Chapter 6
Leona was assigned to scrub the laundry—the work given to the absolute beginners. Though she was trying her best, Kerin kept nagging her relentlessly.
“Leona. The stain didn’t come out.”
“It looks clean to me.”
“Girl, are you blind? Can’t you see this stain?”
Kerin pointed to a tiny spot that looked like a tomato stain.
“Scrub it until it’s spotless and snow-white.”
While Leona scrubbed it over and over again, the other maids gathered in a corner.
“I bet ten crowns that Leona falls off the roof tonight.”
“The reason pretty girls come to this castle is obvious. They’re all trying to make a move on His Grace the Grand Duke. Leona’s no different. If she goes up to the roof tonight and falls, which one would she be?”
“The twenty-second.”
Here and there, the maids covered their mouths as they giggled.
“When the head maid brought Leona here, I knew right away. Let her get a taste of her own medicine tonight.”
“I just hope she doesn’t die. If she falls into the Amast Valley, they won’t even be able to collect her bones.”
“Hmph. Only death awaits those who covet what they shouldn’t. Who do they think our Grand Duke is?!”
While the maids were talking, Leona’s mind was occupied with formulating her plan.
I’ll climb up with the blade hidden against my thigh. Then, I’ll target the Grand Duke’s back.
Or should I act innocent, strike up a conversation, sit beside him, distract him for a moment, and then aim for his heart?
Anyway, the roof? The Eyes of God? What a joke. For a traitor.
Leona scrubbed the laundry, twitching her lips continuously in irritation.
Kerin approached, inspected the laundry again, and nodded.
“By the way, Kerin. What does His Grace the Grand Duke look like? Does he really have a big scar on his face like the gossip rags say?”
Kerin leaned toward Leona.
“His Grace has red hair and green eyes just like you. You’ll recognize him the instant you see him. He’s on the shorter side, with a bit of a belly. Hmm. To be honest, his face isn’t particularly handsome, but well, he’s His Grace the Grand Duke. We all flatter him by saying he’s handsome.”
Gasp. Was that true?
Her former fiancé, whom the peerlessly beautiful Leona was destined to marry, was a short, potbellied redhead?
“Is that why the head maid pointed out my red hair so much?”
At that, Kerin slapped Leona on the arm.
“Yeah. She was offended because it resembles the hair color of the august Grand Duke. So you were destined for the laundry room anyway.”
However, thrilled to have obtained additional information about the Grand Duke, Leona kept beaming brightly.
The red-haired Grand Duke. You die by my hands tonight.
For the first time in six months, Tristan didn’t have the dream he had been having continuously every single night. Having slept remarkably comfortably, Tristan stared absently out the window from his office.
Every night, he had been bound to that night when Montfier was slaughtered. To that single scene: Chloe Montfier being struck by a blade, resisting, and falling into the sea.
After repeating that scene countless times, he would wake up drenched in sweat.
Was I cursed by my dead fiancée? Once awake, he couldn’t fall back asleep, spending the rest of the night wide awake. Having lived like that for six months, he had grown increasingly sensitive as the sleepless nights dragged on.
The divine oracle brought by High Priest Hetra a month ago had been thoroughly shocking.
‘There was an oracle instructing you to marry Imperial Princess Catherine.’
Of course, after the Montfiers vanished, Tristan’s mother, Dowager Grand Duchess Marien, had been fretful that her only son might never marry.
With this newly delivered oracle, the Dowager Grand Duchess was ecstatic, as if she had gained the whole world. A marriage with the Imperial Princess, the sole heir to the throne of the Brack Empire!
‘God must have lost His mind.’
Those were the only words he had uttered to High Priest Hetra. If marrying according to the divine oracle was his fate, then if an oracle had been delivered, he would have to marry the Princess.
Even though he hadn’t escaped the death of the fiancée whose face he had never seen… to marry the Princess.
Romero entered, breaking his solitude.
“Your Grace, the new physician, Louis, has arrived to pay his respects.”
Tristan turned his back.
“I will not receive treatment from the new physician for the time being.”
“Pardon?”
“Look further into whether his identity is certain. When I looked today, there were unfamiliar faces in the castle.”
