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~Chapter 61~
Her stomach twisted.
Shariette rubbed at her solar plexus. Maybe she shouldn’t have skipped a meal?
“Since you’re Shariette, how about Shasha? What do you think? It’s nice, right?”
It was such an innocent question, but Shariette couldn’t answer right away.
Shariette. Shasha.
Just simple sounds, easy to say without much meaning.
‘I don’t like it.’
The strong rejection that rose inside her surprised even herself.
Before, whether people called her Shasha, or Crow, or anything else—it never mattered.
She hadn’t been called “Shariette” for very long, but now… she liked “Shariette” far more than “Shasha.”
“It’s a name that suits you. A well-made name.”
She even remembered a certain someone saying so—an objective third person’s opinion.
After a moment of hesitation, Shariette shook her head firmly.
“No. I prefer Shariette.”
“Mmm, but Shasha suits you better. It’s cute, too.”
For a normal person, it would’ve been the kind of pushiness that made you say, ‘Who do you think you are, acting so close when we just met?’
But Shariette remembered someone else who had said almost the exact same thing:
“Shariette? That doesn’t suit you at all. From now on, you’re Shasha. Cute, right?”
Different situation, different meaning—but hearing the same words from a completely different person left her with a strange feeling.
Because of that, she missed the timing to push away this sudden, unnatural closeness.
“Then, Shasha, could you give me a tour of the mansion and the garden? I can’t seem to find my way around.”
Before she knew it, Anette had decided on “Shasha” and linked arms with her in a friendly way.
The request itself wasn’t difficult—just showing someone around.
But for a guest to ask for such a thing… it was strange.
Does she plan on staying here for several days?
Still, why was this guest wandering alone with no guide, instead of being shown around properly?
And more than that—
Who exactly did she hear so much about me from?
Why would she come all the way to the Rubellot estate, seek her out of all people, and insist on getting close?
Despite all her doubts, Shariette forced her uncomfortable steps forward.
They’d never exchanged more than a few words. Other than glimpsing her from afar at the banquet, they had no connection at all.
And yet, for some reason… it was hard to refuse this woman’s words.
“Miss Maze.”
“Oh, calling me that makes us sound like strangers. Anette, Annie, Netty—whichever you like.”
Every single option felt uncomfortable and awkward.
Under the strange pressure she couldn’t explain, Shariette avoided those gentle green eyes and asked while looking slightly aside:
“Miss Anette. Did you come here to meet me… or just for a tour of the garden?”
“Of course not.”
Anette’s smile blossomed as she unlinked arms and stepped ahead a few paces.
Then, with her pale hand, she plucked a rose.
That’s Duchess Marianne’s favorite flower.
It wasn’t a flower that should bloom in this chilly season, but the Duke had buried magic stones like gravel throughout the garden, raising the temperature—just so his wife could see her favorite flowers all year.
Can a guest really damage someone else’s property like that?
Even though she called it “someone else’s house,” Shariette felt a strange discomfort, as though her own nest was being invaded.
With her chest still tight and uneasy, she watched as Anette’s light steps broke flower after flower.
…Someone Shariette once knew used to break flowers in the exact same way.
Not cutting stems, but clutching the whole blossom in her fist and tearing it off roughly.
She remembered a desolate garden left with bare stalks and no heads.
At that very moment, Anette turned her head.
A flower in her hand.
A shy, sweet smile on her face.
“I came here to propose.”
The words—so unexpected—froze her in place.
About an hour earlier.
Rubellot Duke’s reception room.
Even in the cold, gloomy atmosphere that held not a single hint of welcome, the young woman showed no sign of shrinking back as she spoke.
“An honor to meet you for the first time, Your Grace the Duke. I am Anette Maze.”
In the heavy, oppressive room, she alone stood out—bright, intelligent, and shining.
It was hard to believe this was the same viscount’s daughter once whispered about with ugly rumors—sleepwalking, being in love with her bodyguard, even talk of a failed suicide.
But the recent news about her was completely different from those old scandals.
“I came here today for two reasons.”
She gave no apology for arriving suddenly, without warning.
