Chapter 185 : Chapter 185

That face was beautiful enough to stop the heart, and cold enough to do the same.

Especially those eyes.

They were a pale icy blue, like the coldest winter sky, like the light shining up from beneath a melting glacier. That gaze fell on Iruya—lightly, faintly, like a feather landing on water, as though she were looking at a newly acquired curiosity, a collectible that still held some interest.

Her eyes traveled slowly from top to bottom, sweeping over Iruya’s disheveled silver hair, over her violet eyes, over the sliver of collarbone exposed above the blanket, over the fingers clutching the bedsheet.

Every hair on Iruya’s body stood on end.

She had never been looked at like that before. It was not scrutiny, nor mere appraisal. It was evaluation—the way one might assess the value of an object.

She had seen many humans. At the academy, on the streets, she had seen nobles, commoners, merchants, beggars. She had seen reverent eyes, greedy eyes, curious eyes, malicious eyes.

But never had a human gaze made her feel this way.

It was not fear.

It was the feeling of being seen through.

As if everything about her—her identity, her origin, her purpose, even the deepest secrets hidden in her heart—had already been laid bare beneath those pale blue eyes.

That gaze lingered on her for a moment.

Then the woman lifted her teacup and took a sip.

The fragrance of black tea drifted through the air.

Rich, mellow, carrying a faint sweetness and the barest trace of fruit. It was the scent of top-grade black tea, the kind packed in silver tins, wrapped in silk, shipped from the East, and priced like gold.

The aroma slipped into Iruya’s nose.

Her stomach suddenly growled.

It was soft, but in the silent room, it sounded especially clear.

Heat rose to Iruya’s face.

She had not eaten in a very long time. From yesterday evening until now, there had been fighting, then fleeing, then the fall from the wall, then unconsciousness, and then sleep until she had no idea when. Her stomach had long since emptied. It was hollow enough to ache.

The woman seemed to have heard it. She lifted her eyes and looked at Iruya again, the corners of her mouth curving ever so slightly into a remarkably gentle smile.

Then she spoke. Her voice was lovely, like a string lightly plucked, like water flowing beneath ice.

“So, you’re awake?”

Every hair on Iruya’s body stood on end again.

That tone was far too gentle. Gentle in a way that did not belong in a situation like this. Gentle in the way old friends might speak after years of knowing each other. Gentle enough to make her skin crawl.

She did not move.

She knew she could not escape.

The woman looked at her, the faint smile deepening slightly. Then she raised a hand and clapped twice.

The sound was soft, but in the stillness of the room, it rang out with startling clarity.

“Bring this child some breakfast,” she said, without even turning her head, still in that same mild tone, as though she were giving the most ordinary instruction in the world.

One of the maids by the door curtsied and withdrew. Her movements were light and quick, like a gray shadow vanishing beyond the doorway.

The woman rose to her feet.

She walked to the chair opposite Iruya and sat down. Another maid stepped forward, lifted the small round table, and placed it gently before her. It was made of dark hardwood, its legs carved with intricate vine patterns, its surface polished smooth enough to reflect a person’s face.

The woman set her teacup down on the table.

When it touched the surface, it made a light, clear sound—a delicate note, like a drop of water falling into a still lake.

Then she raised her eyes and looked at Iruya again, just like that, a faint smile still resting on her face.

Iruya’s skin crawled under that gaze. She wanted to say something, but did not know what. Her hand still clutched the blanket so tightly her knuckles had gone white. The fragrance of black tea still lingered in the air, making her empty stomach twist painfully.

The door opened.

The maid who had just left returned, carrying a tray in her hands. The tray was silver, large and heavy, but she bore it without the slightest tremor, as though it weighed no more than a feather.

She walked to the bedside and set the tray down on the low table beside Iruya.

The food on it was simple enough—a small basket of bread, a cup of milk, a small dish of butter, and a small dish of jam. The bread had just come from the oven, still steaming, its crust baked to a rich golden brown, smelling of fresh grain and warmth. The milk was in a white porcelain cup, still steaming as well, with a thin skin formed over the top.

And yet the texture of the bread, the fragrance of the milk, the rich golden sheen of the butter—none of it was ordinary. Everything about it spoke of the finest flour, the freshest milk, and the best craftsmanship.

The other maid stepped forward as well and set another tray down on the little round table before the woman.

That tray was far more refined.

Tiny silver plates held bite-sized pastries, pink, green, pale yellow, each so delicate it looked like a little piece of art. Another dish held fruit sliced into thin pieces and arranged in the shape of a flower. There was also a teapot, though not black tea this time, but a lighter tea, pale gold in color, with soft white steam curling from it.

The woman lifted that cup and took a sip.

“You should eat something first,” she said. Her tone was light, gentle, the tone one might use with a friend just waking from sleep. “You have probably not eaten in quite some time.”

Iruya stared at her and did not move.

The woman did not urge her.

She simply sat there, sipping her tea and eating those delicate pastries one small bite at a time. Her movements were slow and elegant, as though she were merely enjoying an afternoon tea.

The room was utterly silent.

There was only the occasional faint sound of the woman drinking tea, and the sound of Iruya’s own heartbeat.

Iruya’s stomach cramped again. She lowered her eyes to the bread. Steam still rose from it. The scent drifted into her nose, tightening her throat with hunger.

She reached out and picked up a piece.

It was soft, still warm from the oven.

She took a bite, and the fragrance of wheat burst across her tongue, mingling with the salty richness of butter and the faint sweetness of honey.

Her stomach growled again, louder this time.

Heat rose to Iruya’s face once more, but she did not stop. She took another bite, then drank some milk. It was warm, rich, and fragrant, sliding down her throat and spreading warmth through her stomach.

The woman watched her, the curve of her lips deepening slightly.

Iruya ate more than half the bread and finished the milk before finally stopping.

Then she looked up at the woman.

The woman was still drinking tea, elegant enough to look like a painting. She watched Iruya finish eating, the smile on her face gentler than before.

“Where... is this?” Iruya asked, her voice slightly hoarse.