QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 80: Understand it

Chapter 80 – Frida POV

I have served the Duchess for over ten years. I’ve watched her grow from a sharp-tongued, spoiled noble girl into the immovable pillar of grace and authority she is today.

I pride myself—no, I swear—that I understand her better than anyone else in this world. Better than her husband. Better than her family. Better than she understands herself.

But lately... I’m not so sure anymore.

Today, for instance.

She practically races down the side path, her cloak tugged low over her head, walking faster than she ever does in public, as though her own shadow might betray her.

She didn’t wear her usual silk. No corset. No high-collared velvet trimmed in gold.

Instead—gods help me—she’s wearing my clothes.

One of my spare servant robes.

Because apparently, "they are convenient."

I had to turn away so she wouldn’t see my expression.

The Duchess of Callum, wrapped in my patched brown cloak like a runaway stable girl.

I’ve witnessed her attend royal banquets without blinking. Stand before kings. Stare down nobles who dared question her presence.

But now, her steps are uneven. Her fingers fidget inside the sleeves. And whatever lies beyond that clearing—it unsettles her.

"Stay here," she says.

And I bow, silently, as she disappears into the trees.

I remain there for a moment, watching the trembling leaves settle.

To my left, movement.

I spot Jane, the quiet, ever-watchful girl who follows Lady Daphne like a loyal pup. She’s seated on a fallen tree, dress slightly muddy at the hem, chewing a piece of dried apple with all the urgency of a nobleman signing tax forms.

She glances at me and waves.

I cross the clearing and sit beside Jane, sighing as I lower myself onto the log. My legs, though trained for hours of formal standing and swift service, are grateful for the rest.

"Did I just see the Duchess in your clothes?" she asks, her voice low and amused.

"You have no right to speak," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

"Your Lady wears men’s trousers and fights in mud pits."

Jane chuckles. "Touché."

We sit in silence for a moment. Servants like us rarely get peace like this. And despite everything—despite how strange and tangled our mistresses’ relationship has become—we enjoy the quiet.

Lady Daphne is odd, there’s no question about that. And lately, Her Grace... has not been herself either.

"I don’t understand why she’s been avoiding the Duchess," I murmur, eyeing the path.

"I wouldn’t know," Jane replies, her voice half a sigh.

"With my lady, I’ve learned not to ask questions I don’t want answers to."

I scoff at that.

But then the silence settles in.

Heavier than before.

We lean forward instinctively, ears straining toward the stream just beyond the treeline.

They’ve stopped talking.

Not even a murmur. No water splashing. No rustling of fabric.

Just silence.

Jane and I exchange a look.

Then we rise.

Something’s not right.

We approach quietly through the brush—just to make sure everything is fine.

And then I see it.

The stream glows faintly in the moonlight, casting a silver sheen across the surface. And in the center of it, waist-deep in water, wrapped in each other’s arms—

Lady Daphne and the Duchess.

Their mouths pressed together.

We move away—quickly, quietly, like frightened animals. The leaves rustle underfoot, but neither of us speaks. Not yet.

My heart pounds so loudly I can barely hear the crickets.

We’ve seen something we were never meant to witness.

And yet... everything makes sense now.

The Duchess’s sudden mood swings—her joy in the mornings, her silence at dinner, the nights when she dismissed us early only to stare blankly out the window for hours.

The way she insisted on adjusting her own hair. The unusual attention to her gowns.

The lingering looks when Lady Daphne passed by, the unspoken tension in the air whenever they shared the same room.

I hadn’t understood it.

I thought... perhaps the Duchess was simply lonely.

Maybe she’d been looking for a friend.

But no.

It wasn’t friendship.

It was love.

We return to the fallen tree and sit down again in silence.

This time, neither of us sighs.

Even Jane, who always has some cheeky quip or dry remark, remains perfectly still beside me.

"Oh dear," I whisper.

Because what we’ve just seen?

This changes everything.

***

Jane POV

I’ve always known my lady was different.

She wears trousers like she was born in them. She fights grown men in the dirt and laughs when her knuckles bleed. She bathes daily—twice, if she’s been stressed—and insists on brushing her own hair like it’s a mortal sin to let a maid near it.

She isn’t like the noblewomen I’ve served before.

I’ve heard rumors. Whispers from brothels and drunk stablehands. Of men with soft faces and delicate wrists who prefer the company of other men. Unnatural, they say. Wicked. But they exist.

So when I realized my lady shared that same quiet distance, that same... aversion to the expected, I thought,

Ah. She’s like them, then.

A woman with no interest in men.

And when I saw her in another woman’s arms tonight?

I wasn’t shocked.

Not about that.

No—the surprise came from who it was.

The Duchess.

Of all the people in this cursed stone fortress. Her Grace. The cold one. The perfect one. The one you never dared look in the eye unless you wanted to see your life flash before you.

Frida sits beside me like she’s been spiritually flattened. Hands still. Face pale.

She hasn’t said a word.

Her whole worldview’s probably hanging by a thread right now. And to be fair, it’s a big thing to witness.

Honestly, I’m a little glad it’s the Duchess.

I figured at some point my lady was going to lay with a woman—it was written in the way she looked at them, or rather, the way she didn’t. The way she moved through the world like it had no expectations she intended to meet.

I just prayed, if it ever happened, that it wouldn’t be with someone foolish. Or obvious.

Because if the Duke ever found out? Gods forbid.

He’d order her head taken clean off, and since I’m her shadow, mine would be sent flying right after. It’s in the job description, you live and die with your charge.

But the Duchess?

That changes things.

Surely she won’t let anything happen to her lover. I hope.