Chapter 3: Duke's Sinister Attitude

Myra feels her stomach twist, even as the aroma of steak wafts teasingly through her nostrils. She straightens her posture while she eats, overly conscious by her father's hard stare.

Slowly taking the cutlery in her hands, she cuts through the tender meat, dipping it in a light sauce and politely helping it into her mouth. She gulps it down with hard effort, her throat slightly scratchy. Surprisingly, after swallowing it, her tongue is met with a pleasant sweet-sour taste.

"Mm~" she hums in joy. "This is good."

"You need to eat more so you can recover your immunity. Make sure to eat more vegetables and ask the maids for herbal tea so you can return to classes as soon as possible," Cole suggests, placing his cutlery against the table calmly.

"I'm done with breakfast," he announces, dusting his hands nonchalantly. For someone who attempts to speak empathetic words, his voice is monotonous and cold, with no real emotion.

Myra's other siblings seem to follow Cole's actions and finish up their meal quickly, resting their cutlery against the table soon after.

Myra, clueless by this rhythm, swiftly finishes her meal which is much more tedious than she expects it to be. Consciously, she dabs the corners of her mouth, sitting back. Her eyes dart around the room warily, waiting for someone to speak. Her heart hammers against her chest.

"After your check with the physician, make sure to stop by my study," the Duke explains, standing. Dismissing the siblings, he walks out with an air of egoistic pride, the silence dragging until he is gone.

The rest of them only rise when their father is no longer in their presence, their chairs squeaking against the ground merging with the sound of clattering as they file out of the room. Myra saunters with her head low sheepishly as she follows in the shadows of her siblings.

Contrary to her expectations, Mariene waits for her not far forward, a blank look in her eyes.

Mariene, being the youngest sibling, has deep red hair which she shares with her father and dark green eyes, almost pink black if not for the lighting. They look still and lightless, like there's no motion in them. "Do you mind if I accompany you to your room for the check-up, sister?" she asks in a calm, but not condescending, voice.

Myra, appreciative of the approach, nods vigorously, catching up to her sister brightly. Mariene, side-eyeing Myra, narrows her eyes in suspicion. "Have you been well? You seem rather… uncharacteristic of yourself since your waking."

"So I've heard. Am I incredibly different?" Myra asks tentatively.

"You used to be horribly crass with us before you fell ill. Of course, I still wonder how you haven't strained your relations with any of us but cunningness definitely runs in the Ruskin blood," Mariene responds, indifferent to her jabs at Myra's supposed personality.

"Roseann teases you a lot and it seems she didn't let go of that despite you only just recovering. To be honest, knowing you, I was surprised you didn't bite back with one of your typical insults."

"Ah… Perhaps I've changed," Myra chuckles awkwardly.

"A rose remains a rose even when its petals are painted white," Mariene turns, meeting Myra's eye. "Though, I suppose, it is the reason Cole has a soft spot for you. Constantly goes on about how your strong personality makes you a good leader. If you lose it, he might lose his interest in you and look at the rest of us, sister."

"You have a lot to comment on me, don't you?"

"Only out of respect," Mariene clarifies with not much effort. "As the third-born and my older sister, both Jalen and I hold respect for you. We just don't normally require to associate with you outside of noble duties, is all," she smiles and there's something behind it which doesn't sit well with Myra. Ignoring the chills, she averts her gaze away, eyes widening when she recognises the door to her bedroom.

"This is where we part. Till next time we get the opportunity to talk, Mariene," Myra curtseys and excuses herself, promptly scurrying into her room before Mariene can speak up to her in response. Mariene shoots her a thoughtful look upon being left in the corridor, folding her arms behind her back. It strikes her as if something is odd about her sister's sudden ordeal.

Myra enters her bedroom to the sight of Leia and Jen standing on either side of her bed frame and an aged man kneeling on the ground. As Myra nears them, she recognises him as the family physician, Doctor Aren, who has worked with them since Myra's childhood. He is a seasoned doctor in his craft, coated up in full-white, wearing gloves to cover his calloused hands.

"Good day, my lady. How do you feel today?" he stands, bowing in greeting. Myra hums in acknowledgement as she shuffles past him, seating herself on a cushioned chair.

"I feel okay," Myra replies blankly. Doctor Aren stands, narrowing his eyes at Myra's frame before opening a medical kit. Using his instruments, he carefully checks her face to look for any sign of lethargy or unusual paleness.

Sticking a finger in front of her eyes, he instructs her to follow it to check her eyesight. Upon verifying that there are no issues, he urges her into a stand, testing her ability to walk and jog on the spot.