For the first matter, Anette handed over a scroll sealed in wax with the royal crest and the crown prince’s mark.
The Duke of Rubellot broke the seal and unfolded it.
His face remained expressionless as he read for a long time, then finally set it down.
“…So the royal family is greatly interested in the upcoming Rubenshire Consecration Festival.”
His tone was dry, with a sharp trace of mockery he didn’t bother to hide.
Anette only smiled, perfectly composed.
In that suffocating pressure, most noble ladies wouldn’t even dare open their mouths.
“Of course—because it is being held by the Rubellots. Since you’ve been managing the Latium lands in Argen’s place after their downfall, His Majesty naturally wishes to recognize your hard work.”
Recognize.
That vague, slippery word made the Duke’s lips twist ever so slightly.
“So Miss Maze herself is that ‘recognition,’ I suppose.”
“I’m humbled, but yes. It is my honor to carry out such a noble duty, with the recommendation of one so exalted.”
With those words, Anette Maze had already positioned herself as someone performing the task.
The Duke glanced again at the scroll he’d set aside.
In the crown prince’s own handwriting, the summary was clear:
—For the upcoming Rubenshire Consecration Festival, I recommend a suitable candidate. Since you’re stuck managing Argen’s territory as well, I’m specially sending you some support. You should be grateful.
A “recommendation” in name only. In truth, it was an order.
If it were only from the crown prince, I could have dismissed it. But with the king’s name mentioned, I can’t simply drive her out.
The close aides and high nobles already knew well: it wasn’t that the crown prince was incompetent, but rather that he never lived up to the king’s harsh expectations.
And yet suddenly, a reason to strengthen Lionel’s position?
The answer stood right in front of him: the viscount’s daughter, Anette Maze.
A wielder of healing powers.
Ever since the crown prince introduced her publicly, she had opened clinics in the slums, using her gift to heal. Reports even said she expanded into relief and charity projects, and her popularity had been soaring higher and higher.
The problem was—
Why would they send someone that important here, to Rubellot? Why push so hard, even going this far?
It didn’t feel like encouragement at all. It felt like control. And he doubted it was just his imagination.
The Duke pressed his fingers to his brow and stifled a sigh.
“All right then. And what is the second matter?”
Anette folded her hands neatly on her lap and looked straight into his eyes.
“I wish for a private meeting with Young Lord Noxian Rubellot.”
“……”
So bold—no, audacious.
Her first matter borrowed the authority of the king.
Her second was purely personal desire.
The Duke immediately sensed that this was her true reason for visiting today.
And he could already guess, more or less, what she wanted to say to Noxian in private.
Such things had happened often enough in the past, before the Argen affair.
I’ll need to investigate exactly how the Maze family has been raising this girl.
Even putting her powers aside, she was no ordinary noble lady.
Not at all.
“Miss Anette Maze. I heard you insisted on meeting me alone.”
By sight, this was the second time.
By words, the very first.
Noxian slowly looked over the healer woman he had first seen at the royal banquet.
His gaze was so sharp it could almost be called rude—yet she stayed calm.
The Maze family’s disgrace. A healer with divine power. The angel of Sanchez Street. The crown prince’s woman.
That was the summary of everything he’d learned about her.
Since awakening her powers, she had become a completely different person compared to her past self.
Shariette swore she didn’t know her…
But he could still clearly remember that pale, stricken look on Shariette’s face.
Even now, just being in the same space with this woman, he had to fight down the sick, rising rejection inside him.
“What business do you have with me?”
Because she came on behalf of the royal family, he kept the bare minimum of manners—but his words were clipped, half polite at best.
Anette answered easily, without the slightest hesitation.
“As you know, I am a healer. I can break the curse that afflicts you, my lord.”
Rumors about him had always been nothing more than uncertain gossip.
But to speak with such confidence—she clearly knew something.
Noxian’s lips twisted into a crooked smile.
“So you really believe such things exist?”
“If blessings are real, then why wouldn’t curses be as well?”
Anette smiled serenely and made her proposal.
“Think of it as a contract or a deal. I’ll free you from your curse—if, in exchange, you agree to marry me.”
