MFTR 70

Chapter 70

 Jeon’s lips parted slightly, as if he had forgotten how to speak.

The marquis went on as though he hadn’t noticed.

“I know that before you left for this subjugation, you sold the villa your mother left you.”

“…!”

“The penalty multiplied a hundredfold—perhaps it was just a customary clause in Alcan. Even if it wasn’t…”

With a feigned lightness in his tone, the marquis curled his lips into a smile and said,

“I’ve long thought it wouldn’t matter to me if this country fell.”

With those words, the marquis placed Anette’s sword—wrapped in silk—into Jeon’s hand and quietly left the room.

Yet, in Jeon’s ears, the unspoken words he hadn’t voiced echoed like a hallucination:

‘…So take her and run.’

At that very moment.

“Jeon Millard, you’re saying he’s going to the Alcan Empire?”

The one asking was a strikingly handsome man with shimmering silver hair, skin so pale it seemed almost translucent, and eyes the vivid green of spring foliage—Franz, the crown prince and eldest son of King Hayworth, who had just been briefed on the results of the grand council.

“Yes, Your Highness. It seems the chancellor strongly advised that he should be sent.”

The attendant who delivered the report bowed as he replied.

“Marquis Millard?”

“Yes. And it appears the ministers all agreed as well, saying that since this was a request for cooperation in the subjugation of the demonic beasts, it would only be fitting for the commander of the royal knights to go in person.”

“…I see.”

Franz nodded, seemingly in agreement. But the delicate face—finer than most women’s—was faintly furrowed.

Noticing this, the attendant who had long served him asked quickly,

“Your Highness, what troubles you? Are you feeling unwell?”

“No. It’s just…”

Franz shook his head slightly and murmured bitterly,

“When I heard the council decided to ask for help from the Grand Duchy of Harzent, I thought they might send me.”

“Your Highness? How could that be…”

“Do you think the royal family’s request of the Grand Duchy is reasonable?”

“Pardon?”

“It’s an unreasonable favor. Surely Anette will be troubled by it.”

The attendant blinked, clearly never having considered such a thought. Franz sighed softly.

“If I had been at the council, I would have opposed it to the end. But…”

He didn’t have that authority.

Unable to undo what had already been decided, Franz pressed his fingers to his forehead, his expression heavy.

“I wanted to see for myself how badly Anette was hurt.”

At those words, the attendant recalled the letter the Alcan imperial envoy had delivered along with gifts—the message stating that during a demonic beast attack on the delegation, Princess Anette had been abandoned.

News that the princess had arrived at the imperial palace gravely injured and alone had shocked and enraged his usually gentle master so much that he had fallen into a fever for two days.

Remembering that time, the attendant frowned slightly.

“To be honest, I don’t understand why Your Highness is so concerned about her.”

“What?”

Franz lowered his hand and looked at him sharply, as if to ask what he meant.

Unable to hold back his earnestness, the attendant raised his voice,

“Isn’t it true? Because of her, Your Highness lost your mother and even the king’s favor—”

“Enough. I don’t care to hear it.”

Franz’s voice was icy cold—so unlike his usual tone that it startled the man into silence.

As the attendant bowed his head in apology, Franz sighed lightly and said in a softer voice,

“Is it so strange for a brother to care about his only sister? I find your words far stranger.”

“…My apologies.”

The attendant quickly changed the subject, hoping to ease the heavy mood.

“At least there is one thing to be glad about—the princess’s sword, Your Highness. When I heard Her Majesty had taken it, I was so upset.”

Even if the princess could no longer wield it, the sword was still hers. To take it away as if it had always belonged to the crown was outrageous.

“Especially since Your Highness went through such trouble to obtain it! And to think they used to speak ill of it, calling the name Rubellino ominous…”

The attendant quickly clamped his mouth shut, realizing that the nickname—the crimson bane, steeped in the blood of demonic beasts—was too harsh for his refined master to hear.

Watching Franz carefully, worried for his health, the attendant saw the prince lost in thought.

