QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 105: Beautiful sound

Chapter 105 – Frida POV

I have nothing to do.

For the first time in my life, I truly have nothing to do.

It’s been a month since the duch—no, Lady Evelyn, the Princess—organized everything for us to live here in this small, remote town tucked away in the hills.

It’s peaceful. Isolated.

Traveling here had been hell—the rickety roads, the endless forests, the sheer distance from everything we once knew.

But somehow, despite everything, we made it.

And now, despite all the talk about being demoted to commoners, the new identities are Mr. Han and Mrs. Han, the "new local lords" of this town.

It’s almost laughable, how the titles fit and don’t fit at the same time.

The people here are simple.

The air is clean, untainted by the acrid smells of the capital.

The food is rough but hearty, and the work is endless but honest.

The first few weeks were hard.

Really hard.

Hard enough that there were nights I thought Lady Evelyn would break.

She who had always worn silk now carried buckets from the well.

She who had commanded rooms now haggled over firewood.

I worried for her.

Worried that the edges of the girl I had sworn to serve would fray and come apart out here.

But—

Somehow, she didn’t break.

She bent. She adapted.

And she smiled.

Smiled like I have never seen her smile before—unforced, real, radiant.

I still don’t know how to handle it.

Now she wakes before dawn, tying her hair back in a simple braid, walking to the market with coins hidden in her sleeve. She laughs at jokes from the old baker. She kneels down in muddy fields to help the women wash vegetables.

She’s becoming self-sufficient.

She’s becoming... her own person.

She doesn’t need me the way she used to.

And without her constant need, without the endless tasks and careful service that once made up my entire world—

I don’t know what to do with myself.

I wander the dirt streets, watching the town go about its slow, steady rhythm. Children chasing each other barefoot. Dogs barking at carts. Chickens darting between doorsteps.

And I pause at the edge of the square, where a group of men are splitting wood.

Mr. Han moves among them, sleeves rolled up, axe swinging with practiced ease. She laughs at something another man says, and the others clap her on the back like she’s always been one of them.

It’s odd.

Odd and natural, both at once.

Like she belongs here, somehow.

Like all of us are finding pieces of ourselves we didn’t know we had, hidden in the cracks of this forgotten town.

I lean against a fencepost, pulling my shawl tighter around my shoulders.

The breeze carries the scent of cut wood and damp earth.

I think about my lady—my Evelyn—and how she laughed yesterday, flour dusted on her nose from trying to bake bread, scolding Daphne for sneaking pieces of dough.

I think about how she sits by the river sometimes, barefoot, humming tunelessly, staring at nothing with a small, secret smile on her lips.

I think about how she carries her own basket now.

How she no longer needs a shadow trailing behind her every step.

How she no longer needs me.

And I realize—

Maybe this, too, is part of serving her.

Letting her go.

Letting her grow into this strange, beautiful life she chose for herself.

I watch Mr. Han chop another piece of wood cleanly in half, her body moving with a strength and steadiness that seems unshakable.

Honestly, Lady Daphne is not less than a man.

In fact, she’s more.

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Not the kind of life I pictured for us—but it’s okay.

It’s peaceful.

Just as I’m sighing fondly at the sight of her swinging that axe like a natural-born woodsman, a voice—an unfortunately familiar voice—calls my name.

"Frida!"

I close my eyes briefly in suffering, inhale slowly, and turn.

There he is.

John.

A farmer. A butcher. A carpenter.

The unofficial mayor of this tiny town before we arrived.

A jack of all trades. A man of the people.

And, apparently, an incurable flirt.

He grins wide, all white teeth and sun-worn skin, striding toward me with a bundle of wildflowers clutched awkwardly in his meaty hands.

"As beautiful as ever," he says, practically beaming as he thrusts the bouquet toward me.

Oh gods. Not again.

I glance down at the flowers—half of them are weeds and one is suspiciously wilted—and offer a tight smile.

"John," I say, careful, polite. "You’re very kind."

He beams even brighter, missing completely how my tone sounds like I’m accepting condolences at a funeral.

"You’re a vision, Frida. Brings joy to my day just seein’ ya stand there."

Ha. Ha. Ha.

I take the flowers because it would be rude not to.

My arms are already full from running errands, so now I look like some blushing maiden waiting for a love confession.

Wonderful.

Behind John’s broad shoulders, I can see Lady Daphne pause in her chopping, eyeing the scene with amusement.

She smirks.

I narrow my eyes at her, warning her to mind her own business.

She doesn’t.

She lifts a hand, gives a cheeky little wave.

John, oblivious, continues talking animatedly about the latest harvest, about how he’s fixing the town’s old well next week, about how a woman like me shouldn’t have to carry heavy buckets alone.

Oh, gods, someone save me.

Just when I think it can’t get any worse—

"Frida!"

Another voice calls out.

This one, blessedly, familiar.

I twist around just in time to see Lady Evelyn—Mrs. Han now—emerging from the market, carrying a basket heavy with cloth and dried herbs.

She’s smiling.

Her hair is tied back simply, her dress plain by her old standards but rich compared to the village women’s.

She walks with purpose, grace. She looks happy.

My heart squeezes a little.

"There you are!" she says brightly, coming up beside me.

She eyes John briefly, and something in her smile sharpens.

It’s the same smile she used to use at political banquets when some fool of a nobleman was getting ideas about alliances.

John doesn’t stand a chance.

"Thank you for keeping Frida company," Lady Evelyn says smoothly, tucking her arm through mine as if we’re bosom friends. I cannot, my heart skips a beat at that action.

She looks at the flowers in my arms, and her smile grows sharper.

"How generous," she adds.

John laughs awkwardly, scratches the back of his neck, and mutters something about having to check on the pigs before practically fleeing.

The moment he’s gone, I sag in relief.

Lady Evelyn glances sideways at me.

"And how long have you been letting him court you?" she asks, mischievous.

I sputter. "I have not!"

She laughs, a real laugh, rich and unburdened. A most beautiful sound.