As Vinda's words fell, the people in the spacious room showed all kinds of expressions.
Some immediately declared their loyalty and insisted on staying, while others thought carefully, unable to make a decision for a long time.
Vinda showed no reaction, and neither did Eda.
Sitting in her chair, Eda leaned back, slouching without any regard for appearances. It was as if these people were not about to pledge loyalty to her at all. She watched coldly from the sidelines, even finding it somewhat amusing.
Among the ten people present—including Sergei, Daniel, and Laura—it was very likely that one or more of them had been the one to leak her information to Alain Rosier.
From that moment on, their loyalty had already ceased to exist.
Loyalty and trust were both very costly things—handled poorly, they could cost lives. Those who loudly proclaimed their loyalty were not necessarily trustworthy, and those who hesitated to declare their stance were not necessarily untrustworthy either.
The fifteen minutes passed quickly. No one left the room. People like them had nowhere else to go anyway. No one was born wanting to betray; betrayal came for the sake of benefit, because someone else offered more.
It was just like changing jobs—someone earning ten thousand a month wouldn't switch to a place that only paid five thousand. The work and effort were the same, but the salary was halved. What would be the point of changing jobs—just for a dream?
Even a fool knows the three key elements to success in big matters: first, money; second, money; third, still money!
Dreams must be built on reality—either you have the ability, or you have the strength. Without a real foundation, a dream is just a dream, sometimes even something to be laughed at.
The people in the room were either dark wizards or individuals who had gone through major upheavals in life. They were long past the age of talking about dreams. Compared to distant ideals, they cared more about reality—harsh and bittersweet reality.
"I'm very pleased to see that you have all chosen to stay. I am truly gratified," Vinda said again.
Then she snapped her fingers. Twelve crystal goblets instantly appeared on the long table, each filled with rich Chardonnay. Seeing Vinda stand and raise her glass, everyone in the room picked up their own and stood as well.
"For our glory, for our Esmeralda—raise your glasses. Cheers!"
"Cheers!" everyone responded in unison.
Eda also raised her glass, though her movement was much slower than the others. Holding the goblet before her eyes, the Chardonnay carried a fruity aroma. Through the amber liquid, she felt that everyone in the room appeared slightly distorted.
Looking at others through the glass, looking at herself through the glass—after drinking this cup of Chardonnay, would these people truly accompany her to the end?
There was no oath of loyalty, no one kissed Eda's right hand, nor did anyone kneel at her feet to kiss the hem of her robes or wipe her shoes. The meeting began casually and ended just as casually, yet many things changed because of a single cup of Chardonnay.
It was fortunate that there were no such tedious rituals, no burden of glory; fortunate, too, that this was Versailles and not Lordaeron. Vinda had not declared, "My child, the day you were born, all of Versailles whispered this name: Esmeralda."
That kind of scene would have been chilling—Versailles' most filial child, just thinking about it felt terrifying.
As night fell, the red-brick building seemed to be draped in a veil, and Rose Manor appeared somewhat desolate. Excluding the house-elves, only three women lived in this vast estate.
Vinda and Eda each occupied suites on the second floor, while the remaining woman, Laura Fournier, lived on the first floor. Unless summoned by Vinda or Eda, she generally would not go up to the second floor.
Eda's suite was on the south side of the second floor. It consisted of a bedroom, a private chamber, a personal study, a reception room, and a maid's room. The décor followed Gryffindor's red and gold tones.
Lying on the large red-and-gold brocade bed, Eda stared blankly at the embroidered canopy above her, unable to fall asleep for a long time. Suddenly, she sat up—she simply couldn't sleep.
Leaving the bed, barefoot on the thick carpet, she draped a black silk lace robe over herself. By the moonlight outside, Eda walked alone out of the red-brick building.
Under the cover of night, the garden was especially quiet. No Baroque music played, the magical fountain had stopped, and even the various roses seemed shy, no longer competing in brilliance as they had during the day.
Wandering aimlessly among the flowerbeds, Eda unknowingly made her way to the fountain. Then she heard someone by the pool calling her name.
"Since you can't sleep, why not come have a drink with me?"
On this hot summer night, Eda wasn't the only one suffering from insomnia. Laura Fournier was also wide awake, sitting by the pool, drinking alone. A bottle of cognac floated in the water behind her.
Though she was drinking alone, Laura had brought two glasses. Both were filled—one in her hand, the other set beside her.
Laura handed the glass beside her to Eda. There was even a whiskey stone in it. Taking the round glass, Eda took a small sip.
Since coming to France, putting everything else aside, Eda's alcohol tolerance had been improving day by day. In the past, she wouldn't have been able to tell whether this cognac was good or not, but now she could speak about it with confidence.
"This was Louis's favorite drink," Laura said, her eyes seeming to sparkle as she spoke.
Laura was reminiscing about the past, recalling beautiful memories, her eyes almost filled with stars. But her words made Eda feel a little awkward—she didn't know whether to swallow the drink or spit it out.
"If it's too cold, you can take out the whiskey stone," Laura added, noticing Eda's discomfort. "I hold no ill will toward you, or toward Jessica. Everything was Louis's own choice—fate's arrangement."
Eda silently set down the glass. Talking about Louis—or Jessica—with Laura felt strangely out of place.
"You don't need to feel awkward. Even without Jessica, there would have been another woman by Louis's side," Laura continued. "Compared to that pure-blood girl named Ilena arranged by Vinda, Jessica makes me feel more at ease. At least I didn't lose because of my birth."
In the hierarchy of pure-blood families, Muggles were at the very bottom—and Jessica was a Muggle. Quietly "enjoying" this bit of family drama, Eda picked up her glass again, worried she might start singing if she didn't.
Ilena, my name is Ilena, I'm a girl, just like other girls—
"Go on," Laura suddenly said, changing the topic. "Even though I've never raised a child, I'm still a woman. I can tell you have something on your mind. You don't want Vinda to worry, so you've been keeping it all bottled up."
"No, you're mistaken," Eda said. "I'm just not used to being in a new place yet. It's too big here." Because it was so large, it felt empty—even if Eda wandered the garden in the middle of the night, Vinda wouldn't notice.
Laura moved closer to Eda, wagging her index finger. "Don't doubt my drinking capacity—I can drink four Louis under the table!"
"Should I praise you for holding your liquor," Eda covered her face, "or say that he couldn't?"
Laura didn't respond. She leaned back, reached into the pool, and grabbed the bottle, then poured herself a full glass and drained it in one gulp.
She smiled and said, "Now will you talk? By tomorrow morning, I'll have forgotten everything… hic…" The hiccup clearly came from drinking too quickly.
For wizards, getting drunk was easy—just keep drinking—but drinking to the point of blacking out wasn't so simple. Wizards had plenty of ways to keep themselves conscious even when intoxicated.
Laura downed that glass not to take advantage of Eda's Muggle upbringing, but to show her stance: no matter what Eda said tonight, she wouldn't remember it—just like the emptied glass.
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