The Maid With a Child - Chapter 38

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

38. A Birthday Received
“Why not simply call tomorrow your birthday?”
“Pardon? Tomorrow, sir?”
“If you haven’t had one until now, you choose a good day and make it your birthday. That’s all there is to it.”
“I… well…”
Could it really work that way? Was it truly permitted?
Adren blinked in astonishment.
A birthday that hadn’t existed could simply come into being like this. Yet he felt no displeasure at gaining one. No—he was pleased. More than pleased. It was a birthday given by his master.
“Tomorrow feels too soon, sir. Perhaps a few days hence would be better, so we have time to prepare for the Birthday Party.”
“Very well. We’ll do it that way.”
“Adren, you’re content with that, aren’t you?”
“Y-yes… yes, I am.”
A birthday had simply appeared.
He’d thought it nothing much, yet his chest thrummed with excitement.
Adren placed his hand over his hammering heart and turned back to look at his master.
Having finished the discussion, his master rose with the same effortless composure as always.
Should he offer his thanks? Thank him for the birthday he’d given?
But in the end, his lips would not open, and his master left the room before he could speak.
It was only much later that the gratitude he’d failed to express lingered like a bitter aftertaste.
* * *
News of Adren’s Birthday Party spread through the Knight Order with remarkable speed.
The Butler had mentioned it to only a handful of knights, but he’d overlooked how loose-tongued soldiers could be—nearly as much as the servants.
“So the child’s nursemaid is having a birthday, is that right?”
“Adren.”
“Oh, so you even know his name?”
“I’ve gotten friendly with him from playing with him a few times.”
“So you’ll go to the Birthday Party?”
“I suppose so? If the lord permits it.”
All the knights knew of Adren’s existence, but not all of them had become acquainted with him.
Only those among them who played well with children earned the privilege of visiting the Master’s Quarters.
It was hardly a glamorous duty—practically overtime—yet no one minded. The child was rather charming, and playing with him proved unexpectedly entertaining.
Knights appeared magnificent from a distance, but the reality of their lives was just as monotonous as anyone else’s.
In wartime, they fought. In peace, they trained.
Those with families found some relief in that, but they were a rare exception. Most remained unmarried, and their time away from the Training Ground was merely passed aimlessly.
For those with hobbies, there was always something to pursue. But most who became knights had fighting as their hobby, their specialty, and their profession. However much they loved it, they couldn’t spend all day training.
So when a novel opportunity appeared, they all seized it eagerly.
“Ah, you’ve arrived just in time, my lord! Might I attend Adren’s birthday celebration?”
It was Dowen who stepped forward with such confidence.
The Knight Order’s only father, he had the longest record of being reassigned to childcare duties.
Ricalt, who had just been entering the Training Ground, paused as a cascade of gleaming eyes fell upon him.
“The primary purpose isn’t Adren’s birthday. It’s to teach the Crown Prince to speak. He hasn’t grasped how to say ‘birthday’ at all.”
“Ah! Then more people should be better, shouldn’t it? They say children learn to speak faster when they hear many voices.”
“……”
Ricalt fell silent, his expression reluctant.
Adren’s role was to tutor the Crown Prince, and seeing how earnestly the boy threw himself into that task had moved him to permit the Birthday Party.
Whether the Crown Prince spoke quickly or slowly was no concern of his.
He’d intended to keep the Birthday Party simple. There was no benefit in letting it become unnecessarily complicated.
“Truly, my lord! It’s proof my boy is alive and thriving. Now he even argues with me—and wins! I’m not a poor speaker myself, but hearing so many voices from his mother, his aunt, his grandmother… he speaks with such fluidity!”
Interpreting Ricalt’s silence as hesitation, Dowen began to prattle on without being asked.
“Of course, my wife is naturally gifted at storytelling, with such a clear and melodious voice and crisp pronunciation that the boy has picked up exactly that same quality, but he must be clever himself to imitate it so well, mustn’t he? My son is a genius, so setting that aside, you understand…”
“Enough.”
Dowen’s boy hadn’t inherited only from his mother—he’d taken after Dowen himself as well. The man talked constantly, and once he got onto the subject of his child or wife, he would never stop of his own accord unless someone cut him off.
