MTO C57

Chapter 57

Had Lawrence heard what Heart just said? Surely he had.

Michel worried the butler would judge the children as noisy and ill‑mannered. Would he scold servants in front of the children if anything went wrong? Michel didn’t want them learning the “child beaten for the prince’s fault” story firsthand.

“No, that won’t be necessary…”

“These are the boys’ quarters.”

Michel meant to demur, but Lawrence had already opened the door, curt and uncompromising. He ushered the children inside—then blinked in delight.

“Wow!”

The layout was like a guest room Michel had used—only scaled for children. Seven small beds, a low table and chairs their size, and a corner piled with bright toys, even a rocking horse.

Leon dragged Heart straight to the horse. The twins hesitated, then dove into cloud‑soft beds. Oliver stayed by Michel like a little gentleman—but couldn’t tear his eyes from a shelf of picture books.

Michel’s own voice rose with excitement.

“You prepared all the beds separately?”

“The Duke ordered no discomfort for the children. If anything is lacking, say so.”

“But you arranged it all, didn’t you? It’s three times the size of their old room—this is wonderful!”

“I am glad our meager preparation pleases you.”

Lawrence replied in his set, chilly cadence; Michel, unbothered, toured the room. Pale curtains, tiny pillows—everything charming and just right.

“Move! It’s mine!”

“I got here first!”

The twins tumbled into a scuffle over a single bed. They fought twenty times a day over trifles they forgot an hour later.

“Hey, no fighting, the beds are all the same—ah!”

Max shoved Dan hard. Dan toppled—Michel lunged and caught him. Two identical faces stared up, shocked—so was Michel. His heart would not survive these children.

“You okay?”

“Y‑yes…”

He sat them side by side.

“Max, never push like that, no matter how mad. Dan could’ve been badly hurt.”

“S‑sorry…”

“Not to me. To Dan.”

“…Sorry.”

“Dan?”

“…Me too.”

“Then hug it out.”

They squeezed each other tight.

“Five identical beds and you fight? I’ll assign beds. From now on everyone sleeps in their own spot. Understood?”

“Yes!”

Michel chuckled at the clinging twins—then yelped inwardly. Lawrence watched in silence, eyes razor‑sharp as a scout surveying enemy ground.

Why was he looking like that? Had Michel been too loud? Undignified for a saint? Or because the boys fought?

“L‑Lawrence…”

“We’ll lay thicker carpets.”

“Eh? Th‑thank you.”

“Now I’ll show the Saint to his quarters.”

He pivoted out, as if nothing had happened. Freed from that gaze, Michel exhaled secretly.

Would this work out? It felt like living with a time bomb.

Meanwhile, Lawrence was deeply displeased.

“Wow, looks yummy! Let’s eat!”

“Taekwon! Let’s eat well!”

This was Eglence Castle’s Great Hall—a space that proclaimed a house’s stature. Lawrence had prepared countless banquets here for the North’s most important figures, even royals from the distant capital.

The late Duke had prized the hall’s grandeur; Lawrence had taken pride, thinking Eglence’s Great Hall perhaps the finest in the North. Under the current Duke, luxuries were restrained; the hall’s luster dimmed in ornament—but not in dignity. The house banner alone was enough to command awe.

Today’s scene, however, was anything but awe‑inspiring.

“I had it first!”

“No, I did!”

“There are ten more of that bread, children.”

Sniping arose over crumbs.

“Kyah!”

“Leon, use your fork at table.”

Food flew like arrows.

“Ah!”

“Oh dear, spilled? Are you hurt?”

“No! The cup didn’t break.”

The tabletop looked like a pen of pigs. Worse—grape juice soaked the tablecloth, the only luxury Lawrence had preserved here.

He felt faint, watching his cherished hall become a playground for nameless orphans. If not for the Saint, they would never have crossed the gates. Why must he now minister to them? That the Saint had become a true saint did not elevate the orphans’ station.

And yet—the Duke ate quietly, revealing no displeasure. He had ordered Lawrence to ensure the Saint and the children lacked for nothing.

So Lawrence had obeyed. He’d refitted suites once reserved for high clergy and nobles into children’s rooms; he had, with his own hands, chosen toys he’d never bought before.

…Choosing those bright, tiny things had been rather delightful. They were so small and delicate, like fairy‑made. If only such joys were for the future young lord of Eglence—not these baseborn waifs.

The Duke was of marrying age; portraits of would‑be duchesses arrived daily. Alas, his lordship showed scant interest.

“Kek!”

A twin clutched his throat, choking. The Saint and Sister were busy with others. Lawrence glided in, swift and silent, wrapped the boy from behind, and delivered firm abdominal thrusts. A chunk of meat, tipped with bone, popped free. Tears welled as the child gasped.

“W‑water.”

“Slowly—lest it go down the wrong way.”

He steadied the cup to the child’s beak‑like mouth. The boy gulped carefully. Lawrence dabbed his eyes and lips with a soft napkin, taking care not to abrade tender skin, then lifted the offending meat.

“My apologies for the interruption. A bone fragment remained.”

“Eh?”

“Fresh dishes will be brought. Howard!”

“That’s not necessary—” the Saint began, longing glance at the platters.

But Lawrence had already removed the food. He would not risk a guest’s life. The cook would be warned: for children, meat must come boned and cut to size.

As he scanned for other hazards, a tug at his sleeve. The same twin, eyes shiny with leftover tears.

“Th‑thank you.”

A shake of the little red head. Lawrence’s right eye twitched—just slightly.