BVIB 22

Chapter 22

Arma had made Roselyn run first, insisting she escape alone so he could face the assassin himself. But now, at the promised meeting place, he was nowhere to be found.

Apart from the man standing before her now, Roselyn had never encountered anyone who dared block her path.

It wasn’t because she was too strong for anyone to try.

No—no one had ever even attempted to stand in her way.

Not within the walls of the ducal estate, and not outside them either.

So she had lived her life without expectation.

She had always done things on her own, after all.

There was no one to help her, even if she cried. If she confessed how hard things were, it would only burden others even more.

If that’s the case, then I may as well bear it all on my own, Roselyn thought, her expression hardening with quiet resolve.

Those were the years she lived by that philosophy.

Twenty-seven years—enough time for Roselyn to grow used to such a life. She was no longer a child who needed anyone to protect her.

When she was with the third prince, she’d been branded a kidnapper for abducting royalty. After his death, she became a criminal, condemned for causing a royal’s demise.

The years on the run hadn’t lasted long—barely two years, really. Yet, in those two years, Roselyn had learned more than she had in the previous twenty-five.

She’d picked up enough medical skills to treat her own wounds without anyone’s help.

She had learned to survive on her own, never depending on others.

She discovered that thievery was harder than it looked.

She realized there were few people in the world truly worth trusting.

And, above all, she gained the patience to endure pain—no matter how much it hurt.

She had learned that simply enduring in silence wasn’t always a virtue. Some things would never be understood unless they were spoken aloud.

Roselyn had carved the rules of survival into her very bones.

She had come to know loneliness.

“Are you all right, my granddaughter?” a gentle voice asked.

And in that moment…

Those words struck Roselyn harder than she expected.

She’d long ago given up on things like relationships. So why did that single question pierce her so deeply?

She couldn’t even remember the last time someone had asked if she was okay.

All this time, she thought she’d come to accept her returned life—not quite happy with it, but not entirely dissatisfied, either. But now, she realized that wasn’t quite true.

It was then that her vision blurred, without warning.

A drop fell.

Suddenly, tears poured from Roselyn’s eyes.

The first to notice was Devon, who had just asked after her well-being. He froze, startled by the unexpected sight.

Cherty, standing behind him, was next to realize what was happening.

And last of all—

“…My lady?” Arma’s voice was barely above a whisper.

He was staring at Roselyn as if he’d just witnessed something impossible—something he was never meant to see.

“A-are you all right? Are you hurt? Did something happen while I was… I mean, just now… Here, I brought this—”
Arma, flustered and scrambling, suddenly fished something from his pocket and thrust it toward Roselyn, his words tripping over themselves in his haste.

“Granddaughter! Why are you crying?!”
Devon, who had been standing there with his mouth agape, suddenly shoved Arma aside and rushed forward, his voice booming with concern.

Crying?

Who?
Roselyn stared ahead, dazed, the thought barely registering.

“Was it that bastard? Did he hurt you?! That son of a— I’ll grind that worthless piece of— I’ll stomp him into the ground so thoroughly that—! The wretched little—he must have a death wish—!”

A menacing wind began swirling around Devon, dangerous and wild, despite the fact that they were indoors.

Roselyn, alarmed, started to reach out her hand to stop him.

“…Dear child.”
A trembling hand clutched at the hem of Roselyn’s clothes.

“You…”
Cherty’s fingertips shook as she reached for her.

It was only when Roselyn noticed the droplets hitting the floor—drip, drip—that she realized she was crying.

“Oh…”
She murmured softly, almost in wonder, as she touched the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“…I must say, I have no idea what’s happening here at this joyous banquet I finally get to attend with my wife after so long.”

A hand landed lightly on Roselyn’s shoulder as someone spoke—his tone wry, yet curious.

“Roselyn, are you all right?”
This time, it was none other than Marquis Gueran who had appeared.

Roselyn, overwhelmed, had the sudden urge to simply faint on the spot.

Unfortunately, unlike her frail body, her resolve was annoyingly strong. She wasn’t the type to collapse so easily—not even now.

“…Marquis Gueran…!”
Instead, Roselyn dug into the little pocket sewn into her sleeve and pulled out a small pill, quickly pushing it into Cherty’s mouth.

Cherty, who had been on the verge of losing control, swayed—and then collapsed, unconscious.

So that was it.

Since she couldn’t let herself faint, Roselyn had chosen to make someone else do it instead.

And, as it turned out, she succeeded brilliantly.

“Is this even real…” Roselyn muttered under her breath.

Above her, a chandelier so extravagant it bordered on absurdity cast shimmering golden light in every direction. The room itself was vast—so spacious and luxurious that simply lying there made her uneasy, tempted her to stare at the gilded ceiling just to avoid taking it all in.

The bed was enormous, easily large enough for five people to sleep side by side. Lavish gift boxes were piled at her bedside, each wrapped with excessive care, and even the bouquets of flowers were so elaborate they looked ready to topple their vases.

It was all too much.

Here she was, sprawled atop the gigantic bed in a grand chamber granted by the emperor himself—a gesture of supposed consideration.

There was no complicated reason for it.

Who knew crying a little yesterday would end with me running a fever? Roselyn thought, equal parts bemused and exasperated.

Now that she thought about it, she’d always been rather frail around this time of year.

Even that morning, she’d noticed a faint warmth in her body, but it hadn’t bothered her. Back during her days on the run, a fever like this would have been laughable.

Maybe that’s why—ironically, she’d felt her healthiest back then.

A mild fever was just proof her body’s cells were working hard; it meant she could keep going, living with determination.

But now, she was buried under thick, snowy-white blankets, with only her head poking out.

Honestly, maybe moving around would be better than this, Roselyn mused. After all, she’d grown accustomed to fevers like this. If she ever went independent again, she’d have to live alone. Getting sick and languishing in bed each time would just be a nuisance.

You get used to a weak body, she supposed.

With that thought, Roselyn made up her mind and got up from bed after only a brief hesitation.

Now that she was in the Imperial Palace, she figured she might as well visit the library. She wanted to better grasp the current state of affairs—and she certainly didn’t intend to live like a beggar just because she was striking out on her own again.

She’d have to start thinking of a good business idea.

And… it’s about time I caught the culprit behind these disappearances, too.

Still, there was no need to rush. For now, she knew there wouldn’t be any more incidents for a while. And even if something did happen, Marquis Gueran would handle it.

Her real problem was the business.

The Norlang mine’s already been handed over to the family…

Of course, managing such a mine alone would have been impossible for her anyway.

And at least she’d kept it from falling into the wrong hands—that alone was no small victory.

First things first, I’ll head to the library and decide what to do next, Roselyn resolved, draping a shawl over her shoulders as she made her way out of the room.

She had no idea that such a simple act—leaving her room—would soon turn the entire Imperial City upside down.