The Maid With a Child - Chapter 55

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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55. This is High Society.
There was only one voice like a song, like a nightingale’s—Maeltina.
Adlen turned to look at her with eyes that seemed ready to spill tears of joy.
Maeltina met her gaze and smiled brightly, raising her voice.
The effect of a peerless beauty was remarkable. The cold-faced crowd stirred, and one by one they began to open their mouths and murmur along.
Never in all the king’s birthdays had such a common folk’s birthday song echoed through the hall. Yet everyone knew this song. The scattered voices that gathered one by one became a chorus of all present, resounding through the chamber.
“Happy birthday to you!”
Then the Baby began to sing loudly.
At last! It was done!
Adlen nearly wept with joy that she had finally fulfilled the king’s command.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday!”
But the song did not end.
The same verse repeated some twenty times.
Even those who had applauded and sung along at first began to clear their throats softly, letting their voices trail off.
“Ah, young master, perhaps that’s enough now…….”
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!”
“Young master…….”
“End.”
That was when Racalte spoke to the Baby.
But the Baby would not stop. A silent battle of wills unfolded between the Baby, repeating the birthday song, and Racalte.
What on earth was happening here?
Adlen was barely holding onto her scattered wits, trying to figure out how to intervene.
“Ahahaha!”
The king’s hearty laughter broke out once more, shaking the atmosphere that had begun to grow awkwardly cold.
“In all my years, I’ve finally heard the Sigeliun Countess House sing, and I’ve lived long enough to see wonders. This birthday brings only the finest gifts.”
So that was it. She understood now why the king had never asked for a song before.
Toward her master, who had made this sacred sacrifice alongside her, a deep gratitude and melancholy welled up from her heart.
“If you have children later, you’ll raise them well, I imagine, Count.”
“……I am honored.”
“I truly cannot fathom why a man so handsome, so fit, with such a fine voice—though admittedly he cannot sing—so skilled at combat, and so thoroughly favored by me, should be unpopular in the marriage market. I have faith that good news will reach us soon.”
“I shall endeavor to do my best.”
In truth, the king’s words were aimed at the other nobles, not at Racalte.
The Sigeliun Countess House, now firmly established as a house in the king’s favor, should be receiving respectable marriage proposals, yet they continued only to watch and wait—a thing that greatly displeased the king.
That was why he had intended to match Racalte with Maeltina of the Norwan Duchy, the finest house in Teplan and of royal blood. But even a king could not bend the world to his will.
The king, who had been glowering at the crowd with evident displeasure, suddenly halted his gaze upon Adlen.
That maidservant who had entered the palace with them before.
At the time he had been too focused on the Crown Prince to observe her properly, but seeing her again today in this light, she was quite presentable. The Crown Prince clearly followed her completely, and she seemed quite intimate with Racalte as well.
Could it be……?
“And Adlen. You too have worked hard.”
“Ah, yes, thank you, Your Majesty.”
Although she had come in the capacity of a nurse rather than as a member of the household, Adlen—who had not been invited to the party in her own right—had no standing to greet the king directly.
Yet the king spoke to her himself.
By strict court protocol, this was as extraordinary as knighting a cat.
Even Maeltina had not foreseen such a thing.
Faced with a situation she had neither practiced nor even imagined, Adlen went pale.
She stammered her response, terrified that she was doing it all wrong.
“Thank you……?”
The moment the word left her lips, whispers of correction rippled through the crowd.
Adlen’s heart was pierced.
Not “thank you”—she should address the king as “Your Majesty.” She realized it a moment too late.
The king himself, however, paid it little mind.
“Hmm. Yes. Do continue to work hard in the future.”
“Thank you…… No, Your Majesty, Your Majesty, I am…… honored.”
Her mind went blank several times over the course of a single response.
Adlen realized anew that she knew nothing of noble etiquette.
She had never needed to know, and she was never supposed to need to know in the future—yet why did it feel so desperately necessary in this moment?
Fortunately, Adlen’s response this time did not seem to violate propriety too greatly. No corrective whispers followed.
“I believe the birthday wishes are now sufficiently received. You may withdraw.”
Adlen bowed so deeply her nose nearly touched the floor. It was a gesture of genuine gratitude. She wanted nothing more than to escape this place.
