Jevella welcomed her new little brother, Enoch, with a beaming, affectionate smile.
"You've come at last, Enoch."
"Uh... yeah, Sister Jevella?"
"You can call me Sis. We're family, after all, even if we have different mothers."
"Thanks, but this feels more comfortable."
His blunt response caught Jevella slightly off guard. Not because of his oddly curt attitude or rough tone, though.
The men of House Zahav were all cut from the same cloth in that regard.
She'd endured curses and mockery from brothers far younger than her just for lacking the family's Bloodline Ability. This was nothing by comparison.
And while his savage aura was impressive despite his carefree demeanor—a fact she'd already heard in reports—there was no reason to be surprised.
What truly startled Jevella was that Enoch had called her "sister."
'Haven't heard that in ages.'
People had called her "sis" back in her ignorant childhood days, but once they grew wise to her circumstances, their attitudes shifted entirely.
Whore this, bitch that—it was the baseline. Sometimes worse.
Such treatment was one of countless reasons Jevella had vowed to bring House Zahav to ruin.
'No. He just doesn't know my story yet, and he has no strong pride in House Zahav.'
She recalled Karen's brief appearance as Enoch entered.
The usually impeccable butler's uniform slightly disheveled, her hoarse voice from constant talking, and her cold, sunken gaze.
In truth, Karen had loosened her tie from fatigue, strained her throat from endless chatter, and was pondering the best tutor to teach Enoch from scratch.
But to Jevella's unknowing eyes, it all seemed profoundly suggestive.
As if Enoch had laid hands on Karen through some coercive means.
'...That bloodline doesn't just vanish, it seems.'
Maintaining her benevolent expression, Jevella forced a wry inner smile and spoke.
"Have a seat first. We can talk over the meal."
"Perfect timing. I was starving."
He replied casually and plopped down at the head of the table without hesitation. Fair enough—he was the Young Lord now. But then...
Crunch crunch—
The moment he sat, he began devouring the food like a man starved for a month, and even Jevella recoiled.
He gripped utensils awkwardly, ignorant of proper use, or tore into food with his hands.
Sauce smeared his clothes, bones and shells tossed carelessly to the floor, spilled bits scooped up and eaten off the table.
A gluttonous display utterly divorced from noble blood.
Even accounting for his lack of etiquette training, it was excessively vulgar.
In truth, this was Enoch's deliberate ploy.
Lacking ideas to stack up antipathy with Jevella, he'd decided to act rude.
Silent gorging at a conversation table, with abysmal table manners—no knockout blow, but enough petty slights to build resentment.
At minimum, it clearly signaled his Calypso Territory roots.
But just as Enoch schemed to deceive(?) Jevella for his goals, she too wore a smile to mask her intentions.
With careful dabs of her napkin, Jevella wiped the corners of Enoch's mouth.
She spoke with an utterly harmless smile that some might call naive.
"You can eat slower. If something runs out, just ask for more. Send a servant for anything you need."
"...True. No need to rush like this anymore."
"Hehe. You must have been famished. It's fine. But... did you usually have reasons to eat in such a hurry?"
"Yeah. If you don't eat it right away, someone else might snatch it. Even if not, bad luck could mean starving for days. So you gotta stuff yourself when you can. Starve long enough, and people turn into beasts."
"Ah..."
From Enoch's view, this highlighted his Calypso upbringing, his lack of refinement and roots.
To Jevella, it hit differently.
Her beauty had blossomed with maturity, and as the successor competition's prize, things improved... but in childhood, she'd often gone hungry.
The reason a great noble's daughter starved was simple: Patriarch Cain had ordered no one to feed her.
Blinded by belief that Jevella diluted Zahav blood, he'd vented irrationally.
His favorite punishment: lock her in a room and starve her.
Mind fogged like mist, too weak to lift a finger, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Then the distant food scent snapped reason; she'd crawl like an animal to sate hunger.
Forgetting table manners, face buried in spilled scraps like a dog, chewing desperately.
And Cain's mocking voice from above: "No daughter of mine could be this pathetic."
Amid shame, the satisfaction of a full belly lingered in Jevella's memory.
As Enoch said, starve a person long enough, and they become beasts.
'Brought back bad memories.'
With a deep sigh, Jevella portioned her own food onto Enoch's plate.
If he'd endured similar... sharing food was the easiest way to win favor.
She still needed to play the kind sister. What she truly awaited was teatime after the meal.
Zahav blood bore solar mana and immense vitality, granting near-immunity to most poisons.
But exceptions existed.
True, her Bloodline Ability never manifested, yet Zahav blood coursed her veins.
Born to House Zahav yet hating it most, Jevella had refined her own blood into a deadly exception.
Sunset.
The vial of orange liquid clinked softly in her inner pocket.
As if to hide the sound, her feigned kindness deepened.
One or two sips wouldn't kill Zahav's sturdy frame outright.
But it'd create an opening. Sufficient for Jevella.
