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chapter 2…
“You have grown into a truly remarkable young lady.”
“No wonder the marquis praises her so endlessly.”
One by one, the nobles offered compliments toward Lucrezia.
Like a properly educated noblewoman, Lucrezia lowered her head shyly.
Lucrezia Larenne. The only daughter of the Viscount Larenne family.
That was the story told to the world.
In truth, however, Lucrezia was the marquis’s illegitimate child—the daughter of Marquis Zephir, who was currently presenting her as if she were a new product from a dress shop.
The marquis had hastily pushed Lucrezia, born of a slave, into the Larenne viscountcy. The viscount died in a carriage accident before he could properly spend the money the marquis had given him. The vacant title was then temporarily managed by Marquis Zephir until Lucrezia came of age.
From then on, Lucrezia lived publicly as the daughter of Viscount Larenne, but in truth as the marquis’s hidden child—his hands and feet.
“By the way, is that rumor true? Did Your Excellency truly submit this young lady’s name to the Imperial Courtship Petition…?”
“Haha, indeed.”
The marquis laughed heartily.
“She is a child I have supported and raised myself. I guarantee she is more than worthy to assist His Majesty the Emperor.”
“I see…”
With that subtly tinged reply, countless gazes fixed themselves upon Lucrezia.
How dare you?
That was the meaning in those looks.
Naturally so. The Larenne viscountcy—her supposed family—was a minor house that had barely managed to build a townhouse in the capital.
There were countless families aiming for the seat beside the young and vigorous emperor. Ordinarily, that place should have gone to the precious youngest daughter of Marquis Zephir, the most powerful marquis in the realm.
But Eleonora…
Eleonora Zephir, Lucrezia’s half-sister, had been declared infertile the moment she came of age—a fatal flaw for an empress.
Yet the marquis had no intention of giving up the opportunity to become the emperor’s in-law.
And so, as Eleonora’s replacement, the new candidate for empress became Lucrezia.
It was not a bad alternative for the marquis. Publicly, Lucrezia was his well-bred ward; privately, she was his obedient biological daughter.
Even if she became empress, Lucrezia would obey her father as if her life depended on it. She always had.
With a satisfied smile, the marquis turned to his daughter.
“Lucrezia. Instead of standing there silently, why not show these people your ability?”
As he spoke, the marquis pulled a small pocketknife from his collar and handed it to her. The sudden appearance of a blade drew puzzled expressions from the guests—but Lucrezia alone accepted it without hesitation.
“…Yes, Marquis. Please excuse me for a moment, everyone.”
With that, Lucrezia brought the blade to her palm.
Curiosity quickly turned to horror.
“Ahh!”
“Oh my!”
She winced.
A line of crimson blood welled from her cut palm.
It hurt. Of course it did. But…
Closing her eyes, Lucrezia took a deep breath and focused all her senses on the wound.
The burning pain was vivid. Then, gradually, a faint tingling sensation brushed against the injury.
“Ah…”
“This is…”
Whispers of astonishment rose around her.
Opening her eyes slightly, Lucrezia saw the wound already halfway healed.
It worked…
She stared blankly at the partially closed cut.
“It’s divine power!”
“To wield holy power so freely at such a young age!”
“You have raised a most devout ward, Marquis.”
“Indeed. The young Lady Larenne lost her parents early, but the marquis has raised her splendidly. As expected of you, Marquis.”
Relief washed over her like a deep wave. If she had failed, she could not imagine the punishment awaiting her.
It would likely have been as dreadful as that first week of training.
After entering the marquis’s household as his ward, Lucrezia had trained in healing arts day and night.
Naturally, to practice healing, one must have wounds to heal.
Lucrezia used injuries inflicted upon her own body as practice tools.
The marquis had ordered it. Only wounds upon her own body would force her to train desperately enough.
Once, she had cut herself too deeply and lacked the ability to heal it fully. A scar remained to this day.
Staring at the long, pale scar across her palm, she bit her lip.
The punishment she received then had been excruciating—so much so she had wondered whether she would ever leave that tiny room again.
The memory of that pain resurfaced without warning.
“Ah.”
Her body swayed slightly.
The fading pain in her palm flared back to life. The wound that had been closing suddenly gushed blood again—far more than before she had attempted to heal it.
“Oh my, the blood—!”
“It’s not closing! It won’t stop bleeding!”
“Good heavens! Shouldn’t we call a physician?”
“…No, it’s fine. Lucrezia, you can do it, can’t you?”
The marquis looked at her through clenched teeth. Though his gaze appeared concerned, Lucrezia knew better. It was filled with warning.
