Amos E. Kyros stared at the long dining table like it was a battlefield. Too long. Far too long.
“Why the hell is the table way too long dammit! Is this table built for hosting a diplomatic summit between nations?” he muttered under his breath.
Because it was technically it was a table built for a meeting that got used as dining table.
At the opposite end of the table sat a small girl with pale blonde hair, almost silver under the light. Her posture was stiff. Too stiff. Hands placed neatly on her lap, fingers clutching her skirt like it was the only thing grounding her to reality.
Ambrosia Kyros.
His newly adopted little sister.
“She’s shaking,” Amos whispered.
“Yes,” came the calm reply from behind him.
Of course she was here. Elena stood a step behind his chair, as silent and ever-present as death itself. If Amos suddenly collapsed, she would probably catch him before he hit the ground, probably or she would just let me fall down.... definitely the latter.
“Why is she shaking?” Amos asked, trying not to move his lips too much.
“Maybe someone is staring way too hard,” Elena replied flatly.
“Do I?”
“It is, if you look like you are deciding her fate.”
“I definitely wasn’t!”
“You were.”
“I was thinking!”
“You were thinking about how to maximize your gain.”
“Stop judging me.”
Across the table—
Ambrosia flinched.
Just slightly.
Amos froze.
“She reacted.”
“Yes.”
“To what?”
“You whisper like a notorious troublemaker from a duke’s family, plotting how to amuse himself with his latest toy.”
“That's oddly specific, I wonder whom you are talking about.”
Silence fell again.
A heavy, suffocating, painfully awkward silence. Amos could feel it. This was bad. This was exactly how bad routes start.
He glanced up.
Ambrosia immediately lowered her head.
“Okay,” he muttered internally. “Think. Strategy. Step one, be kind.”
He straightened slightly.
“Ambrosia.”
The girl jolted.
“Y-Yes Lord Amos.”
Ouch. That hurt more than expected.
“Just Amos is fine,” he said, trying to sound normal. Authoritative.... not his intent to do so.
Ambrosia’s fingers tightened on her skirt.
“Y-Yes, Brother Amos.”
“I said Amos.”
“Y-Yes, Lord Brother Amos.”
“That’s worse.”
Behind him—
“Yes, Lord” Elena agreed.
“Since when do you start calling me that? You are not helping.”
“Correct.”
Amos inhaled slowly. Stay calm. Stay kind. Be a tree.
“You don’t have to be so nervous,” he tried again.
His tone softened. Slightly. Just slightly.
Ambrosia nodded immediately.
“Y-Yes.”
She was still trembling.
“This is not working,” Amos thought.
“This is not working,” Elena confirmed.
“I didn't give you the permission to read my mind.”
“You did.”
“I definitely need to return you back to your family for a being a defective product.”
Right then—
The servants entered.
Silver trays. Polished utensils. Quiet, efficient movements.
And then—
“Ah—!”
A small, startled sound escaped Ambrosia. Amos’s eyes snapped toward her. There it was.
Her gaze was fixed on the cutlery.
Specifically
The knife.
Her fingers tightened even more, knuckles turning pale.
Fear.
Not just nervousness. Actual fear. Amos blinked.
'Wait.'
Something clicked.
“She’s scared?”
“Yes,” Elena said.
“Of the knife?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Unknown. Likely prior experience.”
Amos’s expression shifted.
“I see.”
He reached forward.
Ambrosia flinched.
But he didn’t grab the knife threateningly.
He simply moved it away.
Gently.
Sliding it away from her.
Then he pushed the fork slightly closer.
“You may use this instead,” Amos said.
Ambrosia froze.
Her red eyes slowly lifted.
“Huh?”
For the first time. She looked at him directly. Not in fear. But in confusion.
Amos didn’t look at her. He just picked up his own utensil and started eating. Calmly. Like it was nothing.
“Elena,” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“Was that kind?”
“Yes.”
“Her affection point gone up right?”
“Yes.”
“You don't understand what I am saying, do you?”
“Yes.”
“I hate you.”
“Understandable.”
Across the table. Ambrosia slowly, hesitantly. Reached for the fork. Her movements were careful.
Cautious.
She picked it up and started eating.
The silence settled once more.
Amos exhaled internally.
“Progress.”
“Yes.”
“Elena.”
“Yes.”
“I’m kind of amazing.”
“....”
“So, if it's something about my greatness you don't say your usual respond.”
“....”
“Thank you,” a small voice said.
Amos blinked. He looked up and Ambrosia had lowered her head again.
But her grip on her skirt had loosened.
“It was easier,” she added quietly.
Amos stared at her.
Then quickly looked away.
“It’s nothing,” he said. Definitely not flustered.
“Elena.”
“Yes.”
“Did I just gain affection points?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Yes.”
“I got to teach you what some of the words means.”
...
(Ambrosia pov)
Ambrosia Kyros did not understand. That was the simplest way to describe what she was feeling right now. Her fingers lightly held onto the fork. The fork he had pushed toward her—as she carefully ate in small, quiet bites. Her posture remained proper, her head slightly lowered but her thoughts were anything but calm.
This is… strange.
Before coming here, she had already heard things. Rumors. Whispers among the servants. Children remember more than adults realize.
“The young master is difficult.”
“He enjoys making people react.”
“He once made a maid cry.”
“He’s… not someone you should get close to.”
A troublemaker. A noble child who knew his position and wasn’t afraid to use it. Someone to be careful around. Someone to fear.
And earlier, she had seen it. That gaze. Cold. Sharp. Like he was looking through her. As if measuring. As if deciding. It was the same. The same kind of look. The same kind of presence as those boys from before. Even when his father was around, he was already planning how to torment her.
So, she had prepared herself.
Be quiet. Be obedient. Don’t stand out. Don’t give them a reason. That was how you stayed safe. That was how you survived.
But then—
“…You can use this instead.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the fork.
Why?
Her eyes flickered upward for just a moment. Amos E. Kyros. Her brother in name. He wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was eating. Like what he did just now didn’t matter at all.
…Why would he do that?
Ambrosia lowered her gaze again. Her heartbeat just a little faster. Was it a test? Maybe. Maybe he noticed her hesitation. Maybe this was just another way of observing her reaction.
People like him—
They didn’t do things without reason or, her grip loosened slightly.
Was it kindness? No. That didn’t make sense.
Kindness didn’t exist like that.
There is simply no reason for him to do so, he doesn't even know her.
Her lashes trembled faintly.
There has to be a reason. She had to ask. Carefully.
Slowly, Ambrosia set her fork down.
The faint sound of metal against porcelain echoed softly in the large dining hall. Amos paused. So did the maid behind him.
“Lord Brother,” Ambrosia called, her voice small but steady.
Amos looked up.
Their eyes met. And for a brief moment, she almost looked away. That pressure. That presence. It was still there.
“What is it?” he asked.
Ambrosia hesitated. Her fingers curled slightly against her dress.
“Why did you move it?”
“Move what?”
“The knife.”
Silence. A short one.
But to Ambrosia. It felt long. She lowered her gaze slightly.
“Did I do something wrong?” she added quietly.
There it was.
The real question.
Not why did you help me?
Am I about to be punished?