Chapter 12
She had expected that, just like their first meeting, Giscarr would stare at her like a beast and bare his aggression. But he didn’t. Diana looked at her monster. Under the bluish moonlight of dawn, as if wearing a mask, the girl lowered her head and approached him.
The gaze that met hers through his battered face was so clear and calm. She reached toward the shackle on his thin neck. The slave’s restraint was woven with magic—only the heads of noble houses held the key to unlock it. Diana fiddled for a long time with the small, blue bell-like ornament hanging from the collar.
It was a cruel magic, designed to punish a slave for attacking their master or to allow the master to inflict pain at will.
Absolutely abhorrent. The young Diana had thought so, and the Diana of now thought so as well. She wanted to remove it right then and there, but sadly, her father always kept the key with him. Back then, it had been pure luck that she’d been able to free him—her father had, for the first time in years, left without the key.
“It must have hurt a lot.”
My monster. Your revenge was a success, wasn’t it? Because I now understand, even if just a little, what you went through. Not just the pain of being beaten, but the wretched humiliation of wearing a collar. And because of that, I can’t help but pity you now.
At her words, Giscarr raised his head and looked at her. The plump-cheeked girl kept her eyes lowered as she continued to stroke the taller boy’s neck.
“What do you know.”
It was the first thing he’d said in a long while.
“You’re right. Pretending to understand would be deceitful toward you.”
“…”
“Even so… still… I want to walk the right path.”
What nonsense was she spouting? A cruel crack split across Giscarr’s expression. A foolish woman who, despite being the perpetrator, had the gall to speak of righteousness. That was probably how he saw her. But Diana wanted to say this, no matter what.
“You haven’t done anything wrong now.”
“…”
“That’s all I want you to know.”
Giscarr still wore a puzzled expression. Her words were a riddle to him.
*
Her father, Duke Brienne, was the very image of a political noble.
But his life had not been smooth. Due to the repeated blunders of past heads of the family, the household had been on the brink of bankruptcy. To save the family from ruin, he’d swallowed his pride and married the daughter of a wealthy merchant who had purchased a low-ranking noble title. That marriage had made them wealthy again—now all that was left to restore was their honor. The Duke did everything to win the trust of the royal family, and in the end, became the political mentor to King Panborough, and one of the most prominent dukes in the realm.
Though his marriage had been a strategic move, he had fathered three children with his wife. He wasn’t openly affectionate, but he cherished what was his. When his wife fell ill, he anxiously brought her the finest medicines. He stayed by her side until her dying breath.
Diana remembered the rare moments when he would rest a hand on her head and say she had done well.
For him, the way to show love to his children was to treat them with the utmost care—lavish estates, the best education, clothes made only from the finest fabrics, beds stuffed with the down of soft goslings—everything.
But Duke Brienne wanted his children to appear as exceptional as his illustrious house. Diana knew this. He trained her harshly, telling her never to show sadness and to live as a noble should. He feared she might be scorned as “the merchant’s daughter.”
A man more noble than anyone, yet at times surprisingly down-to-earth. A man who opposed slavery, yet brought into his home a slave who could destroy his family.
Her father was always a man of contradictions.
“Diana, are you listening to me?”
Why had this tender side of her father brought Giscarr home that day? Even if he said the slave was a gift from the king, why had Giscarr been in such a horrific state…?
“Diana.”
“Yes, Father.”
Her demure answer only deepened the crease in the Duke’s brow.
“Daydreaming won’t solve anything. Focus.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Didn’t you say yourself to get rid of that slave?”
“…”
“And now you bring him into your room? You’re lucky you’re young. I don’t even want to imagine the indecent rumors that could spread.”
“I’ll instruct the household staff to keep silent.”
“Diana, you—!”
“You always told my brother, Father, that fears must be confronted and trampled. I’m trying to follow that teaching. I want to rid myself of this discomfort.”
