Maylily - Chapter 5

Aberque district, located north of the Fez River—the lifeblood of Roden—was a wealthy neighborhood filled with townhouses used by nobles during the social season, making it the heart of the capital’s high society.

Running through its center was Aberque Street, Roden’s largest commercial thoroughfare, lined with cultural venues and luxury shops. Even among such splendor, Hugh Skaard’s office was located on the very top floor of the tallest building—Skaard Hotel.

“Hello, Count. Thank you for sparing time despite my sudden visit.”

Entering through the door David opened for her, Maylily bowed as politely as she could.

Count Everscourt sat at a desk set slightly askew from the sunlit window. The furniture and decorations around him were not ostentatious, but radiated refined luxury in measured density.

Her gaze lingered only briefly on the unfamiliar cityscape beyond the window before she felt the weight of his stare pressing against her, and she quickly looked down.

“You’re late.”

“Pardon?”

Startled by the Count’s cryptic first words, Maylily raised her head. The moment their eyes met, the corners of his lips curled faintly.

“Shouldn’t you have come to find me before I stepped in?”

“Ah… I’m sorry.”

The Count nodded, as if collecting the apology that was rightly due, and rose from his seat. Taller than most men, his figure cast a vast shadow across the room as the light poured from behind him. Perhaps because of that, even the smallest motion he made as he moved to the armchair in front of the desk felt overpowering.

“Sit.”

Crossing his long legs with ease, the Count gestured with his eyes to the seat opposite. Without making a sound, Maylily quietly stepped forward. Just then, a staff member entered and set refreshments on the table before withdrawing.

A short silence passed before the Count finally spoke.

“You said you wished to ask for my forgiveness.”

“Yes, if you would grant me the chance.”

“Then go ahead.”

With the same ease as breathing, the man gave his command and leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed.

His long, deep-set eyes, framed beneath straight eyebrows, sloped slightly downward with a gentle curve, yet the gray-blue irises within glimmered without warmth.

His gaze, imbued with the arrogance and composure unique to the powerful, made her heart pound harder and harder. After letting out a slow, deep breath, Maylily began the words she had rehearsed dozens of times on her way here.

“If I was rude during our last conversation, it was due to ignorance of proper etiquette, not out of insolence. So please, I ask for your forgiveness. At the time, I was overwhelmed and unable to properly express myself, but I am truly grateful for the generous offer you extended to someone like me…”

“I have a meeting soon, so let’s skip the preamble and get to the point.”

The Count, who had been toying with a pocket watch with an indifferent expression, snapped the lid shut and cut her off.

“So, have you changed your mind about accepting the patronage?”

“Pardon? Ah…”

The subject she had planned to bring up only after expressing her thanks and apology suddenly leapt into the conversation like an ambush. Flustered, Maylily blinked her wide eyes before continuing with a trembling voice.

“I’m sorry, but I still wish to succeed by my own efforts. That hasn’t changed.”

The Count let out a quiet scoff at her stubborn answer and opened the humidor placed on one side of the table to take out a cigar. Based on past experience, this wasn’t a promising sign. As Maylily’s anxiety swelled, the Count lit the cigar and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke before speaking leisurely.

“Did you know Christina Singers had a patron?”

Christina Singers—the prima donna of the century. As the name of the renowned singer, who reigned during her prime half a century ago, suddenly fell from the Count’s lips, Maylily blinked in slight confusion and slowly nodded.

“…Yes.”

“It was the late Jeremy Felbert Clarke, who passed away two years ago. He was the former Speaker of the Senate and a nobleman who owned vast lands in eastern Riverton. Both Sir Clarke and Miss Singers were such sensational figures that gossip about their patronage was endless. Yet every time Singers stood on stage, she erased the presence of Sir Clarke—who clung to her like a shadow—with her overwhelming talent. Once dubbed ‘the Count’s mistress,’ she became Riverton’s greatest prima donna, and eventually, Sir Clarke became known instead as ‘Singers’s man.’”

The Count paused, as if giving Maylily time to think, and drew on his cigar. Through the slowly drifting gray smoke over the table, his murky gray-blue eyes fixed intently on her.

“That’s what success means for a singer. It doesn’t matter who helped you or what you gave in return. As long as you prove your talent on stage, the glory of success will be entirely yours. After all, it’s always the singer’s name the audience chants after the show, not the patron’s.”

Maylily thought that the world’s view of opera singers was no different from his. What he said had merit, and it was practical advice.

But at the same time, from the perspective of a singer forced to give something she didn’t want to, it was hard to accept. Their lives didn’t exist solely on the stage.

“From a results standpoint, perhaps you’re right, Count. But what I want to uphold is not the glory of success but the integrity of the process. It’s also the belief that has always guided me on the right path.”

“Honestly, I don’t understand.”

“What… do you mean?”

“Why you so desperately reject the chance to devote yourself to music without worrying about making a living?”

“……”

A lie. The answer had already been given in their previous conversation.

His feigned ignorance was merely a cruel provocation meant to unsettle her. As Maylily stubbornly pressed her lips together, he curled his lips in a faint smirk.

“Are you worried I’ll tell you to spread your legs?”

The question, spoken in a voice as sweet as a melody, sounded all the more vulgar for it. It didn’t suit a man who had the appearance and manner of a fine gentleman. Startled, Maylily clutched the front of her coat tightly with both hands.

“W-what? I—how could you say such a—”

Her heart pounded beneath her palms like a live fish. Her face flushed crimson, and her lips trembled as the Count, staring intently at her, placed his cigar in the ashtray and gave a dry chuckle.

“So I was right.”

“……”

Unable to deny it, Maylily quietly lowered her gaze. In the stifling silence, the Count scanned her slowly and persistently, just as he had during their first meeting.

Feeling as though his gaze was stripping her bare, she tightened her grip on her coat. His gray-blue eyes lingered briefly on the tip of her red tongue as it nervously licked her dry lips, then moved away.

“I admit you’re a striking beauty. But I’m not in such a desperate state that I must lure a woman by flaunting patronage. I’m not even that attracted to you.”

Strangely, she felt both relieved and humiliated at once. Furrowing her brow slightly, Maylily cautiously opened her mouth.

“Then… does it really have to be me, Count? There are many singers in the Roden Opera Company with exceptional talent and extensive stage experience. Compared to them, I’m just a newcomer who hasn’t even debuted yet.”

“What caught my interest wasn’t your position but your talent. Everything I touch must become the best, and I saw that potential in you.”

“But… as far as I know, you’ve never really listened to me sing.”

“That day wasn’t the first time I saw you.”

Though not a direct answer to her question, Maylily did not press further. Whatever truth he held, it wouldn’t change her decision. There was no reason to prolong this stagnant conversation.

“I appreciate your high opinion of my potential, but… I really can’t accept. I’m sorry.”

The thought of thanking a man who had crushed the spring she had waited for all winter with such anticipation made her feel pathetic, and she nearly burst into tears. Hastily, she pulled an envelope containing the check from her bag.

“And this—I’d like to return it. It’s far too large an amount to accept as a tip. I’ll just be grateful for your generosity.”

The Count silently stared at the envelope on the table and brought the cigar back to his lips.

“If there’s nothing more to say, I’ll take my leave.”

Just as Maylily, rising hastily and adjusting her coat, was about to bow, a soft, cold voice seized her by the throat.

“If you walk out now, there won’t be a single stage left for you to stand on.”