“…Your Highness?”

“To be honest, I was relieved when the queen took it. But now that it’s back in Anette’s hands, I feel… strange.”

“Pardon?”

“I never wanted to give her that sword.”

The attendant blinked, then nodded as the memory returned.

“Ah… I had forgotten. Indeed, Your Highness opposed the princess going on the subjugation expedition.”

“Yes. But my sister was stubborn, and in the end, all I could do was get her that blade. It was the only thing a poor excuse for a brother could do.”

Thinking of the day he’d armed her and watched her march off to near-certain death, Franz gave a bitter smile.

He shook off the thought and asked,

“Have you heard when they depart for Alcan?”

“No, but Sir Jeon must have just received the news as well. I imagine he’ll leave as soon as preparations are complete. The next subjugation isn’t far off.”

“Then take this to him.”

“Yes, what shall I… Your Highness?”

The attendant froze mid-bow, staring in horror as Franz unclasped the chain from his neck.

He dropped to his knees.

“Your Highness, you mustn’t! That’s the last portrait of the late queen!”

After giving birth to Anette and dying soon after, the queen’s portraits had all been burned in the king’s rage.

Only one remained—the miniature hidden in Franz’s pendant, a treasure even the king knew nothing about.

The attendant, knowing how dearly Franz cherished it, could not obey such an order.

“You grow bold today. Have I been too lenient with you?”

Franz’s voice was cool as his expression hardened into something sharp.

“Bring me a box for this and stationery for a letter. Tell Sir Jeon it’s a gift for my sister.”

“Your Highness, if this is a wedding gift, then simply attending the royal marriage despite your frail health is more than enough!”

The attendant pleaded desperately, even daring words Franz disliked—that he was weak—just to stop him.

But Franz shook his head.

“It’s not a wedding gift. This is…”

He hesitated, lips trembling slightly, his eyes glistening.

“Just make sure it reaches her. If Sir Jeon hurries, he might arrive just in time.”

The attendant, ready to argue again, froze at those words. Then, silently counting the days, he bowed with a pained expression.

“I will obey.”

“Mmm.”

Had Larisa already drawn back all the curtains?

Sunlight poured through the windows more brilliantly than usual, making Anette squint as she shifted under the covers.

Rolling over to escape the glare, her red hair spilled across the bedspread.

Once coarse and dry from neglect, it now shone with a healthy gloss, thanks to countless gentle, painstaking touches.

The frail, bony frame she once had now carried enough softness to resemble that of an ordinary girl.

Having stayed up reading until dawn, Anette still struggled to shake off her drowsiness. The warmth of the bed and the sunlight’s embrace made her body and heart languid.

It was comfort beyond measure.

…I’m happy.

The thought drifted through her half-asleep mind.

The resignation and vague unease she’d felt when leaving the kingdom were gone without a trace.

It was as if the barren, lifeless soil of her past had sprouted tender green leaves and bloomed into a garden of color—she felt reborn.

But then, suddenly, her eyes flew open.

Something was wrong. The silence around her was too deep.

She blinked slowly and sat up.

As expected, the curtains were fully drawn, and beyond the windows the midday sun blazed in the sky.

“…Larisa?”

Normally, the moment Anette set her feet on the floor, Larisa would sense it, knock, and come in.

But today, no matter how many times she called—or even tugged the bell cord—there was no answer.

Puzzled, Anette slipped her small feet into the soft slippers by her bed and walked slowly to the window.

“…!”

As she looked out at the garden—usually a scene from a painting—she drew in a sharp breath.

“Why…”

Is there no one?

The words burned in her throat, unable to escape.

Not a single soul—no gardeners tending the grounds as always, no bustling servants hurrying about, no guards moving to their posts at the shift change.

It had always been lively, without fail.

But now, there was no one.

Anette, who often sat by the window watching them as a quiet pastime, felt her face harden.

Into a heart brimming with warmth and sweet hope crept a sudden, suffocating dread.

From deep below, an ominous, sickening feeling surged upward.