As she withdrew, the Baby did not stop but continued to sing the birthday song. Only when it spotted the ball on the ceiling again did it finally pause. This time, it called out instead of singing.
* * *
“When… when can we go home, Racalte?”
Adlen wanted nothing more than to leave. She couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead right now.
She thought she’d barely managed to retreat from the King’s presence, but now the stares of the crowd had become brazenly open.
And the kinds of stares came in every variety imaginable.
“So he was the Crown Prince of Morn.”
“Now that you mention it, the child does look a bit savage. That must be the Morn bloodline in him.”
“They should have just left him to die. Why would they bother picking him up and raising him?”
These weren’t words meant for the Baby’s ears. Adlen pretended to embrace the Baby while covering his ears.
She’d never expected people to heap such curses upon the Baby.
Before his identity was revealed, passersby had called him cute quite often. In truth, the Baby was genuinely adorable today—the kind of adorable that would be charming even with eyes in the soles of his feet. But that was then.
People hurled their hostile whispers for one reason alone: the Baby was the Crown Prince of Morn.
He’d never claimed any rights that came with the bloodline, yet bore its burden.
Since she couldn’t approach each person individually to argue back, the best Adlen could do was shield the Baby’s ears from the venom.
“So who’s the woman holding the child? Is she a noble from Morn?”
“No, if she were, His Majesty would have said something more. Did you hear her calling the Countess ‘master’? She’s a servant. A maid.”
After the speculation about the Baby came speculation about her. She hadn’t expected to draw the crowd’s attention alongside him.
Adlen sighed and pressed herself further behind Racalte.
But the crowd’s interest and curiosity were relentless. No matter how much she tried to hide, they could spy a single strand of her hair and spin endless theories from it.
“She’s dressed quite well, isn’t she? That’s not a Galangart piece, is it?”
“I think it is. The way the frills are attached is exactly theirs. And those buttons too—only they use those.”
“They doubled the price last season and nobody’s even placed orders. She got a Galangart dress made? A maid’s dress?”
“Was the Countess House trying to show off how much money they have?”
Even though Racalte cared for her so generously, it could become grounds for mockery.
Indignation welled up inside her. What made it worse was that they spoke in hushed tones just loud enough to be heard—meant for her ears. These were calculated whispers, quiet enough that they could always claim she’d overheard by accident if she confronted them. Plausible deniability.
Besides, the King’s birthday performance was still underway. One could chat lightly while watching, but raising her voice to argue and start a confrontation was impossible. The timing had been deliberately chosen.
The pettiness of High Society laid bare before her. So this was it. No wonder Racalte’s eyes had turned cold.
When she glanced back at her master, he seemed well-trained by now—his face stone-heavy and unmoved as he watched the performance. Seeing him so undisturbed, Adlen too managed to calm herself.
This was High Society. Not yet at the level where someone would beat a person to death. I can bear this.
“Wait, that Hair Ornament—isn’t that a Yutten piece?”
“Oh, I think I’ve seen it. Wasn’t that one a custom order that had an additional fee, so the customer never picked it up and it ended up displayed? It’s been sitting there unsold because it’s so expensive.”
These people were remarkable. From a distance, they could identify exactly which shop sold which item. Whether they were actually right or not was unclear, but they seemed far more accurate than Adlen, who couldn’t tell at all.
This was why one couldn’t go about in shabby clothes or half-measures. With people watching this carefully, if she’d worn something cheap and careless, the Sigeliun Countess House would’ve been mocked as paupers.
Yet dressing too well also became grounds for criticism.
In truth, no matter what she’d done, they would have found fault. The real issue wasn’t the facts—it was whether they deemed her someone to belittle and bully.
The higher the status, the fiercer the territorial behavior among the servants.
It was surprising that noble High Society operated exactly the same way, yet also so predictable that it didn’t wound her.
“Right, that must be it. They bought her that?”
“Showing off money is one thing, but isn’t that excessive? …Maybe that’s it? I kept wondering why he trusted such a young maid with the child…”
“You know. The Count and that thing.”
That thing?
That… thing?!
‘That thing’—the very thing that popped into her mind at those words. It had to be.
Adlen’s eyes widened at the preposterous speculation that followed.

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