Dinner with the family was a tense affair, something which did not surprise Granny Dot in the slightest, though she did find it daunting. Back home, family meals had always been warm, full of laughter and love. The coldness emanating from the Duke seated at the head of the long dining table only served to highlight the stark contrast, and under his gaze Granny Dot felt something new for the first time in decades: she felt small. She suppressed a shiver as she sat stiffly in the straight-backed chair.
The cold here wasn’t purely metaphorical. Lord Kerrian’s father was a powerful ice mage; frost hung about him like a death shroud. The eldest son of the Duke of Westmont, Lord Armel, had inherited only a fraction of his father’s powers, while Kerrian, the younger of the two sons, had none. In their father’s eyes, neither son was fit for the position of Duke, though Kerrian in particular was hardly even recognized as a son, much less an heir. As such, he had not received the same education as his older brother, nor been given any formal introduction to noble society. As a child, he had spent many sleepless nights huddled by a candle in the library, desperate not to fall behind Armel, desperate for even the slightest scrap of approval.
By the time he was twelve years old, he had given up on earning his father’s love. Instead, he opted to leave the manor and seek training as a knight, thinking he could get out of his elder brother’s shadow by differentiating himself. When the Duke appointed him Knight Commander on his return, Kerrian thought at first that he had finally proven himself a worthy son. But the Westmont Duchy, a political and economic powerhouse, had no military strength to speak of: their knights were a joke. The position was nothing more than a convenient method of keeping Kerrian subservient to the Duke and his heir.
Memories of his childhood flooded Granny Dot’s mind as she sat for the first time with her new family. Harry’s novel had mentioned the frigid upbringing of the Westmonts, but she hadn’t imagined it would be this bad. Under these circumstances, she was suddenly certain that she would take great delight in being a villain here.
“Kerrian,” intoned the Duke, “what is this I hear about you ending training early?”
“The recruits have been working hard,” he answered. “A reward, however small, will motivate them to do even better in the future.” Granny Dot had raised plenty of children and grandchildren; she knew from experience that people were far more enthusiastic when rewarded than punished.
“It will motivate them only to seek further rewards. The Westmont Duchy has no need for servants that are lazy and greedy.”
Kerrian grit his teeth and stared down at the fragrant bowl of soup that had been placed in front of him. “Understood. In the future, I’ll be sure they aren’t given a rest until they collapse from exhaustion.”
Frost extended out from the Duke’s hands, racing across the surface of the table as the temperature in the room plummeted. Two puffs of water vapor floated over the table, the warm breaths of Kerrian and Armel now visible in the cold. Curiously, the Duke himself had no such cloud in front of him, no doubt a symptom of his ice mana, though Kerrian had always harbored suspicions that his father was as cold-blooded as a lizard. “I do not tolerate such an attitude in my subordinates,” he said, enunciating each word as if doing so could carve out Kerrian’s willfulness.
Subordinates. Son, child, progeny, offspring: any of these words would have sufficed. Kerrian met his father’s gaze with fire in his eyes and lied, “Apologies. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.”
Armel remained silent throughout the altercation, his attention focused on the meal in front of him, seeming not to mind that his soup had turned cold. No other words were spoken after that.
For the last five years of her life, Granny Dot had lived in a senior citizens home. Residents took their meals in a dining hall, soft sounds of the radio accompanying the friendly chatter. She hadn’t been happy to live with a bunch of strangers, of course, but she also hadn’t wanted to be a burden on her family after her daughter, Harry’s mother, passed away. Woodland Pines Senior Living was a brightly-lit place that smelled of disinfectant and old flowers, but the staff were always smiling, and everyone was pleasant to talk to. Granny Dot stifled a sigh as she swallowed her cold soup in silence.
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After the meal, she returned to her chambers, ringing for a maid almost before the door had shut. She had some time to kill before the Welcome Ball, and she planned to make the most of it.
The maid who answered the summons was young and quite pretty, though she shared the rest of the staff’s unfortunate affliction of trembling. Granny Dot couldn’t help but wonder if this was a product of Harry’s writing, or if Kerrian was truly such a demon to the staff. She tried searching Kerian’s memories, though she couldn’t recall having ever mistreated any of the staff.
“My lord, how may I be of service?”
“Hello dear, I would like some yarn and a pair of knitting needles, if you please.” Oh god, ‘dear?’ Granny Dot panicked internally, hearing how creepy that sounded coming from such a masculine voice.
The maid also blushed, her face a mess of confusion and fear. “Very well, my lord.”
Granny Dot was counting her blessings as the maid left. Thank God she wasn’t in any position to question Kerrian’s bizarre behavior. She had resolved to act as similarly as she could to the villain of the novel, but still she had to unwind somehow. All this stress could not be good for her blood pressure. The maid returned surprisingly quickly, a testament to the efficiency of a ducal household, handed the requested items to Lord Kerrian, and bowed out of the room with as much haste as politeness would allow.
Finally, Granny Dot had the means to process what was happening. The yarn that she now held was much different from the craft store variety she was accustomed to: this yarn was thinner, softer, and had a luster she had never seen before. In spite of her substantial experience with the textile arts, she was at a loss as to what the material could be. Newly acquired knitting needles in hand, she sat in a plush velvet chair next to a fireplace carved from what appeared to be a single slab of marble, and began absentmindedly forming a scarf.
Was she dead? Could all of this be some strange dream, or was she really here, occupying the body of her grandson’s villain? Granny Dot’s third husband had been a philosophy professor. She couldn’t begin to count the number of otherwise perfectly good dinners that had been wasted arguing about the nature of reality. All of that ‘cogito ergo sum,’ Boltzmann brain baloney had only ever annoyed the crap out of her. Right, she thought, this sort of thing has never bothered me before, why should it now? Real or not, a stubbed toe would hurt just the same. With one issue resolved, she put the matter from her mind and turned her focus to other things.
Kerrian’s father. She frowned at the thought of that man’s repugnant face, surprised for the umpteenth time that day by the wave of unfamiliar emotions. It seemed at times like this that she wasn’t simply wearing this fine body like she would her Sunday hat; she had all of Kerrian’s memories and apparently all of his emotions as well. Already it had proven invaluable in helping her blend in with these folks, though it was also a tad troublesome. Never in her life had she felt such anger or contempt. How dare that man have the gall to call himself a parent? Granny Dot wasn’t sure if Kerrian was still in here or not, but she was nonetheless determined to get revenge on his behalf.
The only question was, how? Having never been a vindictive person in her previous life, she had no experience with vengeance. The clacking of needles filled the otherwise quiet room as she sat in contemplation. The Duke was an extremely prideful man, not entirely dissimilar to her second husband in that regard, and as she well knew from that ordeal, there was no worse injury a prideful man could endure than a damaged ego.
She did feel a twinge of guilt, of course, for going off on her own with this, but the main plot of The Kiss of the Rose had been a romance. Surely as long as she didn’t interfere with Rose and Elrin’s plot it would be fine, right?
If she recalled correctly, Kerrian’s date for tonight was a young noble lady by the name of Sushana Endern, the beloved youngest daughter of Marquess Endern, who was the Duke’s closest ally and business partner. Kerrian had been seeing her for a few months now, hoping to use the connection to strengthen his ties with the duchy’s allies. In fact, the only reason he had for attending this ball was to act as her escort, as she had been recently accepted into the Academy.
Perhaps Granny Dot would be able to use this to her advantage.