Chapter 7: Free Time?

But who was this person? Why did she keep mentioning them? And why did Ilya’s voice carry a faint touch of nostalgia and sadness when she spoke of them? What was the connection between them?

Her internal vigilance rose again. She looked at the plate of enticing jam that seemed to have condensed all the sunlight, then at the dry bread in her hand.

A primal longing belonging to this young body struggled fiercely with her rational resistance.

Suspicion.

Eventually, the notion that ‘I shouldn’t make it too obvious’ won out. She couldn’t act like a hedgehog about every little thing, or it would arouse suspicion.

She picked up a small spoon and scooped a tiny bit of jam, spreading it almost stingily on a corner of the bread. Then, with a sense of grim determination, she put it into her mouth.

In an instant, an incredibly rich and soft flavor exploded on the tip of her tongue. It wasn’t just sweet; it was a blend of the slight acidity of berries, the mellow fragrance of nectar, and an indescribable, starlit clarity.

The flavors were layered and more wonderful than she could have imagined. Even her taste buds, which had become dull due to yesterday’s torment and this morning’s tension, were instantly awakened.

Her eyes widened slightly for a moment. Although she immediately regained control of her expression and returned to a flat look, that fleeting reaction did not escape Ilya’s eyes.

“Do you like it?” Ilya asked with a smile, her tone certain as if she already knew the answer.

Flora felt a burst of annoyance at being seen through. She put down the remaining small piece of bread and lightly wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin, trying to hide her lapse in composure.

“…It’s too sweet,” she commented against her heart, her voice sounding even stiffer than before.

Ilya chuckled softly at those words, her laughter low and pleasant, like the wind blowing through ancient wind chimes.

“Is that so?”

She didn’t call Flora out on it, only looking at her with an understanding gaze.

“What a stubborn child.”

The breakfast continued in a subtle atmosphere. Flora no longer completely rejected Ilya’s recommendations; she would try the cheese pushed her way.

The cheese had a delicate, creamy texture with a nutty aroma that seemed to have a calming effect.

She also took a few sips of the now lukewarm soup. It was rich and mellow, and it did indeed make her stomach feel warm and comfortable.

But she insisted on deciding the order and portion for herself, using this insignificant way to maintain her crumbling sense of autonomy.

Ilya remained patient and gentle throughout, occasionally introducing the origin of an ingredient or commenting on the weather outside, as if they were truly an ordinary mother and daughter spending their morning together.

Only the occasional gaze she cast at Flora — a mixture of scrutiny, expectation, and unquestionable authority — reminded Flora of the true colors hidden beneath this tenderness.

Once the final dish of crystal fruit soaked in sweetdew nectar was cleared away, Ilya elegantly pressed a snow-white napkin to the corners of her lips.

The morning light danced on her silver hair, making her look less like the majestic Queen of the Night and more like someone enjoying a lazy morning at home.

Flora sat in place, waiting for the expected, heavily scheduled agenda. Training, lessons, or the even more unsettling “indoctrination.”

She was already calculating in her mind how to feign obedience while stealing useful information.

However, Ilya only looked at her gently and asked, “Was the soup to your taste today? I saw you drank quite a bit.”

Flora was stunned. She hadn’t expected such a mundane question. She nodded subconsciously, then felt annoyed that her reaction had been too fast.

“That’s good.” Ilya smiled slightly, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

She stood up but did not seem intended to leave immediately. Instead, she walked casually to the window, looking at the exotic garden bathed in morning light.

“There’s nothing urgent this morning.”

She turned around, the light and shadow casting a soft silhouette on her deep features. Her tone was as relaxed as if she were talking about a perfectly normal morning.

“So, the morning is your own. The castle is very large; you can walk around as you please and familiarize yourself with the environment.”

Her gaze fell on Flora with a gentleness that was almost indulgent.

“If you want to see the garden or browse the library, you can. Just don’t leave the area of the main keep.”

‘…Free time?’

Flora almost thought she had heard wrong. No harsh lessons, no urgent training, just… “walking around”?

This sudden, limited freedom made her feel a bit lost, even more wary than if she had faced clear instructions.

Was this another form of testing? Did Ilya want to see where she would go? Who she would contact?

But she quickly suppressed the waves in her heart. Regardless, this was an excellent opportunity — a chance to openly familiarize herself with the terrain, observe the guards, and find potential breakthroughs.

She couldn’t let the other woman see her eagerness.

Thus, she lowered her head, unconsciously twirling a strand of silver hair falling over her shoulder. She responded with an attitude that sounded as flat and indifferent as possible, “…Oh. I understand.”

Ilya watched her for a moment, those silver eyes seemingly able to see through the calm Flora worked so hard to maintain. But in the end, she said nothing, only giving a light nod.

“If you need anything, or if you get lost, you can have a maid find me at any time.” Having said this, she turned and left the dining room with an elegant posture, leaving behind a room full of silence and a seemingly harmless freedom.

Flora sat alone at the long table, the sunlight stretching her shadow. She sat in silence for a long time, as if digesting this sudden “gift.”

When Ilya said “the morning is your own,” the tight string in Flora’s heart had unexpectedly loosened a fraction.

Free time? This was better than any arrangement she had anticipated. But she also knew that this “freedom” was as fragile as glass and had to be used carefully.

She didn’t show any eagerness, providing a reaction that was normal for someone who had gone through what she had — the exhaustion and detachment following a massive upheaval.

She lowered her eyes slightly and responded softly, “…I’d like to go back to my room and rest for a bit.”

The request was reasonable and wouldn’t arouse any suspicion.

Ilya’s gaze lingered on her face for a moment. Deep within those silver eyes, a flicker of something like ‘as I expected’ passed by before turning into gentle permission.

“Alright. If you have any needs, have a maid notify me at any time.”

Flora nodded without saying more. She turned and quietly returned to her private chamber along the path she had come from.

Flora sat on the soft couch in the room. She felt like a stone warmed by the sun; her mind was filled not with escape plans or fear of the future, but a nearly blank exhaustion.