I have to succeed. Please… please…
She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated again. She had to succeed—had to display her holy power brilliantly and prove herself worthy of becoming empress.
But perhaps because of her tension, the blood only flowed more heavily, pooling bright red in her palm.
“This is dreadful!”
“She’ll bleed to death!”
No one dies from a cut on the palm.
In that moment, Lucrezia even resented the panicking nobles.
Please…
The burning awareness of the marquis’s stare against her cheek was unbearable.
She focused desperately on her palm, trying to salvage the situation—
“That’s enough, Lucrezia.”
The marquis spoke, his voice sharp.
“Follow me to the terrace. Use this to stop the bleeding. You seem to need to calm yourself.”
He tossed her a handkerchief and gestured with feigned concern. Lucrezia’s heart pounded wildly.
I failed.
On a day this important of all days. The day she was meant to catch the emperor’s eye at the imperial ball.
The emperor—fickle as flipping a hand—had not attended, but she was still meant to leave an impression on the gathered nobles as a prospective empress. The marquis had repeated it endlessly.
This punishment would likely surpass all the others.
With that dreadful premonition, Lucrezia prepared to move—
“Seems there is something interesting to watch.”
“Gasp!”
“Y-Your Majesty.”
Your Majesty?
Lucrezia startled and opened her eyes.
“I greet Your Majesty.”
“We greet Your Majesty.”
As the crowd bowed like a wave, one man stood tall and proud at the center—radiant as the sun.
Lucrezia’s eyes widened.
The emperor’s face, seen for the first time, did not seem human.
His beauty felt unreal—like something meant to exist only on canvas.
His black hair was neatly swept back, revealing a finely sculpted forehead. When her eyes met his blood-red gaze, her breath caught.
Frozen, she did not notice his eyes falling to her palm, nor his perfectly shaped lips parting.
“You’re bleeding, my lady.”
Ah.
At his calm remark, her cheeks flushed scarlet.
It was a disaster. To be discovered like this by the emperor of all people.
She hastily covered her palm with the handkerchief. The shame of being seen in such clumsy disgrace by someone so beautiful stung deeply. And the marquis’s fury would only grow.
“No.”
The emperor narrowed his eyes as if amused.
He strode forward. The crowd parted like waves. Lucrezia stood frozen in the center, barely breathing.
In an instant, he stood before her.
Did those with overwhelming presence even carry a stronger scent? A strange fragrance—animal musk mingled with pine—filled her lungs and made her heart race.
“That’s not how you stop bleeding.”
His low, faintly amused voice tickled her ear.
Blankly, she watched as he lifted her hand.
Long, firm fingers wrapped the handkerchief tightly around her bleeding palm. The pressure, firm enough to hurt slightly, felt as though it gripped her heart.
“Like this. Bind it tightly.”
He slowly lifted the corner of his lips.
Her heart pounded wildly.
The emperor’s other name was the Butcher of the Battlefield. Even before he ascended the throne, that was his title.
As a prince, he had thrown himself into battle, cutting down barbarians and monsters without mercy. It was said he always reeked of blood.
Some whispered that the redness of his eyes had never faded from those days.
Upon returning from war, he slew his own elder brother—the reigning emperor—and took the throne himself.
None could condemn his rebellion. From the moment he conquered the battlefield, he had ruled as a tyrant over all.
And that man was now tying her wound.
Her heart felt ready to burst from fear and confusion.
Her hand trembled slightly.
A drop of blood fell from her palm onto the emperor’s wrist.
“Oh my! His Majesty—there’s blood!”
The hall gasped as one.
Even Marquis Zephir looked taken aback.
Lucrezia stared in horror at her blood staining the emperor’s skin.
“I—I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I’m so sorry…!”
Pale as death, she apologized desperately.
A maiden’s blood had long been considered ominous. To stain the emperor with it—she might well be punished.
He might kill me here…
Remembering the emperor’s fearsome reputation, she bit her trembling lip.
The emperor glanced down at his wrist.
“Hm? Ah.”
Unexpectedly, his voice was mild.
Then he lifted his wrist to his lips.
He met her terrified gaze once more. Though frozen with fear, she could not look away.
Ah…
Her heart pounded strangely—far too fast to be explained by fear alone.
She barely dared to breathe. As he parted his lips, she caught sight of his vivid red tongue, and her cheeks burned as if she had seen something she should not.
A faint smile curved his lips. Slowly—intimately—he ran his tongue over his wrist, licking away her blood.
“…!”
Her eyes widened.
It was his wrist being touched, yet hers burned as if seared.
To lick blood! It was something street thugs might do—not the emperor of a nation.
And yet, on him, it looked almost fitting.
“Is that better now?”