The reason she'd suffered since childhood: her Bloodline Ability from her non-Zahav mother's line.
A mere gap—slip a honed dagger through, and even superhuman Cain withered away.
His sons, heir candidates, lost control in mutual slaughter or dropped dead inexplicably.
Enoch too would show a flaw, however small. Leading to his death.
...Or so Jevella schemed, her dark heart unknown to Enoch, who thought:
'Wow! What a nice person!'
She just seemed like someone doting on her new little brother.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Once the meal wound down, Jevella insisted on serving tea herself, leaving dessert to the chef.
Enoch watched quietly as she meticulously operated the small teapot and mana-heating tool.
Unlike Karen's silvery hair with a bluish tint, Jevella's was pure white.
Her long locks brushed past her hips, bangs framing drooping eyes with violet pupils.
Older than him, yet innocently childlike.
Lower the gaze, though, and her violently voluptuous chest seized attention.
Modestly covered, yet shape and size perfectly discernible.
The other heirs' cutthroat rivalry ending in annihilation? He grasped why.
Not just for mighty House Zahav, but a woman like her.
Any man would risk life for that prize.
Wait—didn't that turn them into an incest-obsessed house on the brink?
House Zahav's average dignity plummeted in his mind. Shoving it aside, he changed topics.
"You seem skilled at brewing tea, Sis. Drink it often?"
"Hehe. I drink plenty. Just no one to share with. Father never cared, nor my other siblings."
"Ah... yeah, figures."
He recalled his new bedroom, the former patriarch's chamber.
Expected art or finery for a grand duke... instead, walls crammed with monster trophies, ominous weapons hung.
True to a martial house, indifferent to salons or tea parties.
Jevella, by contrast, seemed utterly kind.
Not because of the side dishes she'd shared throughout dinner.
Despite his deliberate provocations, she'd smiled patiently, treating him like a mischievous brother.
Constantly attuned to his every move, mirroring him subtly.
Such people were either eager to bond... or assassins eyeing a fatal moment.
But Jevella wouldn't assassinate a stranger met today.
With Zahav men massacred, she seemed committed to preserving the house.
No reason to antagonize the sole surviving son saving them from extinction.
Even if resentful of this outsider snatching the throne... she wasn't betrothed to him anyway.
Power would roll to her passively; no need for risky moves.
Thus, her kindness seemed genuine. Family decimated overnight, new brother arrives—she wanted to dote. Mm-hm.
Nodding to himself, Jevella handed over the freshly poured tea.
"It's been ages serving anyone, so I'm a bit nervous..."
"Whatever. You already brewed it—too late to hold back. Even if it sucks, I'll drink. Gimme."
He half-snatched the cup from her hand.
First, he shoveled a hunk of cake dessert, then chugged Jevella's tea.
A mysterious aroma filled his sinuses. Slightly bitter, yet cleanly so, perfectly balancing the cake's sweetness.
A flavor and scent unprecedented in either life.
Not bad, though.
"Mm... Little brother? How's the tea?"
"Eh, sure. Don't know tea well, but this is good."
Perfect with cloyingly sweet dessert, at least.
Throat parched anyway, he downed the rest in gulps.
For some reason, Jevella's face twisted oddly.
...Huh?
Did I mess up?
That thought hit when he flinched instinctively.
His goal wasn't cozy chit-chat with Jevella, but earning her disdain.
Her harmless welcome had made him forget briefly.
But better late than never—act on it.
Despite rare kindness melting his guard, remember: it was for the "new brother."
Reveal he's no true Zahav heir... the betrayal would be immense.
Stick to purpose: not cherished sibling, but loathsome intruder to eject.
Scraaaape.
Shoving his chair back, he patted his thigh pointedly, as if beckoning her.
"C'mere and pour another. Feels tastier when Sis does it."
"..."
His barmaid-taunting tone stunned her; Jevella gaped blankly. Then...
"L-Like this?"
She approached cautiously, settling her rear on his lap.
A satisfying heft through his thigh. Soft flesh yielding atop him. White hair swaying inches away, faint fragrance wafting.
Porcelain skin flushing to her nape, Jevella whispered with an alluring edge unlike prior coziness.
"If Sis goes this far... you have to finish it all?"
"Uh... yeah. Sure."
He nodded dazedly; only then did she seem embarrassed, whipping her head away to prepare the next cup.
Optical illusion? Her eyes seemed chillier as she brewed.
Bang!
The banquet door flew open. An elderly man in crisp butler garb and a silver-haired girl entered.
Head Butler Aaron Kesef and granddaughter Karen Kesef.
Aaron, rigid as if overhearing Enoch's words, spoke.
"Young Lord Enoch. Lady Jevella. Forgive the interruption during your... enjoyable meal, but you must evacuate immediately."
"What the—"
"Pardon? What's happening, Head Butler? Explain."
As both blinked in confusion, Aaron replied gravely.
"...Dungeon overflow."
What the hell's that?