🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter 8
“…Your Highness, how did you get here?”
Mines tried to maintain composure as she spoke politely, but the end of her voice trembled slightly. It would take a fool not to understand what was happening. The prince’s cold crimson eyes carried a lingering trace of contempt that he had not yet managed to erase.
“And may I ask what brings the Queen here?”
Hippolotes spoke evenly.
“I came after hearing that something had happened to Princess Ezra.”
At those words, Mines clenched the inside of her mouth. Who on earth had dared to let this leak? It was unlikely to be a maid—they wouldn’t have the courage. Then…
With no reason left to conceal anything, Mines shot a venomous glance at Ezra, who lay unconscious in his arms.
“I was not aware the situation was this serious,” he added.
Mines lifted her gaze to meet his.
It felt as though her true intentions had been completely stripped bare. As she narrowed her eyes and glared, Hippolotes lifted one corner of his mouth, as if he already knew everything.
“Should I inform Lord Hieros about this?”
A blatant threat.
He tilted his head slightly, shrugging.
Mines trembled with humiliation that coursed through her entire body.
“Ah—but Princess Ezra asked that this not reach her father’s ears, so I suppose that would be difficult.”
Hippolotes stepped closer and leaned toward Mines’ ear.
“So, Your Majesty. Please take good care of Princess Ezra. If lowly maids commit something like this again, I won’t be able to simply stand by.”
Even while knowing she was the mastermind, the prince spoke calmly. It was a clear warning.
Grinding her pride to dust, Mines had no choice but to turn away.
“I see… It was my mistake for trusting fools like you.”
When her recollection ended, Mines sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to her forehead.
Of course, she knew the maids were not truly at fault. There was no way trembling servants like them could have approached Hippolotes.
But her boiling anger needed a target—otherwise it would consume her from within.
“Take them away. Beat them until every drop of blood is spilled, then bury them.”
“Lady Mines!”
“Ahh!”
At the merciless order, the two maids struggled instinctively, but it was useless. The others behind them struck them unconscious with clubs, gagged them, and dragged them away.
Only after removing the nuisance from her sight did Mines finally lie back on her bed, slightly calmer.
But as she tried to rest, memories surged in like a flood.
It had been not long after Scène was disbanded. She had stood by a window overlooking the garden, watching a woman caress her swollen belly. Beside her stood the man she loved, smiling as though he had everything in the world.
A woman who had no right to be there. A lowly dancer, seducing her husband with her face alone, and even bearing a disgusting child.
The thought alone made her skin crawl. She wanted nothing more than to crush that smiling face.
So she prayed. Die. Just die already. She wished for her existence to vanish.
Some nights she even cried, tormented by hatred for the two people who had turned her into something monstrous.
Mines pressed her hand against her eyes, sneering.
The man’s wailing still echoed in her memory as vividly as if it were yesterday.
A lifeless woman beyond the threshold. A man collapsed before her, screaming—Don’t go. Take me with you.
The despair in his voice was so thick that she could do nothing but stand there.
The woman died in childbirth, the air thick with the stench of blood. In the midwife’s arms lay a child.
Not a blessing—but a curse.
The child did not cry, as if already aware of its fate.
Watching the scene unfold, she had thought—
I should have killed her.
The man had once raised a dagger toward the infant, trembling with rage—
I never wanted a child. I only ever wanted you.
Then, seeing the child’s green eyes, he collapsed, all strength leaving him.
And then—
At least… don’t cry.
She had wanted him to look at her.
Not to weep.
She dreamed.
And in that dream, Ezra watched her younger self.
A small child, maybe five or six years old, sitting in a corner and blowing gently on her scraped palm.
Her hands were full of small cuts—life in the stone tower made injuries inevitable.
No one cared about such minor wounds.
So she simply blew on them, again and again.
Why did she feel like running over and hugging that small back?
That foolish child who didn’t even understand loneliness.
The foolish version of herself, endlessly staring at the broken window from a corner of her bed.
Even in a dream, she could not reach her.
But he could.
A shadow fell over the small figure.
The man who had once held her in the night sky, who had gently patted her head, who had whispered, Smile.
He reached out his hand.
The child looked up.
And she could not refuse it.
His large hand enveloped her small, wounded fingers.
Even though it was only a dream, the warmth was real enough to make her cry.
Only then did she understand.
What she had wanted all along… was human warmth.
And the person who had given it to her first—she would likely never forget him.
Ezra awoke three days later.
Confused, she blinked up at the high ceiling. It felt unreal.
Everything around her was unfamiliar.
The ceiling was not cold black stone.
The bed did not creak horribly with every movement.
She slowly lifted her upper body.
Pain flared through her back, but she swallowed the sound.
“W-where am I…?”
Her throat was too dry; the words broke apart painfully.
As she looked around, she noticed a man dozing by the window.
“Mm…”
“U-um…”
The man jolted awake, instinctively reaching for his weapon.
Seeing a pale girl sitting in the bed, he muttered a curse.
“Damn it, you scared me.”
Ezra flinched at the rough voice, gripping the blanket tightly.
Who was this man? And where was she?
The man stood.
He was huge—towering near the ceiling. His muscular frame looked as hard as stone. Brown hair was tousled, and a long scar ran across his forehead.
A shadow fell over her.
Instinctively, Ezra curled up, covering her head with both arms.
“Hah!”
The man sighed in disbelief.
“Hey, Princess. Relax. You can look up now.”
“A-are you not going to hit me?”
“Me? Hit you? If I did that, I’d probably be the one who dies.”
His rough voice carried irritation.
Dies?
Confused, Ezra slowly lifted her head.
He looked rough—but not cruel.
Somehow… familiar.
“Are you perhaps a knight of the Vaster Empire?”
“Yes. I’m Demoleon.”
Ezra shrank back at the edge of the bed, still trembling.
Before she could respond properly, he spoke again.
“Princess Ezra.”
He said her name casually.
Startled, she looked up.
Demoleon continued moving around briskly, then turned back to her.
“Stay here for a moment. I’ll bring Lord Hippolotes. Don’t go anywhere!”
Before she could answer, he left like the wind.
The door slammed shut.
Moments later, it burst open again.
“Ezra!”
He had run here.
His shoulders rose and fell slightly with his breath. Silver hair swayed as he approached.
Before she knew it, his hand was already on her forehead.
“The fever’s gone… It was pretty high before.”
His palm was cool—comfortingly so—but rough, marked with calluses.
“Anywhere else hurting?”
