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chapter 57
“What’s all this commotion?”
“Your Majesty, it’s nothing. I… I was just removing stains from the hallways,” Lexi said, her voice trembling. Rosellina lowered her head and said nothing. Dantès touched the area Rosellina had been cleaning and spoke.
“It seems like this is too much for you all to handle alone. How do you expect the place to be properly clean like this?”
“I-I’ll do my best, Your Majesty. If… if needed, I can even bring a footstool,” Maxi added.
Just a few days ago, the emperor had personally executed a prisoner by beheading him. It was natural that their jaws trembled uncontrollably. Rosellina, however, stood quietly beside the girls without flinching. Dantès’s gaze shifted toward Rosellina.
“You strange-headed maid… don’t you have anything to say?”
Rosellina lowered her head and replied.
“I apologize for causing a disturbance.”
“That’s all?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Y-Your Majesty, this maid just entered the palace today as an apprentice. Please, have mercy on her,” Lexi spoke up.
“What did I say…”
“Your Majesty, were you here all this time?”
It was Milan. Dantès turned toward the source of the voice.
“The tailor has arrived. Though it may be bothersome, you should take a look.”
“The experts made them, so they’re all fine. Milan, you pick what you think is best.”
“Still, since this is for Sir Marco’s return celebration party, wouldn’t it be better for Your Majesty to choose personally? Also, since it’s been a while since your clothes were fitted, a fitting session is necessary.”
Hearing talk of a social party just days after executing a person made Lexi and Maxi tremble even more. For nobles and the royal family, social gatherings were political events—opportunities to gauge power and exchange information. Especially with the details of Dantès’s wedding undecided, the party schedule couldn’t be delayed.
Seeing Dantès hesitate, Milan quickly continued.
“Lexi and Maxi, just in time—your help is needed. Come assist with the fitting of His Majesty’s ceremonial robes.”
“Yes, steward,” they replied.
“What is the new maid’s name?”
“Rina, steward,” they answered.
“Very well. Rina, you come along as well.”
Milan knew Rosellina’s true identity—and even Dantès’s feelings. He had seen how Dantès had chased her away a few days ago, yet she still lingered near the palace.
“Your Majesty, we should go. There’s no time to waste. More than twenty outfits have arrived.”
With Milan’s clever urging, Dantès reluctantly turned. Milan then instructed the other servants trailing behind.
“Finish cleaning here, then notify Lady Vanessa.”
“Yes, steward.”
Milan and the maids followed behind Dantès. Rosellina fell in line behind Lexi and Maxi. Dantès and Rosellina were at the start and end of the short line, respectively. Dantès walked forward, suppressing the urge to look back at her.
Even Gunter admitted the performance was difficult, but Dantès had it the hardest. He orchestrated the entire plan and gave orders to everyone, all the while worrying whether Roberto might get hurt. His resentment or inability to forgive him was a separate issue.
She had to remain safe. Dantès had realized that without her, he couldn’t endure at all. Having Rosellina close to him in any form was paramount.
Safe, unscathed, and always within sight—that alone would be reward enough after six years of pursuit.
Even if nothing ever changed, he was willing to accept the foolish criticism. He needed Rosellina. The obsession he had harbored during the six years of chasing Roberto—born of resentment and longing—had only crystallized after capturing Roberto, realizing who he was, experiencing various incidents, and returning to Senreita.
And today, observing her again, he realized something new.
Rosellina was truly a woman.
Even in the plain maid outfit, she looked completely different. The corset she wore to flatten her chest for disguise was gone, revealing curves more prominent than before. Her small upper body and narrow waist, where fingers would almost meet if grasped with both hands, were clearly visible.
Dantès felt a twinge of guilt as he looked at her. His palms were sweating.
‘Did they make the maids’ clothes cling too tightly? And the skirts seem too short…’
Though conservative in length, when Rosellina stretched on her tiptoes while cleaning, the skirts rode up, revealing her knees. He had to glance around, wary of male servants passing by.
The memory of Monterno touching her leg made him angry.
Even though he was no longer a teenager, he felt heat rising within him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, even though she kept looking at the floor when he deliberately tried to engage her.
‘What is it that’s so attractive?’
He struggled to ignore the feelings tugging at him. He tried to convince himself that she wasn’t beautiful at all, and that his concern was only because she might get into trouble.
Arriving at the tailoring room, the maids left to wash their dirt-stained hands. Once they were out of the room, Dantès quietly spoke to Milan.
“The maids’ working conditions are too dangerous.”
“Excuse me?”
“They were on tiptoe cleaning earlier. What if they fall down the stairs? Then we’d have to treat them at royal expense. If they’re injured, fine—but what if they suffer permanent damage? How would we compensate that?”
Milan widened his eyes as if hearing something shocking. Dantès cared deeply for his people, yet he also possessed the indifference common to someone born into privilege. Palace staff management had always been delegated to the stewards and head maids; he had never directly intervened, even if a maid was hurt on the job.
Moreover, after the war, he had grown somewhat desensitized to death—his own and others’. So it was unusual for him to whisper anxiously about cleaning. Yet Milan said nothing, recognizing the seriousness in his expression.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll instruct Lady Vanessa not to overwork them.”
“Which areas are they responsible for?”
“Their duties vary, but usually they clean my chambers and the emperor’s study.”
“I see.”
“The apprentice maid will also experience various tasks, so during meals she’ll go to the kitchen, and on good days, the laundry room.”
“Really?”
Dantès wore a look of keen interest. Milan smiled at the childlike curiosity, restraining himself from commenting further.
“Yes. Let’s go to the tailor and the dressmaker, then.”
“Nothing’s more wasted than time spent choosing clothes.”
Though he suited anything he wore, Dantès cared little about fashion. The tailors would make him wear the finest fabrics and decorations, ensuring he captivated everyone’s attention. As emperor, all eyes would naturally fall on him—but he needed to command that attention even more.
When the door opened, Alfredo, the royal tailor, lowered his eyebrows in mock disappointment.
“Your Majesty, Alfredo is so sad he could cry. Where else would a ruler leave the royal tailor idle like this?”
Alfredo was a talkative professional who had been making Dantès’s clothes since childhood. Dantès, already finding the chatter burdensome, raised an eyebrow and smiled.
“Alfredo hasn’t changed at all, even with time.”
“People die if they change suddenly, don’t they? How have you been? I’ve been waiting for this day, and I’ve prepared over a hundred of Your Majesty’s outfits. I brought only thirty this time, fearing you might not even look at all of them.”
“Didn’t you say twenty?”
“I brought ten extras as backups. They all emphasize different things, so you need to try them on.”
Alfredo smiled at Dantès, who already looked weary. The maids, hands red from washing, entered in a line. Alfredo expertly assigned tasks to them.
“Let’s start the fitting. Since you’ve grown after adulthood, clothes made to previous measurements won’t fit properly. Hold this tape measure, please.”
“Yes, Alfredo.”
Lexi and Maxi quickly joined. Holding one end of the tape, Dantès closed his eyes and extended his arms—a process he had done hundreds of times. The tailor selected needles while pointing at Rosellina.
“You, help undress His Majesty for the fitting.”
“….”
It was Rosellina. Dantès opened his eyes. She responded a beat later.
“Yes, understood.”
Rosellina stood behind Dantès, assisting as Milan removed his jacket. Her rough, scarred fingers brushed his wrist, sending a shiver through him.
“….”
Yet he couldn’t stop her. Rosellina’s hands moved toward the buttons of his vest, clumsily undoing them.
She was undressing him. She, Rosellina.
Dantès looked down at her small head and took a deep breath. His heart raced unnaturally fast.
