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Chapter : 9
A Fairy Tale for the Villainess
Grand Duke Karl Baschke slowly lifted his eyelids.
To think I’d wake up in the garden.
His ripped shirt and trousers hung in tatters, revealing firm muscles beneath.
A servant who had been searching for him all morning spotted him just in time and ran over.
The servant draped the cloak he was holding over the Grand Duke’s shoulders.
“Where is Snow?”
“He is supervising the soldiers’ morning drills.”
“I’m later than usual.”
Even when he turned into a beast, he’d always return to his chambers before the curse lifted.
But today, strangely, he woke up outside.
My body aches less too…
Whenever he transformed, his whole body suffered, as if someone poured boiling oil over him.
But today the aftereffects felt unusually mild.
And then…
“What is this… a slipper?”
The Grand Duke looked down at the frayed slipper clutched in his hand.
A flash of fragmented memories from the night before returned.
Did I meet the princess?
She had thrown this slipper at him while yelling something loudly.
He strained to recall her words, but the servant hurried him along.
“Please come eat, my lord. We’ve prepared fresh mashed-bean soup for breakfast.”
“Beans?”
The Duke frowned deeply for no reason at all.
“I—If you don’t like it, I’ll bring something else.”
“Do it. Now.”
He rose and headed toward the estate.
Isabel didn’t wake until well past noon.
She sat at her dressing table, and Bardell rushed in to tend to her hair.
“You’re awake, Your Highness? You must have been exhausted.”
“Mhm, Bardell.”
“Was yesterday’s massage too much? Should we replace the masseuse…?”
“Bardell, you’re pulling my hair.”
“A-ah, forgive me, Princess. I’ve grown clumsy with age…”
At this rate I’ll have our poor princess bald.
Bardell laughed weakly and continued grooming her hair.
“Right. Planning to pluck it all and give it to your son?”
Isabel rolled only her eyes and stared directly at Bardell through the mirror.
“P–Princess?”
The comb in Bardell’s hand slipped to the floor.
Unable to face her, Bardell bowed her head.
“You could have told me, Bardell. That you were desperately in need of my hair.”
How much effort did it take to stay by my side just to steal a few strands?
Poor Bardell.
Isabel spoke slowly, expression calm and unreadable.
That terrified Bardell more than any shouting, and she dropped to her knees.
“Your Highness, I was wrong! Please spare me!”
“I may throw tantrums, but I’ve never killed anyone. Hearing ‘spare me’ is a bit much.”
“My son is ill, so this old fool became greedy.”
“Then you should have asked, Bardell.”
Isabel stared at her nails as she listened half-heartedly.
“In what country is plucking someone’s hair without permission considered proper manners?”
She snapped her eyes open and glared murderously at Bardell’s reflection.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Your Highness!”
Bardell pressed her forehead to the floor and sobbed.
“But… but Princess—I didn’t stay by your side just for that hair.”
Isabel burst out laughing.
Ha. How absurd.
“And you expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth, Princess. I coveted it because of my sick son, yes, but the affection I bear for you is—!”
“Enough.”
Isabel cut her off and picked up the scissors from her vanity.
Then—she sliced off her long, luxurious hair, cutting it from her waist to her shoulders.
The decision was easy, her simmering fury sharpening her resolve.
“P–Princess!”
“Here.”
Isabel held the severed hair out to Bardell.
This should keep her from pulling any more strands out before I die.
Just about eighty days left to live.
She couldn’t recklessly dismiss someone who knew her secret.
If Bardell breathed a word, it was over.
I refuse to spend what time I have left trembling in fear.
In her past three regressions, Bardell had never harmed her.
In fact, the woman had panicked and driven away anyone who tried to take her blood.
Most likely just to preserve her source of hair.
The reason didn’t matter.
Giving away a handful of hair was wiser than creating a worse enemy.
Isabel shook her hand—hair still dangling.
“Is this not enough?”
“Aaah—wh-what shall I do, my lady’s precious hair!”
“Are you taking it or not?”
“Princess, I never intended for things to turn out—never!”
She hated that excuse more than anything:
deception followed by I didn’t mean it.
“You plucked at me for who knows how long and now pretend innocence?”
She tossed the cut hair in front of Bardell’s hands.
“I think that’s plenty.”
“Uuuh—Princess!”
“So while I’m still breathing, you do not touch a single strand of my hair.”
“Sob—hic.”
“If you understand, get up and finish styling.”
“Please believe me, I never meant to hurt—”
“Stealing something from my body without permission isn’t harm?”
“!”
“What next? When my hair runs out, will you cut me open and drain blood too?”
“Princess! I swear I would never—never do such a thing!”
“What’s the difference? You laid hands on me without consent.”
