Episode 140

“Come to my chambers tonight.”

Because of Hildebrandt’s words, Yvonne had to erase every last trace of Yurian from her body. She took a cotton pad, soaked it in healing potions that Evony had brought, and began to wipe herself clean. She could have asked Evony to do it for her—but she chose to do it herself.

The reflection staring back at her in the mirror felt unfamiliar. Princess Yvonne had grown noticeably gaunt. Her once-radiant silver hair looked dull and brittle, and her amethyst-colored eyes had lost their clarity, now clouded and dim. The lips Yurian loved so much—once a soft, lovely pink—had faded to a pale, pearlescent white.

She worried, What if Yurian doesn’t like me anymore now that I look like this? But that fear melted away in less than a minute. Yurian was the kind of man who would still love her even if she became a man. Even if she became someone completely unrecognizable, he would still love her.

With that thought, she began wiping away the marks clustered along her neck.

“How hard did he bite?”

Yurian liked to bite during intimacy. Her neck, her chest—even her fingers. He liked leaving marks, as if the idea of her becoming “his” gave him a kind of comfort. But in truth, it had always been him who wanted to belong to her—and they both knew that.

“Hah…”

Yvonne laughed softly as she saw the round imprint between her breasts. It was a bite mark—he must’ve meant to nibble gently but failed to control himself. It hadn’t hurt at the time, but now it looked almost like a puncture wound.

There were more around her navel. On a whim, she turned her back toward the mirror and saw several around her shoulder blades too, and another soft laugh escaped her lips.

“How shameless…”

She felt regret that Yurian wasn’t here. He deserved to be scolded for this—gently, teasingly, in person.

Then, she shuddered, remembering the brown-haired servant dragged off before her eyes. The image made her tremble. As she reached for the last of the marks on her back, she realized something.

“When did he even get my ankle?”

There were bite marks there, too. She felt like a rabbit that had somehow escaped being devoured whole.

Once she’d wiped away all the marks, she readjusted her clothing and called for Evony.

“Evony.”

“Yes?”

“Help me with the rest of my outfit.”

“Of course.”

Evony entered and began dressing her, letting out a small sigh as she did, clearly worried.

* * *

“You’re late.”

“Ah…”

Yvonne was left speechless by the scene before her.

Hildebrandt’s room was enormous. But it was packed with the people who had served in her own palace. All of them were kneeling, heads bowed, wrists bound behind their backs.

“Hilde, what is this…?”

“I got bored waiting. You were late.”

He was watching her eyes—wanting to see where her gaze would go. But Yvonne, gripped by fear, didn’t look at anything but him.

“Marquess Rohan’s gone.”

“…What?”

“Yurian Leonhardt, too.”

“…You don’t know anything?”

“Ah…”

Yvonne took a step back, wary of him trying to hypnotize her again. Hildebrandt didn’t miss that hesitation—he grabbed her arm.

“How many do you think died?”

“Hilde…”

“I killed one for every minute you were late.”

“Why would you…”

“You were late. You made me wait.”

Yvonne stared at him, completely unable to comprehend his reasoning. Hildebrandt, in turn, couldn’t understand her reaction.

It was as if he no longer thought in a rational way—he only wanted her to look nowhere else, to think of nothing else, but him. He wanted her to come to him by her own will—but if she didn’t respond the way he wanted, he hated her for it.

This was the same.

They were just servants. To him, their lives were worthless.

But Yvonne always seemed to look elsewhere—not at him.

“P-please! Spare us!”

“Have mercy, Your Majesty!”

“I told you to shut your mouths.”

“Mm—!”

They were already under hypnosis. Silently, they closed their mouths and wept—tears falling to the floor.

“I just wanted to look nice for Hilde…”

“Yeah?”

“That’s why I was late.”

“Liar.”

“It’s true…”

Yvonne forced a smile and answered as he looked at her. Only then did Hildebrandt seem to notice her change of clothes. He didn’t care what she wore.

“Do you want me to spare them?”