“Who are you referring to…?”
He recalled the redhead he caught a glimpse of in the hallway. A woman who had exaggeratedly bent her waist at a ninety-degree angle, unlike the maids who usually bowed their heads at thirty degrees.
A woman whose curly red hair was extremely eyesore-inducing. A woman who wafted a strong scent of roses as she passed.
Since there were no redheads in this castle, he recognized immediately that she was an outsider.
“The redhead.”
“The red…?”
While Romero tilted his head in confusion, Tristan sat upon his throne carved from the sacred stone of Amast.
Romero looked up at him.
Black hair, a face carved by God himself, thick dark eyebrows, and handsome eyes. A sharp, manly nose, plump lips, a towering stature of two meters, and a divine physique forged through swordsmanship.
The King of Amast, and the only man chosen by God.
That handsome man spoke clearly:
A redhead.
“We have no redheads in our castle.”
“Are you suggesting my eyes are mere decorations?”
“I shall look into it.”
“I told you to thoroughly vet people before bringing them in.”
“I will investigate thoroughly.”
Romero continued, as if he had another item on the agenda.
“Her Highness the Princess wishes to enter the castle early before the wedding.”
Irritated, Tristan furrowed his brow.
“Tell Mother to handle it as she sees fit.”
“Her Grace the Dowager asked me to convey that this is something Your Grace must personally attend.”
“Report back to me when the time comes.”
Reaching out to rest his chin on his hand, Tristan asked slowly,
“Have you still not found it?”
Romero shook his head.
“We could not find a portrait of Chloe Montfier in the Montfier territory. However, Your Grace, why must you go through such trouble to find a portrait of a deceased person—?”
“Indeed. Why do I want to find it so badly? I’m curious myself. What is this woman’s scheme? Even in death, she appears in my dreams every day and tormenting me. So I want to see what she at least looked like.”
Understanding Tristan’s sleepless nights better than anyone, Romero let out a soft sigh.
“It is likely because Your Grace feels remorseful as well.”
“Bring strong liquor. I feel like getting drunk for a change.”
Since he rarely touched alcohol, Romero put on a startled face at his words.
“Yes, Your Grace. I will bring the liquor.”
He wanted to get drunk today of all days. Inexplicable emotions intersected within him. He now had to let go of Chloe Montfier, who had been his fiancée for twenty years.
A fiancée he hadn’t even thought about while she was alive. A paradoxical fiancée who kept coming to mind ever since she died.
Opening the giant wooden door, he stepped into his room. His elegant and beautiful room was revealed, its high ceilings covered in intricate frescoes.
Slowly stripping off his clothes, he washed his body with cold water. When he emerged into the room dressed in black trousers and a white blouse, liquor and snacks were set on the table.
After filling two liquor glasses, Tristan placed one glass across the table from him.
“Cheers. May you no longer appear in my dreams.”
The 45-degree strong liquor traveled down his throat.
Again, and again.
He drank the strong spirit without pause.
Even for him, who rarely got drunk, he felt a slight dizziness after emptying ten bottles.
By the time Romero left the twelfth bottle, the staggering Tristan grabbed the liquor bottle and stood up.
The full moon of Amast looked even larger than the full moon of Montfier.
In the dead of night while everyone was asleep, Leona tiptoed up to the East Spire, treading on the shadows cast by the moon.
Stealthily walking to the base of the tower to evade the guards on watch duty, Leona groped her thigh to confirm her dagger and smiled.
Anyway, how do I get up onto the roof?
It’s going to be midnight soon.
After looking around, Leona grabbed the pillar on the wall of the spire. Though Leona was confident in climbing anything, she slid all the way down once because the marble pillar was slippery.
Climbing up the pillar using a rope this time, Leona’s hand finally reached the edge of the roof.
“Ugh!”
Hanging onto the roof with all her strength, she hooked one leg over the edge of the roof.
“Unnngh!”
Lacking the strength to pull her other leg up after forcing her hips onto the roof, Leona placed her head onto the roof first and rolled her body over using momentum.
Thump.
Leona’s body bumped into something and came to a stop. At that moment, a strong stench of alcohol wafted over.
“…A redhead?”