"If you don't feel ill, I'll let your father know that your body is in tip-top shape and you will be able to return to lessons with a little extra activity," Doctor Aren notes on a sheet of paper against his clipboard, nodding in approval.

"Take care of yourself and feel free to drop by my office down the hall if you experience any difficulty," he smiles warmly, wrinkles deepening at the corners of his mouth. Soon after he excuses himself, Myra turns her head back to Leia and Jen who are now standing next to each other, whispering into each other's ears.

"Is there something that I shouldn't know?" Myra raises an eyebrow out of sheer curiosity, only to have her tone come out as harsh and bitter.

"Ah, no! Of course not, my lady. We were only wondering why you seemed greatly unlike yourself despite your health being fine. Regardless, we couldn't be happier that you have returned to your best health," Jen bows profusely.

Myra, realising nothing she can say would be enough comfort to calm her frantic maids, lets out an exasperated sigh and mumbles, "My father requires me in his study. Lead me there." Leia promptly rushes to a phone at the corner of the room to dial Frederick for his assistance and by the time Myra steps out of her bedroom, he stands at attention.

Myra, tired of speaking all morning, remains silent during their worldless walk. He leads her down to a door right in the center between two spiral staircases, knocking twice on it before welcoming himself inside. Myra stands, jittery, trying to fix her dress. "Young Lady Myra has arrived, Duke Ruskin."

"Come in," a stern voice thunders from inside, unlike the one Myra recalls from breakfast. Frederick opens the door for her, holding it out until she enters the room. She pauses at the door, wide-eyed and curious about the massive room surrounding her.

The walls are high and far taller than anything she's ever known, pillars decorated with such intricacy that only a duke of such importance could earn for himself. Myra watches awe-struck at the luxurious furniture, all crafted from the finest rosewood at the hands of the land's best craftsmen.

Myra cautiously steps forward towards her father, her hands trembling slightly in his stoic presence. The Duke unfolds a piece of paper in his hand, a letter, peeking at his daughter once before continuing. "You don't have to look so scared of me. You're my daughter."

Myra exhales softly, gripping onto the fabric of her dress as a way to calm herself. The Duke, raising the letter to his eye-level, begins, "It seems that the youngest daughter of the Bougainvillea family faced the same tragedy as you. She was ill for a bit before she relapsed into a month-long coma, not that it matters."

"Either way, Count Bougainvillea is hosting an afternoon tea to celebrate his daughter's recovery and has invited the children of all the noble families in Fleurette."

"Is it a requirement for me to attend?" Myra frowns. It is far too early for her to be planning to meet other nobles when she is barely familiar with her own siblings, even the walls she's sure to have lived in for the past twenty years.

"Yes," the Duke responds strictly. "As sudden as it is, it's necessary that you make your presence known to the Bougainvillea house so they get off their high horses. We can't let them assume the treasure of our family is still ill in bed, can we?"

"Father, I'm afraid two days isn't enough time for me to recover. Is it possible for me to attend another event in its stead for my appearance? Perhaps one organised by our family?" she suggests with a hopeful lilt to her voice.

'Maybe I can buy myself extra time', she plans internally, until she watches her father's expression darken. Myra finds a chill run down her spine at his critical gaze.

The Duke kicks back against his chair, watching her with a cold, condescending glare which could dismantle her in easy seconds. "I don't recall you ever speaking back to my orders. Did you hit your head while you were asleep? I should hold your caretakers accountable for any injury I am unaware of."

Myra tenses, clasping her sweaty hands together. "That won't be necessary at all, Father. I'm sure my condition is not as bad as it seems."

"Then it's definite that you'll recover by Friday, correct? You won't need extra time?" the Duke smiles, leaning forward till his elbows are propped against the hard surface of the table. Myra forces a tight-lipped grin, hands twisting as they search for a comfortable position to rest.

"Of course not," Myra lowers her head, voice faltering. "May I know when it is?"

"In two days, at Friday's high noon," the Duke straightens his back and folds the letter, sliding it gingerly into the envelope before flinging it into a trash can. Brushing his hands, he says finally, "I will ask your siblings to accompany you, given they do not have external commitments. Take care, my daughter."

"I will. Have a nice day," she curtseys formally and excuses herself, the sound of her slow footsteps echoing off the walls. Myra halts against the closed door, releasing the breath she'd been holding since the beginning of the conversation. Her heart hammers loudly against her ribcage, leaving her feeling vulnerable.

Little does she know, Frederick had been watching. Myra holds her dress while she walks, and Frederick watches her sulk, quickly shifting his expression into one of worry.