“Yes.”

Her answer seemed to disappoint him. So she quickly took his hand, pleading softly.

“Let’s be alone. Just us, okay?”

“Ah… right. That sounds nice.”

Like a child, Hildebrandt smiled at last and motioned to Francis. Francis brought in the guards, and the servants inside were dragged out one by one.

It didn’t take long.

“What do you want to do now that we’re alone?”

He looked a bit let down again. Yvonne hid her trembling hands and gently touched his cheek.

“I want to fall asleep with you. Is that… too much to ask?”

“No. But I want to hold you.”

“I want that too… but I want to wait. I don’t want anyone to misunderstand you, Hilde.”

“You like me that much?”

“Yes.”

At that, Hildebrandt looked genuinely happy. When she brushed his cheek, he kissed the center of her palm with a shy smile.

“Really?”

“Really.”

She smiled as she said it—knowing it was something she had once said to Yurian.

“I see… Ngh—!”

He picked her up in his arms. Then carried her to the bed and sat her down. He knelt on the floor beside it, and Yvonne wrapped her arms around his head.

He was always most frightening when pretending to be submissive. She glanced at the floor, at the spot where the servants had been. Blood stains still remained.

Her heart trembled. Hildebrandt, sensing it, pulled back slightly and looked at her.

“Hilde… Have the blood stains cleaned, please.”

“Alright.”

He stood and pulled a bell rope nearby. The door opened.

“Your Majesty of the Bricesys Empire—”

“Clean up the blood.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Francis, you do it.”

“…Understood.”

The servant stepped back. Francis entered, fetched a silver basin of water, and soaked a cloth in it.

“What are you looking at?”

“The blood is… intense. I’m watching it disappear.”

“So our Yvonne doesn’t like blood?”

“I don’t like anything… except you, Hilde.”

He laughed softly, clearly pleased, and sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. Yvonne leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Hilde, I wish you wouldn’t do things like this anymore.”

“Why not?”

“It scares me. You don’t feel like… you.”

“Someone else? Like who?”

Yvonne smiled—pretending to be cheerful—though she knew the smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes.

“Do you want me to be afraid of you, Hilde?”

“No. I want you to love me.”

“Then don’t be like this. I do love you, Hilde. But you keep doing things that make me afraid.”

“You only love me when you’re scared.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then why did you run to Uncle instead of me?”

He knew it wasn’t true. The hypnosis was beginning to break.

“I never did that.”

“You didn’t… then why do I remember it like that?”

“Hilde?”

“Why did you betray me? Why did you bond with my uncle?”

“Your Majesty.”

Francis called to him gently. The cloth he used to wipe the floor had turned bright red.

“Princess Yvonne spoke about you all day today.”

“…She did?”

“Yes.”

Yvonne was surprised—grateful—for Francis’s help. She looked over at him and saw even he looked afraid.

“What did she say?”

“She mentioned the hydrangeas you folded for her once.”

“Ah, that. The ones you left behind?”

“I didn’t throw them away… I left them in my room. I don’t know why they ended up like that…”

“You threw me away. That’s why.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. So… why bring it up?”

Hildebrandt stared at her with icy blue eyes. Yvonne smiled again and reached out to gently brush his eyelids with her fingers.

“I didn’t know you looked at me like that back then.”

Yvonne spoke while glancing toward Francis—fabricating the rest.

“It was hard, you know. I thought I was the only one who felt that way.”

“Is that why you ran?”

“That… and other reasons.”

“Tell me.”

“Please let Francis leave. I told you—I want to be alone with you.”

“Leave, Francis.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Once Francis left, Yvonne spoke again. Hildebrandt leaned over her, and she lay down on the bed.

As he rested his head against her chest to listen to her heartbeat, she held him close—and with her other hand, she pulled a hidden dagger from her sleeve.

“Why did you run back then?”

His voice held an odd, childlike hope.

Yvonne smiled.

“Because you were terrifying.”

And with that, she drove the blade into his neck.