The Rochefort villa wasn't as grand as their main estate, but it had its charms. High-stone fences ran along the edge, keeping the outside world out.
Etched into the main iron gates was the family crest: a raven, its wings spread wide and facing forward with a shield in the center of its chest.
Celine's late grandmother had always said that the bird was watching over Rochefort's family, alerting them of trouble, or guiding them towards good fortune.
Funny, though, if that was true, the bird must have been slacking off for the past few generations. With so few Rocheforts left, it felt more like the raven was just hanging around, waiting for someone to remind it what the hell it was supposed to be doing.
Sitting on the bed, Celine was propped up by a bunch of pillows. Her fever had come down, but she barely felt better.
Seb, her assistant, stood by her bed. His long silver hair was neatly braided, and his glasses gave him the look of a fairy-tale librarian. He wore a buttoned-up white shirt, black vest, and trousers. The only touch of color was a pink handkerchief in his breast pocket.
He was reading and opening her letters. Most were invitations to balls, teas, and parties; others were reports from the duchy, and some were pleas and requests for help. "What do we do with all the gifts and presents? The entrance is full and the guards are refusing them entry," he asked.
"We open them, of course." Celine got off the bed, slipping her feet into the fluffy slippers. She wrapped herself in a soft blanket. "I love the smell of bribery early in the morning; it always makes my day better," she said, dragging the blanket behind her.
Maya, her maid, quickly lifted the blanket so it wouldn't be dragged on the ground, moving like a little gray mouse trying not to draw any attention. Her straight bangs shadowed her eyes, hiding them like a secret, and she moved so silently that if one weren't looking closely, they'd swear she wasn't even there.
"..." Patch, her physician, followed her with a chuckle. Tufts of curly, ginger hair stuck out from beneath his bandana, puffing up like sheep's wool. He slipped a hand into his hide coat, rummaging through its many hidden pockets before pulling out a pair of gloves and putting them on.
Graham, her cook, was the tallest and the biggest of the four. His soft bob cut framed his round face, making his dimples stand out even more, giving him a strangely cheerful look no matter the situation. He fed Celine pieces of fruit on the way to the courtyard, while Seb continued to read the letters and messages.
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The guards were carrying in the large presents, placing them into the courtyard, next to the stone statue of a raven, where the gifts were already piling up. Celine received a variety of things, from jewels to unique paintings and everything in between.
A few gifts bore the infamous flower crest. She never touched them without feeling the sting. Not by real thorns but their meanings, of course. He'd known exactly what he was doing when he made these products popular among the ladies, popular enough for others to be showering her with them and reminding her of him.
Patch began sorting the items while also checking for any signs of poison.
"No name, no address, and no signature either," Seb said, eyeing the last two chests suspiciously.
One was wrapped in silk with a flower pattern tied together with a golden string, while the other looked like a normal wooden chest, the kind that sailors would use to carry their belongings.
Patch opened the second chest, his eyes shining at the sight. "Whoever sent it, I like their style," he said, lifting a bag, causing whatever was inside to hiss and rattle. He quickly opened the bag to reveal a couple of snakes, "Woah, so beautiful and vibrant."
"Must taste as good as they look," Graham licked his lips, "Snake soup is good for the health, Lady Celine. I could make some for you to try, if you'd like," he offered.
Celine's interest also sparked. "They are alive?" she asked, leaning closer to take a better look.
Patch opened a box next to the bag and revealed a huge spider.
She shuddered in disgust but didn't back away, "Is it alive too?"
"Alive and kicking," Patch said, chuckling, "They are probably hungry and thirsty."
Celine dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Give them the care they need, and if they are edible, add them to the menu," she said.
"Of course, Lady Celine," Patch called over a few guards, instructing them on what and how to feed them.
"Shall we see the rest?" Celine asked, turning to look at the last chest, her mood improving slightly.
Receiving dead, gruesomely mutilated animals used to be a regular occurrence during her academy life.
The anonymous losers would get so desperate they would send her packages with bloodied, headless pigeons, rodents, and etcetera. Instead of searching for the culprits, she would retaliate by infesting the dormitories with living versions of the same. One could find them in their beds, others in their baths, and closets.
They never bothered her again after that.
Seb untied the string and lifted the lid of the last chest, revealing ropes, whips, chains, and shackles, all neatly arranged, almost too elegantly for what they were. He didn't pay them much mind, though, instead picking up the note that rested on top. "My beloved, I can't wait for our next encounter," he read, his voice flat.
Celine's heart fluttered, not in a romantic way, but in a rather sick and twisted way. The content made her feel queasy. It was like the package was a mirror, and whoever sent it, had sent it to reflect a piece of her, at her.
Maya and Patch exchanged glances with Seb and Graham. It was their first time to witness Lady Celine being addressed with a title such as "My beloved", their first time seeing her receive a letter from an admirer, and their first time seeing her so disturbed.
They've only been serving her for the past three months after all.
Lady Celine picked them up when they were only twelve, but instead of serving her right away, they spent ten years living in a military environment as part of Rochefort's army, training to become her most trusted aides.
She thought the discipline, the training, and the experience would make them more reliable, and she wasn't wrong. They became as disciplined as any soldier, and efficient as any butler.
They had survived battles, wars, and death itself, having no qualms about taking a life.
It was also thanks to the four of them that the Duke of Rochefort barely made it back alive five years ago.