“So you’re… permitting it, my lord?”
“No… well.”
Just as Ricalt opened his mouth to refuse outright, Adren came to his mind.
If it were merely a false birthday celebration for the Crown Prince’s education, there would be no question—a knight had no business lingering in such a place.
But this was Adren’s first real birthday. Surely he’d want to be celebrated by many.
‘Why did I do that….’
Only now did Ricalt reflect on the fact that he had created this birthday for Adren.
Even in hindsight, he couldn’t understand why he had done it then.
The Butler’s attitude—digging into a person’s depths over something as trivial as a birthday—and the sight of Adren shrinking, cowed by it, all of it had been distasteful. So he’d stepped in without thinking.
Right after, seeing Adren overjoyed and at a loss for words, he’d thought he’d done well. But now, watching these knights make such a fuss, he felt a twinge of regret.
He despised needless commotion.
“Coordinate with the Butler and keep the numbers minimal.”
So he’d made the decision crisply and put the matter to rest.
“Wow! Thank you so much!”
Dowen, having received Ricalt’s approval, bounded off toward the other knights with a spring in his step.
“He said yes!”
“Oh, I want to go too, then!”
“Talk it over well with the Butler. What are we getting as a gift?”
Just as Ricalt was about to call for training to begin, those words stopped him mid-breath.
A gift?
He hadn’t thought of it at all.
Birthdays meant preparing a birthday gift. He’d seen to the Crown Prince’s birthday gift every year. Even if it wasn’t an object, if he received an order like “This year’s birthday gift is victory,” he would deliver that. So there had been no need to deliberate.
Now Adren’s birthday had become a real birthday. Which meant he should provide a birthday gift as well. The other knights would prepare gifts, and if he showed up empty-handed, it would be a disgrace.
‘What should I give him?’
For the first time, Ricalt found himself troubled over someone else’s gift.
In all his life, he’d never selected a gift for a young woman—not just never actually done it, but never even considered it.
He could have left it to the Butler. If it were a matter of propriety, a formal gesture required, he would have delegated without hesitation. Every time someone needed a gift, he’d always done so. There were countless occasions when he didn’t even know what he’d given, yet still received thanks.
But he had never felt the slightest unease about it. If he gave something, that was enough. The act of providing it was the gift itself, or so he’d thought.
Yet with Adren, he wanted to choose the gift himself.
Adren and he weren’t merely servant and master—they were comrades running together toward the same goal.
Ricalt had never stinted on rewards for soldiers deployed alongside him on dangerous operations. So he ought to show Adren that same care and sincerity.
A house, a carriage, livestock, marriage funds—none of it felt sufficient to Ricalt’s conscience. He wanted to give more.
But the problem was, he didn’t know what would be good to give.
Gifts for soldiers were simple and straightforward.
Money, meat, liquor. When giving an enormous reward, a weapon he’d personally owned.
He couldn’t give any of those to Adren. Money he was already providing, so it wouldn’t feel like a gift; Adren didn’t eat much meat, so it would seem like a burden; and liquor—she didn’t touch it at all.
And if he gave a weapon, that timid temperament would lead her to say something ridiculous like, “D-do you mean for m-me to use this to… or are you w-warning me that things will get so d-difficult I’ll have to w-wield it myself?” He could already see it.
As Ricalt’s deliberation deepened, the knights happened to begin discussing what kinds of gifts to give.
“I suppose a bouquet would do, wouldn’t it?”
Ricalt pretended to inspect his weapon while surreptitiously lending an ear.
“A birthday gift should still be something tangible! Flowers just wilt away!”
“But it still makes you happy, doesn’t it? Isn’t happiness the most important thing?”
“What makes you happy is cash. I’m just going with cash.”
“I heard a lot of people dislike cash for lacking sincerity. Safe bets would be cosmetics or hair ornaments, things like that.”
“But those have strong personal preferences, don’t they? People like or dislike them intensely.”
Ricalt forgot to call for training to begin and listened intently to the knights’ chatter for some time.
Yet no matter how much he heard, none of them spoke a truth that satisfied him. The items they suggested sounded trivial and hollow to his ear.
Was it really acceptable to give something so… ordinary as a birthday gift?
Indignation welled up inside him, almost bursting forth.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————