation.
"Yes. Entirely."
The conviction in her answer quieted the table.
"I felt ashamed after speaking with you," Camellia continued. "Then I watched you dance with the Count Rubenhart. I watched each of you take the floor without letting the whispers around you dictate how you should feel. And later, when he was injured..." Her eyes lowered toward the untouched tea before her. "I watched you worry for him. Not because he was a powerful Count. Not because he could provide for you. You worried because he was someone precious to you."
Airam’s gaze grew sharper, but not hostile.
Camellia met her eyes.
"I realized that I had allowed a slight uneasiness toward people I barely knew. It was unfair. And it was beneath the person I wish to become."
Hermione’s expression became gentler.
"Your Highness does not need to condemn yourself for it," she said. "We have endured worse than uneasiness. Insults and suspicion are familiar to us."
Her fingers tightened subtly against the porcelain cup.
"Last night was more difficult because there were so many people, all at once. But we put it aside."
Camellia gave a quiet, rueful laugh.
"I imagine the dance with Lord Rubenhart helped."
Hermione’s composed expression fractured immediately.
"W—What?"
Warm color rose swiftly to her cheeks.
Camellia tilted her head with innocent curiosity.
"Afterward, the three of you seemed much less troubled," she said. "I wondered what Lord Rubenhart could have said that changed things so quickly."
"Lord Ulrich encouraged us," Esther said, brightening despite the lingering shadows beneath her eyes. "He told us not to let other people’s opinions decide our worth."
Camellia’s smile softened.
"I see."
She gazed toward the tall windows. Morning light filtered through them in pale bands, catching in the steam rising from the tea.
"It appears Lord Rubenhart offered me similar advice."
Esther leaned forward at once.
"Really? What did he say?"
Camellia’s eyes returned to her.
For an instant, something private passed through her expression: the memory of the ballroom, the dance, Ulrich’s calm voice amid the tension and noise. It was not a grand declaration, nor a lesson meant for an audience.
It belonged to her.
"Yes," Camellia said softly. "But I hope you will forgive me if I keep those words to myself."
Esther’s shoulders fell slightly in disappointment.
Still, a small smile soon returned. Camellia had been encouraged by Ulrich too. That alone seemed enough to please her.
"I suppose I owe Lord Rubenhart thanks for more than protecting my mother," Camellia said. "Perhaps I should thank him for helping three remarkable young women feel less alone as well."
"When Lord Ulrich wakes up, we can all visit him together!" Esther said, recovering a touch of her usual enthusiasm. "Then you can tell him yourself."
"I would like that very much," Camellia replied.
She took another sip of tea, then set the cup down.
"As an apology, and as a gesture of hopeful friendship, please ask anything of me. If it is within my ability to provide, I will gladly do so."
The sisters exchanged glances.
Esther looked first to Hermione.
Hermione looked toward Airam.
Airam’s face remained unreadable, but even she seemed unable to think of an answer.
They already possessed more than they had once thought possible.
Ulrich had given them a home at Rubenhart Estate. They had warm rooms, proper clothes, books, food, protection, and the freedom to live without being hunted or forced into lives they had not chosen.
Camellia watched their silence and laughed quietly.
"I see. Count Rubenhart has already made certain you lack for nothing."
"Yes," Esther said, smiling faintly. "Lord Ulrich gives us everything we need."
Her hands were folded in her lap, but her fingers curled together with a tension she did not seem to notice.
Camellia did.
She chose not to draw attention to it.
"I saw the gowns you wore last night," she said instead. "They were lovely. The jewelry as well."
Esther’s face brightened.
"But Your Highness was much prettier," she said earnestly. "Your gown was beautiful."
Camellia smiled.
"Thank you, Esther."
The atmosphere at the table loosened slightly following that.
Then Hermione remembered something.
"Your Highness," she said, "have you had the opportunity to open our gifts?"
Camellia paused.
Her expression changed to surprise.
"Oh, you brought gifts for me?"
"Yes," Esther said eagerly. "Each of us prepared one."
Camellia looked between them.
The attack had swallowed the end of her ceremony so completely that the gifts had become an afterthought. They had likely been collected with the other offerings, moved away from the ballroom when the knights secured the area, and placed under guard until someone could inspect them.
Yet the thought that the three sisters had brought her something personally made her chest feel unexpectedly warm.
She used her napkin to lightly touch the corner of her mouth, then rose from her chair.
"In that case," Camellia said, her smile returning, "would you show them to me?"