Expression blank again, Isabel faced the mirror.
“Fix my hair, Bardell. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Wiping her tears on her sleeve, Bardell carefully resumed braiding Isabel’s shortened hair.
From that day forward, Isabel’s scalp never stung again.
Another fifteen days passed.
Since then, Isabel had kept opposite hours and went out walking every dawn.
For one reason…
“Kong-kong!”
“Grrr!”
“You hate that name so much? Fine, I’ll call you ‘Your Grace.’”
Every night around two in the morning, the transformed Grand Duke wandered near the tower.
“Your Grace, do you come here every night because you wanted to see me?”
Have you eaten?
Are you in good health?
By day, he spoke like a doctor on a casual checkup, then left immediately.
Does his personality change when he turns into a beast?
Why so affectionate at night…
She stared at his tail wagging so vigorously it might fly off.
“Grrr—woof!”
“All right, all right.”
Come here.
Isabel plopped down in the grass.
At once, the huge beast settled across her lap.
Fifteen days of meeting like this, and he was now completely trained to her hands.
“I don’t know why people fear you, Your Grace. To me you’re just a big dog.”
Throw something—he fetched it. Scratch his chest or chin—he melted.
Isabel stroked his midnight-black fur.
“Sir Snow said it hurts a lot when you transform?”
“Rrrr.”
The Duke nudged her hand with his nose.
So this time he wants his head rubbed.
Her slender fingers combed through his thick coat.
The pointed ears folded down, twitching softly.
Even the two enormous horns atop his head no longer startled her.
Such soft fur, slipping between her fingers.
Is this what it would feel like to stroke the Grand Duke’s actual hair?
Not that she’d ever dare touch that cold man.
“I spent a fortune downtown today. Bought everything I wanted—my closet’s full.”
She giggled as she confided she’d even bought a new wardrobe.
“People in town say I’m going to bankrupt House Baschke.”
Woof!
“I’ll take that as ‘don’t worry.’”
She pried open his long snout slightly.
His fangs—long and sharp as her fingers—gleamed viciously.
Once terrifying, they no longer scared her; she was certain he wouldn’t harm her.
She poked a fingertip against a fang.
“I have a small but special ability, Your Grace.”
A bead of blood welled up on her fingertip.
She dropped it onto his tongue.
His eyes widened in surprise at the taste of blood.
“I felt bad freeloading your money, so this is my gift in return.
I can heal others, actually.”
Watching him whimper in pain as a beast had been unbearable.
This should ease it. And beasts barely remember anything afterward anyway.
Isabel confessed freely.
“That’s probably why I acted so prickly toward people before—as protection.”
Even before she possessed this body, Isabel must have been the same.
Otherwise, they’d tear her apart.
“And now the old expressions are fixed on my face, so I live being called a villainess.”
Habits really are scary things.
“Grr—”
“You’re waiting for a bride to lift your curse, right?
To endure while countless brides die… that one hope is all you have.”
Why do we have to live so painfully?
Isabel leaned against his massive body with a small, bitter smile.
With his immense size, he felt like a giant teddy bear.
So warm like this…
The cool pre-dawn sea breeze brushed her cheek, carrying the smell of grass.
Above them, the jewel-scattered Milky Way shimmered against a navy sky.
And beneath her ear—thump, thump—the Grand Duke’s huge heartbeat.
Everything so gentle, so peaceful that Isabel closed her eyes.
It was the first calm she’d felt in ages.
The Grand Duke jerked awake.
Dawn had yet to break.
What in the world?
He had returned to human form. And…
Why is the princess here?
Isabel slept in his arms.
He tried to sit up but froze—he might wake her.
Too many strange things lately…
The agony of transformation had waned, and he kept waking near the tower.
And today—the curse lifted before sunrise.
“Someday a bride will descend who will break Your Grace’s curse.”
A useless prophecy from the High Priest resurfaced.
Everything started to change when this princess arrived.
She lingered in his thoughts more and more.
He reached to brush her scattered golden hair from her face—then froze.
He couldn’t touch a sleeping woman so freely.
His gaze lingered instead.
Neat brows, eyes gently closed, nose straight as her will, lips tinted like pressed flowers.
So sharp when awake, yet she sleeps like an angel.
He flexed his hands, calming his tensed body.
First, I should put her in a bed.
I’ll ask later why she was sleeping out here.
He carefully lifted her—then frowned.
I heard she eats well. Why is she so light?
From afar she seemed tall, but in his arms she was small—frail, even.
He glanced toward the tower, then turned toward the mansion.
The reason was simple.
A woman so delicate that rumors of her villainy sounded laughable.
Someone he suddenly felt compelled to protect.
All the way back to his chambers, he stared down at Isabel sleeping quietly in his arms.
