Chapter 3. Diana Brienne
In her first life, Diana Brienne was ordinary—if a duke’s daughter could ever be called that.
The eldest daughter of House Brienne in the Kingdom of Panborough, Diana Brienne was the kingdom’s most eligible bride. She was the legitimate daughter of Duke Brienne, trusted by the king. Her lineage was noble, her temperament calm, and her abilities admirable.
When she was twelve, she lost her mother to illness, and from that young age she became mature beyond her years. After her mother’s death, she quietly learned to manage the household.
If she had any flaw, it was her expression, out of place for her age. She was pretty, but perhaps because she had lost her mother so young, she always wore a somber look. Some mocked her for the shadow that seemed to linger over her face.
But as she grew older, that changed. Like a ripening fruit, womanly grace bloomed in her, and with it came a faint smile. She had none of the lively cheerfulness of a young girl, but her maturity and composure shone instead.
The sorrow in her features turned into a kind of delicate melancholy that made many men’s hearts tremble. Unlike a flower in full bloom, it is often the bowed, rain-soaked blossom that is more pitiful and beautiful.
Born into a high house, she had the proper education, refined manners, and a gentle personality without sharp edges. Her silvery-gray eyes sometimes seemed indifferent to everything, sometimes shy. Her voice was low and steady for a woman, but when she laughed, it was as sweet as a cello’s song.
Who would Diana Brienne marry?
Though the Brienne family had yet to announce a fiancé, people said it would surely be Ferdinand, the first prince of Panborough. It was a reasonable guess—King Maximus of Panborough kept Duke Brienne unusually close.
The prospect of a queen not from foreign royalty but from the nobility excited society, and people wondered who would win the duke’s daughter’s hand.
Diana would hear their praises with her usual unreadable smile, politely refusing the advances of men, before boarding her carriage home.
Upon arriving at the ducal estate, Diana walked with graceful steps… until she lifted her skirts and broke into a run like a young foal.
“Giscar!”
Gone was the calm, melancholic expression so admired by society. In its place appeared the face of a lively, affectionate girl.
This wasn’t an act—just a natural change when she saw the boy in the back garden.
“Giscar!”
He looked slender at first glance, but his bones were broad—he simply lacked flesh. He turned at her voice, revealing a face too handsome to belong to a servant. The boy, with amethyst-colored eyes, looked back with a blunt expression.
“You’ve returned, my lady.”
His answer was curt, unlike her warmth. There was hatred and contempt in his gaze, though Diana never noticed.
“Did the servants hit you again?”
He was the infamous “slave” Duke Brienne had brought home. The only time the highborn young lady ever smiled like her age was when she was with this low-born slave boy.
“Who did this to you?”
“……”
Diana reached out and opened his shirt. He flinched but did not resist. Pale skin, mottled with brown lines where the bruises had faded, was revealed. At least no new wounds overlapped the old ones.
“That’s a relief.”
She placed her hand gently over the healing marks, and again his body flinched.
When she was about twelve, her father had brought home the slave boy. Diana often showed him kindness—not for any deep reason, simply because she pitied him.
Her late mother had taught her that all people were the same and worthy of compassion. Being a slave made no difference.
The boy, once in a wretched state, had survived thanks to her care, her meals, and her company. The most she could do, hiding from the watchful eyes of Mirva, the housekeeper who acted like the lady of the manor, was secretly apply medicine to his wounds.
What crime had he committed to deserve this? If only Father hadn’t brought him home just to neglect him. The duke ignored the bullying the lowest-ranked slave endured.
Such were Diana Brienne’s days at fifteen—ignorant of the filth of the world, not even knowing that filth was filth.
Some people hated innocence. Others desired it so fiercely they couldn’t bear it.
But the boy’s body, living in hell, accepted that twisted world, and his heart burned in that hell as well.
The warmth of Diana’s white hand spread over his skin. Those amethyst eyes, filled with hatred, darkened as they looked over her pale face, almost as if savoring it.
