Chapter 39: Face to Face

“I’m thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

Onyxia scooted closer.

“About my mother?”

“Yes.”

Celia didn’t deny it.

She stared at their intertwined hands.

“According to my thinking… she should be against it.”

Onyxia blinked.

“You brought me back,” Celia looked up, her gaze full of confusion.

“I’m a woman, after all. Shouldn’t she… reject me being with you?”

Onyxia was stunned for a moment.

Then she laughed.

She laughed so hard her shoulders shook, and her tail wagged so happily it became a blur.

“Hahaha—”

Tears even welled up in the corners of her eyes.

“Celia, you were thinking about that?”

“I’m being serious!”

She tried to pull her hand back, but Onyxia held it tighter.

“What’s so funny about that? This is a very serious question!”

“Okay, okay, serious, serious.”

Onyxia tried hard to suppress her laughter, but her curved eyes betrayed her.

After wiping her tears with her other hand, she looked at Celia.

“Celia, she knows what kind of festival I went to attend.”

Celia was taken aback.

“The festival jointly held by Dark Elves and Beastmen.”

Onyxia said, word by word.

“Why do you think I went there specifically?”

“You told me you came specifically to see me?”

“Yes. Ever since I started saying I wanted to attend the festival, they began frantically gathering information about Dark Elves. All the materials I had were given by them. Sister Traka even came to my house at their invitation to talk about the festival. It was through her that I learned about Dark Elves… and about you.”

Celia’s mouth fell open.

“So… so… they knew from the very beginning…”

“From the very beginning, they knew that by attending that festival, I would most likely bring a Dark Elf back. And after hearing your name, Mother knew I had brought back the person I wanted.”

Celia fell silent.

She lowered her head and didn’t speak for a long time.

Onyxia didn’t rush her. She just held her hand.

“…So,” Celia finally spoke, her voice even more muffled than before, “I was worried for nothing. Worried she’d offer me money to leave you, worried she’d ask to speak with me alone after dinner, worried—”

She couldn’t continue.

Because Onyxia started laughing again.

“Celia,” Onyxia leaned closer, “you were thinking about that?”

Celia wanted to deny it.

But she opened her mouth and found she didn’t even have the strength to deny it.

“…Stop laughing,” was all she could manage to say in the end.

“Okay, I’ll stop.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than the door to the Tea Room was gently knocked.

“Young Miss, Miss Celia,” the maid’s voice came from behind the door, “dinner is ready. Madame asks you both to proceed to the Dining Room.”

Celia seemed to be awakened from a daze by the voice, her shoulders twitching slightly.

Only then did she realize she was still in the position of having her face cupped by Onyxia.

She quickly shrank back.

Onyxia smiled, let go, stood up, and extended a hand to her.

“Let’s go,” she said, “let me show you how amazing our family’s chef is.”

The Dining Room was more spacious than the Tea Room.

There was a large dining table, but only one end was set with three place settings.

The candles in the candelabra were already lit, the warm yellow glow enveloping the entire room in a cozy atmosphere.

The silverware gleamed softly under the candlelight, and the red wine in the goblets looked like melted rubies.

Madame was already seated at the head of the table.

Seeing them enter, she looked up.

“Here you are? Please, sit.”

Onyxia naturally guided Celia to the seat on Madame’s right, then sat down beside Celia herself.

Celia sat up very straight.

She didn’t know why she was sitting so straight.

Onyxia’s mother hadn’t done anything, hadn’t even said anything, just occasionally swept her with that gentle gaze, yet her spine was involuntarily tensed into a straight line.

The appetizer was served.

It was a meat steak of some kind, smothered in sauce and garnished with a few sprigs of herbs.

She picked up her knife and fork, her movements elegant.

After all, she had received etiquette training in the Homeland; she could handle this kind of scene.

Then something lightly brushed against her ankle.

She looked down under the table.

There was a foot there, its toes gently tracing circles on the inside of her calf.

“…Here we go again.”

Celia looked up, expressionless, at Onyxia sitting beside her.

The latter was elegantly cutting the meat on her plate, her expression focused, as if the foot causing mischief between her legs had nothing to do with her.

—Pretend. Keep pretending.

Celia took a deep breath and decided to ignore it.

She kept eating.

The foot seemed to sense her tacit permission and grew bolder.

It slowly moved up from her ankle, brushed past her calf, and upon finding Celia still unresponsive, a hand slipped in.

“Cough.”

Celia choked violently.

“What’s wrong?”

Madame looked over with concern.

“Is the meat not to your liking?”

“N-no, it’s not that.”

Celia tried to keep her voice steady.

“It’s delicious. It’s just… a bit hot.”

Madame nodded and didn’t inquire further.

Celia secretly glared at the culprit beside her.

Onyxia returned an innocent look, but her hand grew even more audacious, moving around to her lower back and tracing the outline of her spine through her clothes.

Celia’s back straightened even more.

Straight as a tightly drawn bowstring.

She gripped her knife and fork tighter, her knuckles turning white.

That hand knew her too well.

It knew where she was most sensitive, what kind of pressure would make her legs weak, and in what situations she wouldn’t dare make a scene.

And she truly didn’t dare make a scene.

That hand traveled all the way up her spine, fingertips lightly brushing over her shoulder blades, then leisurely retreated downward, stopping at the spot on her waist where she was most ticklish, giving it a light, firm pinch.

Celia’s breathing became erratic.

She bit her lower lip hard to stop herself from making any strange sounds.

The steak on her plate had been poked full of holes; she had no idea what she was eating.

“Celia?”

Madame’s voice sounded again.

“Are you really alright? Your face is very red.”

Celia’s head snapped up.

She met Madame’s eyes, which bore some resemblance to Onyxia’s.

“N-no, I’m fine. It’s just… a bit warm.”

“Warm? It’s already evening. Should I ask the maid to open a window?”

“No, no need!”

Celia almost shouted it.

She felt the hand at her waist start moving again.

This time, it was lightly drawing circles.

One circle, two circles, three circles—

Her legs began to tremble.

Onyxia remained seated properly beside her, one hand using her knife and fork with focused attention on the meat on her plate, occasionally taking an elegant sip of red wine.

If you ignored the fact that she only had one hand on the table—the other was currently wreaking havoc at Celia’s waist—she was the picture of a perfect young lady.

Just as she felt she was about to lose control, about to collapse limply into the chair right in front of Madame…

“Xia.”

Onyxia’s movements stopped.

“Eat… eat properly.”

Madame picked up her wine glass, took a sip, and looked over the rim, her gaze landing on Onyxia’s face.

“Don’t bully our guest.”

Onyxia blinked.

“Mother, I’m not bullying her. I’m just concerned about her, worried she’s nervous.”