She had wanted to see whether this so-called mother actually knew anything at all about her biological daughter. If the Marchioness had genuinely cared for Seera — or even passably monitored her during childhood — she would have thrown the lie back in Heena’s face without hesitation, confident that Seera had always loved lotus root. But the guilty, confused silence said everything.

*First major anomaly confirmed,* Heena noted internally, her mind filing the data away with quiet efficiency. *This woman doesn’t merely neglect her daughter — she fundamentally does not know her. Why does a mother carry such cold, absolute detachment toward her own firstborn?*

The second thing Heena had now verified was the sheer depth of hostility between the Marchioness and her mother-in-law. The grandmother’s remark about her background wasn’t a casual insult — it was the surface crack of something far older and darker running through this family’s foundations.

Studying the old lady, Heena could tell she was not naturally a cruel person. High-society matriarchs typically doted on grandchildren while treating daughters-in-law as perpetual outsiders — grandchildren were the living legacy of the elders, after all. But the particular venom the grandmother reserved for the Marchioness ran far deeper than standard domestic friction. There was a history here. A buried, unresolved one.

Heena took a calm, unhurried bite of a plain pastry, her eyes drifting briefly toward Samuel, who still stood at rigid attention by the door. His gaze met hers beneath the half-mask — and the faint, knowing twitch at the corner of his lips told her plainly that he had caught onto every word of her wicked little lotus-root performance.

The heavy silence in the dining room lingered, thick enough to choke on. The Marchioness remained perfectly still, her knuckles white, her eyes fixed entirely on her porcelain plate as if she could disappear into the intricate floral patterns painted on it.

Beside her, Kavien looked as though he wanted to swallow his own tongue. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes darting toward the heavy oak doors, desperately wishing his personal guard armor had a vanishing mechanism. He didn’t dare breathe too loudly; the old matriarch’s cane was still resting heavily against the floorboards, and everyone in the room knew she wouldn’t hesitate to use it to break a parasite’s shin.

"Take that garbage away," the grandmother suddenly ordered, her voice cutting through the quiet like a cold breeze. She gestured sharply with a flick of her frail wrist toward the dishes containing the lotus root. "Every single piece of it. If I see a single trace of it on my granddaughter’s side of the table again, I will have the entire kitchen staff flogged and replaced by noon."

"Y-Yes, Grand Madam!" the head butler stuttered, frantically waving his hands at the surrounding servants.

A flurry of panicked movement ensued. The maids practically scrambled over one another to clear the offending platters, replacing them with simple, untainted dishes of soft milk bread, sweet honey preserves, and clear broth. Throughout the entire commotion, Heena sat with her head slightly lowered, her shoulders giving a tiny, microscopic tremble every few seconds—the perfect picture of an aggrieved, fragile young lady trying her best to remain brave in front of her terrifying elders.

Behind her, Samuel’s chest gave a very slight, rhythmic rise and fall. He was forcefully swallowing down a laugh. He knew her so well that he could practically read the exact brand of wicked, malicious satisfaction humming through her veins right now. *An allergy to lotus root,* he thought, thoroughly amused beneath his rigid soldier’s facade. *My brilliant wife really is a menace when she’s hungry.*

"Eat, my child," the grandmother’s voice returned to that incredibly soft, velvet warmth as she pushed a small plate of fresh berries toward Heena. "Don’t let the ignorance of others ruin your morning. You need your strength. Today, the high nobility will be flooding the estate to catch a glimpse of you, and I will not have you looking pale."

Heena slowly lifted her head, her eyes wide, clear, and shimmering with a beautifully staged layer of profound gratitude. "Thank you, Grandma. You are the only one who truly looks out for me."

Across the table, the Marchioness’s jaw tightened so hard a visible spasm flitted across her cheek. The words *’the only one’* stabbed right into her pride. She slowly lifted her head, her face an unreadable, icy mask as she looked at Heena. There was no motherly warmth left in her eyes; there was only a deep, calculating suspicion. She was realizing, with a sudden surge of alarm, that this girl was no longer the malleable piece of clay she had thrown into the provinces years ago. This girl was a fluid, dangerous creature who knew exactly how to wield the grandmother’s absolute power like a broadsword.

"Mother," the Marchioness said, her voice completely flat, stripped of its previous whiny cadence as she addressed the old lady. "Since Seera will be busy greeting the capital’s nobility today, I assume she will need a proper entourage. As her mother, I have already taken the liberty of assigning Kavien to be her primary escort for the afternoon promenade in the garden."

Hearing his name, Kavien immediately straightened his posture, puffing out his chest as he tried to project an aura of a refined, dependable gentleman. He cast a fleeting, oily look toward Heena, a small, arrogant smile creeping onto his lips.

Heena didn’t even look at him. She merely took an elegant sip of her clear broth, her mind instantly connecting this move to her previous calculations. *Ah. So the snake is trying to force her favorite pawn into my personal space again,* she analyzed smoothly. *She wants Kavien close to monitor my movements, or perhaps... to find a way to compromise my reputation before the official registration papers are signed.*

Before the grandmother could erupt in another round of furious rebukes, Heena set her porcelain spoon down with a soft, delicate *clink*. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

"Mama, that is incredibly thoughtful of you," Heena murmured, her voice sweet, polite, and entirely compliant. She turned her head slightly, her gaze passing over Kavien for a brief second—long enough to make him feel like a common bug under a microscope—before she looked back at her mother. "But I fear my brother’s choice of guard is already more than enough. Roni here..." She gestured casually behind her toward the towering figure of Samuel. "...is incredibly strict about his duties. My merchant brother paid him a very handsome sum to ensure no unauthorized individuals get within three paces of me. I would hate for Kavien to accidentally get hurt if he steps too close."

Samuel smoothly stepped forward by half a pace, his heavy leather boots thudding against the stone floor. He slightly adjusted the grip on his ceremonial sword hilt, the metal clicking with a sharp, ominous resonance in the quiet room. He didn’t say a word, but his massive, imposing frame and the cold, unblinking glare visible beneath his half-mask spoke volumes.

Kavien’s arrogant smile instantly vanished. He took a subtle, involuntary step backward, his eyes locking onto the neat bandage on Samuel’s neck. He remembered how easily this "common guard" had deflected the imperial prince’s pressure yesterday. He was entirely a scholar by nature; he had no desire to test the blunt force of an iron gauntlet against his face.