Giscar Lodbrok—seventeenth year of the hidden prince of the Kingdom of Lodbrok.
When Diana Brienne turned twenty, the Kingdom of Lodbrok invaded her homeland, Panborough. Leading the charge was the new king, the hero who had slain the Poison Dragon Fafnir.
An icy tension hung over the ducal estate, as fragile as thin ice ready to crack. Though it was the social season, no parties were held—the political situation in the capital was clearly grave.
Soon after, Count Calcos, who had been defending the border, surrendered. Knights who resisted were slain or captured. Word came that Lodbrok’s army was marching on Panborough’s capital, Tallin.
Diana trembled. She feared death, yet she did not flee. She was a duke’s daughter and had to maintain her dignity as a noblewoman. That was how she had been raised. But her father took her elder brother and retreated to their domain.
It was, in truth, an escape—but she tried not to think of it that way. For the head and heir of a house to preserve their lives was natural.
Left behind were only her younger sister Alexa and herself. She calmly paid severance to the servants and sent them away, choosing to meet the end with the loyal few who stayed.
The day the capital burned came. Lodbrok’s unruly army trampled Tallin. Diana sat in a chair, waiting for them to come.
She would die now. Closing her eyes, she lifted her head.
“Giscar.”
If she had one last wish, it would be to see that boy again.
When she was sixteen, she had found the seal to release his restraints in her father’s study. While he slept, she carefully freed him.
The only thing that was truly hers—her life, her sanctuary. She had whispered through tears for a long time.
She didn’t want to let him go. Those four years from age twelve to sixteen had been full of precious memories for her.
But she had to. She understood all too well that for him, those years were filled with humiliation and pain.
She had pressed a gentle kiss to his sleeping forehead.
God, send your golden dragon to protect Giscar.
Mother, please watch over him. Giscar is dear to me.
That dawn, Giscar left the Brienne estate. Her father had been furious, but luckily, he had escaped. He had not been kind, but his presence had helped her endure her lonely life.
She had hoped for at least news of his well-being, but she knew better—how could he send word when everyone in her family had abused him? If she could see him alive before she died, she would ask for nothing more.
She hoped he had stayed far from this war, but the thought barely formed before the door burst open.
A man strode in. She lifted her chin to speak, then closed her mouth. Blood dripped from his body as if he had been sprayed with it, staining the carpet she liked. His amethyst eyes shone dangerously.
She knew those eyes well. Had God truly answered her prayer?
“Giscar?”
She forgot the situation and brightened—after all, they had spent their childhood together. He was the only one she had ever smiled at without reserve.
To meet again like this!
“You remember me, my lady?”
She nodded with a bright smile. A flash of something like ecstasy crossed his eyes.
“Why are you here… what happened to you—”
“……”
“Could it be… you’ve come to save me?”
It was a ridiculously naive question—but she hadn’t asked it in ignorance. The situation was strange, and she was clinging to a final hope, even while fearing the answer.
But he looked at her with a disgusted expression, as if he truly thought her naive. He stepped closer.
The stench of blood rushed toward her.
“My lady, run!”
A shout came from behind—one of the family’s loyal knights. He raised his sword to attack Giscar, but before Diana could speak, Giscar thrust his blade into the knight’s abdomen. Blood burst forth with a choking gasp.
For Diana, who had only ever seen beauty and grace, the brutality was overwhelming.
Watching her freeze in panic, Giscar smiled cruelly. As if to show her, he slit the knight’s throat while the man still breathed.
“Aah!”
Blood sprayed everywhere. Diana’s eyes went wide as she stumbled back. Giscar raised his sword and advanced slowly.
When her back hit the wall, he smiled faintly.
“Of course not.”
“……”
“I came to drag you into hell.”
And so, the innocent noble lady’s world was shattered in cruelty.
Diana’s hell had begun.
