18. Jurto

18

JURTO

I t is no longer a question of if I'm losing my mind. I've fully lost it – or it's been snatched rather by a little iyippin I have running around my home.

My practices have been brutal but not skillful. My teammates have noticed how on edge I've been. And even so, all I can think about is Emilia. I wonder where she is and what she's doing as I make my way toward the dining hall, the aromas wafting toward me making my stomach growl.

But it's not what I truly yearn for. Instead, I already feel myself craving Emilia as I take a seat, my servants poised to give me whatever I need. The impulsive desire for her grows until there is practically a buzzing in my skull, and I slam my fist on the table, jolting everyone in the room.

"I can have whatever I damn well please in my own home," I growl, realizing a beat too late that the room was silent before. The servants have no knowledge of my internal struggle.

"And what is it that you would like?" The closest one asks tentatively.

My lips curl around the word before my mind can stop my mouth. "Emilia."

I ignore the sidelong glances of my servants as they scurry to fetch her. The anticipation gnaws at me, impatience and an odd twinge of vulnerability pulsing through me. When Emilia finally arrives, there's hesitation in her eyes, but she obediently takes the seat opposite me. I gesture for her to fill her plate.

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes flicking to the abundant spread before us. Slowly, she reaches for the serving spoon, her movements tentative. At first, we eat in uncertain silence, the clinking of utensils the only sound between us. I find myself watching her, the way she delicately picks at her food, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks.

I can't help it. The silence is too heavy, too charged. "Careful with that," I say, a teasing lilt in my voice. "I hear humans have rather weak stomachs."

To my surprise, Emilia shoots back a witty retort without missing a beat. "Weak stomachs, perhaps, but strong wills. Can't say the same for everyone at this table."

I bark out a laugh, genuinely appreciating her boldness. It's rare for anyone to speak to me like that, and it's refreshing. We fall into easy banter, trading good-natured barbs back and forth. I throw a few more jabs her way, and she parries them with a sharp tongue and quick wit that matches my own.

"So, you think you're tough, huh?" I say, leaning back in my chair, a smirk playing on my lips.

"Tougher than you, clearly," she replies, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

I chuckle, shaking my head. "You've got spirit, Emilia. I'll give you that."

As we continue our verbal sparring, I find myself smiling, a rare occurrence these days. Emilia's vibrant spirit and sharp tongue engage me in a way no one else does. She matches my vigor, meeting my challenges head-on without flinching. It's exhilarating.

The meal stretches longer than usual, neither of us in a hurry to leave. I watch the way she talks, the way her eyes light up when she's particularly pleased with a retort. There's a fire in her, a passion that draws me in despite myself.

"So, tell me," I say, leaning forward, my elbows resting on the table. "What do you really think of this place?"

She raises an eyebrow, clearly considering her words carefully. "It's... different," she says finally. "Not what I'm used to, but it has its charms."

I nod, appreciating her honesty. "And me?" I ask, my tone more serious now. "What do you think of me?"

She pauses, her fork hovering mid-air. "You want the truth?"

"Always."

"You're infuriating," she says, her voice steady. "But... you're also fascinating. You challenge me in ways I didn't expect."

Her words hit me harder than I anticipated. I lean back, studying her. "You challenge me too, Emilia. More than you know."

She looks down, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. For a moment, the playful banter fades, replaced by a charged silence. I can see the conflict in her eyes, the same one that gnaws at me.

I find myself smiling again, a rare occurrence. Emilia's vibrant spirit and sharp tongue engage me. She matches my vigor in a way no one else does. Their laughter draws more curious looks. Ignoring the onlookers, I refill Emilia's glass, charmed by her smile.

It hits me again how much I want her. I've never entertained anyone's company, and yet, I want hers. I can't let her see too much of my thoughts, though. I still need to maintain control.

"Eat up," I say gruffly, pushing a platter toward her. "You'll need your strength."

She gives me a curious look but doesn't argue. As we continue to eat, I notice more about her. The way she carefully selects her food, the way she chews thoughtfully, lost in her own world. It's these little things that make her... different.

"Do you miss your home?" I ask, surprising myself with the question.

She looks up, her eyes meeting mine. "Sometimes," she admits. "But I'm learning to adapt."

I nod, understanding more than I let on. "Good. Adaptation is a sign of strength."

We fall back into a comfortable silence, the tension from earlier easing. It's strange, but I find myself enjoying her company more than I expected. She's not just a distraction; she's a challenge, a puzzle I can't quite solve.

As the meal winds down, I lean back in my chair, watching her. "You know, Emilia, you're not like the others."

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh? And what makes me so special?"

I smirk, leaning forward. "You've got fire. Spirit. Most would have broken by now, but you... you thrive."

She looks away, a small smile playing on her lips. "Maybe I'm just stubborn."

"Maybe," I agree, chuckling. "But it's more than that. You've got a strength most don't. It's... admirable."

She looks back at me, her eyes searching mine. "Why do you care?"

The question catches me off guard. Why do I care? I've been asking myself the same thing. "Maybe because you remind me of myself," I admit, the words surprising even me.

She blinks, clearly taken aback. "You?"

I nod. "Yeah. Stubborn, defiant, unwilling to back down. We're not so different, you and I."

She considers this, her eyes thoughtful. "Maybe you're right."

The room falls into a comfortable silence again, the weight of our conversation hanging between us. I can see the wheels turning in her mind, the same questions I've been asking myself.

With the meal done, Emilia excuses herself from the table, her voice soft yet steady. "I'll take care of the dishes," she says, gathering the plates with practiced efficiency. I nod, watching her every movement.

As she walks toward the kitchen, I find myself rising from my seat, an inexplicable urge pulling me to follow her. The dining hall falls away, and I trail her silently, my footsteps almost ghostly as I approach the kitchen's threshold.

She doesn't notice me at first, busy with the task at hand. I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, simply observing. The way she moves is almost mesmerizing, each action deliberate and purposeful. She rolls up her sleeves, revealing slender, strong arms as she begins to scrub the plates.

The gentle clinking of dishes and the sound of running water fill the space, creating a strange sense of calm. I take in the scene, noting the small frown of concentration on her face, the way her brows knit together as she works. There's a quiet determination about her that I can't help but admire.

I don't try to humiliate her, although the thought does cross my mind. Instead, I just stand there, content to watch her. The kitchen, usually a place of chaos and noise, feels serene with her in it. She moves with grace, her presence transforming the mundane task into something almost... beautiful.

She glances up and startles slightly when she sees me. "You scared me," she says, a touch of admonishment in her voice.

"I didn't mean to," I reply, my tone softer than usual. "Just... watching."

She gives me a curious look but doesn't press further. As she continues to wash the dishes, I remain there, silently observing. For once, it's enough just to be near her, to share this quiet moment away from the chaos of the world outside.

With a pang, I realize this defiant girl, my slave, might be the closest thing I have to a true partner in my cold, empty home. It's a disconcerting thought, but it's there, lingering in the back of my mind. The more time I spend with Emilia, the more I'm drawn to her resilience and spirit. She's not just a distraction; she's becoming something... more.