Diana smiled deliberately, with an exaggeratedly bright expression, as if expecting praise. It left Duke Brienne momentarily speechless.
“You still haven’t given me my twelfth birthday gift, Father.”
“…”
“Give me that slave.”
“I’m sorry, but I plan to use that slave for your brother. As a whipping boy. He’s not your toy.”
She lowered her head. The Duke’s stance was firm. And a whipping boy, no less—her brother Emil was terrible at his studies… Diana shook her head.
“I’ll play the role of Mother well.”
“…”
“I’ll make sure the absence isn’t felt.”
“…”
“I don’t have anything of my own.”
“I wasn’t aware the clothes you’re wearing aren’t yours.”
“Father!”
“Don’t whine! And fulfilling your mother’s role is your duty.”
“I’ll attend Her Highness the Princess’s birthday party.”
The Duke’s expression turned to surprise—how did she know about that? Of course she knew; around this time, her father had always suggested she accompany him for this very matter. She had refused before, because the Queen had mocked her.
The princess was wary of men—no, terrified of them. She had once nearly been killed by a male assassin. This made it awkward for the Duke to personally deliver gifts or speak with her.
“You… you’ll do it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ll be…”
Confusion flickered across his face. After all, his only choices were to bring a noblewoman as a partner, or a trusted female vassal—both would stir up rumors of remarriage.
In the past, Mirva had gone with him. Her family was ruined, but she had still been a noble.
That must have been how Mirva gained his trust.
Diana sighed.
“Trust me, Father.”
She spoke earnestly. The Duke looked at her for a long moment before finally smiling.
“Alright, alright.”
She wasn’t going to do nothing just because she was twelve and powerless. If she didn’t have the authority to free Giscarr yet, then she needed to obtain it as quickly as possible.
She had to show her father that she was no ordinary twelve-year-old—only then could she seize control of the household.
*
“You little…!”
Mirva’s face flushed red as she seethed. She glared poisonously at the maid who had brought the news and hurled her teacup.
Crash! The white porcelain shattered.
“What are you standing there for? Clean it up!”
At her sharp command, the maid quickly turned away to obey.
“That timid little miss is going to attend? Really?!”
“Yes…”
The maid nodded while cleaning. At that, Mirva’s face twisted with malice. There was a crunch, and blood spattered.
“Ah! Aaagh!”
The maid screamed—Mirva had stepped on her hand, which was holding a shard of glass. The pain was so great the maid couldn’t even speak; if she protested, she’d only earn a vicious flogging in the punishment room.
The expensive porcelain teacups, the precious tea leaves—all belonged to Mirva. With no proper lady of the house, Mirva was the queen of Duke Brienne’s mansion. The true young lady was too young and powerless. And Mirva…
“And now she dares to get in my way!”
She screamed. No maid could challenge Mirva’s absolute authority. And even if the young lady grew older, Mirva would never allow her to take control.
Mirva ground her teeth. Diana Brienne—a meek, timid girl with no strong will. Handling a girl like that was child’s play. She had thought that if she showed maternal warmth to the motherless child, Diana would follow her.
She removed her foot from the maid’s injured hand.
“Oh my, sorry.”
“…”
“Make sure you clean up the blood properly.”
Watching the sniffling maid, she sat back down. She knew well about the princess’s circumstances. That was why she had thought she would be the one to go to the palace—it was her opportunity.
But in the end, that little girl had stolen it from her.
“Just like her mother—so damn irritating.”
Diana’s mother and Diana herself were exactly alike—equally insufferable. To snatch her opportunity without a care… and the Duke, what was he thinking? She had told him to punish the girl over the matter of the slave, and instead he had given her the chance to attend the party.
“Oh, I’ve just had a wonderful idea.”
Mirva nodded to herself. The maid looked up at her nervously.
“Our young lady should be the prettiest at the palace. I think… that accessory would suit her perfectly.”
She smiled with a sinister curl of her lips.
