Chapter 06
“Miss Bennett, I’m sorry, but this is the Earl’s order.”
At the conductor’s resolute words, Fiona’s face turned as red as her fiery hair. It felt like she’d been struck hard on the back of her head with something solid.
Gabriel Guno.
“That can’t be right. The Earl would never say such a thing. There must be some mistake. I’ll confirm it myself.”
“If you insist. The Earl is in his office, Miss Bennett.”
The conductor’s firm expression made it clear there was no error in the message. Fiona bit her lip hard. She couldn’t believe what was happening.
Just last night, as she whispered her intention to return to the stage into the Earl’s ear while lying in his arms, she hadn’t imagined this.
Why on earth…?
Fiona’s face suddenly went pale as she replayed the previous night in her mind. While she’d been lost in the pleasure he gave, the Earl hadn’t given her a definitive answer.
“Alright, let’s start rehearsals!”
The conductor clapped his hands and called out.
Christine, who stood frozen in disbelief at the opportunity handed to her, quickly bowed in gratitude. Her dark, naturally curly hair cascaded from under her hat like a waterfall.
Fiona glared at the girl, imagining cutting off those luxurious locks in chunks.
On stage the previous night, Christine’s voice soared to incredible heights, surpassing limits with no trace of hesitation.
It was a skill that undeniably surpassed Fiona’s specialty, her high coloratura.
Seething with frustration, Fiona had watched from the side stage, clutching her stomach, the pain forgotten. A shiver ran down her entire body.
Surely, it wasn’t just her.
The audience, Gabriel Guno, and even the Crown Prince of Bern—all must have felt the same.
It should have been her on that stage…
Unable to contain her tears and fury, Fiona trembled with rage.
The gray clouds that had hung over Grita all day turned to snow by night, softly blanketing the city.
Christine stepped off the stagecoach.
At the last stop, she was the only passenger to disembark. Daisy had stayed behind, waiting for Percy to finish work so they could visit the pub together. Christine had smiled and declined their invitation, unwilling to intrude on yet another one of their dates.
Under the biting December night sky, her footsteps echoed against the cobblestones as she walked.
The lead role is her own Violet, not as an understudy this time.
Even after exhausting rehearsals, her steps were as light as the snowflakes drifting around her.
The few gas lamps scattered along the way did little to illuminate the outskirts, but as Christine walked through the dim streets of Westwall, it felt like she was in a dream.
Adjusting her hat and rubbing her gloved hands over her ears, she mentally rehearsed lines from Camellia.
“You are so beautiful it hurts my heart…”
“Hey, why don’t you warm up for a bit?”
A voice interrupted her thoughts as she stepped into a narrow, dark alley. The smoky air made her cough, and she flinched as her shoulders tensed. Quickly, she walked past the men loitering under the gaslight, smoking cigarettes.
The men whistled and called after her.
“Come on, let’s help each other out—we’re all lonely here!”
The wind carried the stench of sweat, alcohol, and tobacco, clawing at her coat. Behind her, jeers and crude remarks followed. Christine ignored the leering stares and rounded the corner in a single, hurried stride.
Her legs gave way momentarily, stumbling on the uneven stones, but she didn’t stop.
The men’s laughter and curses faded into the distance, leaving only her ragged breathing in the cold air.
Almost there.
Just as her boarding house came into view, a suspicious carriage appeared in her line of sight, shrouded in shadows. Her fingers froze in unease as the door opened.
“Madam Nora?”
It was Madam Nora, wearing a shabby fur hat as she stepped from the carriage.
It was the first time the woman had come to this place. With her prominent brow and gaunt cheeks, Madam Nora’s expression always seemed sharp and severe.
Mother!
An unexpected fear seized Christine.
“What brings you out here?”
She rushed over, forgetting to greet her properly in her alarm.
“Get in the carriage,” Madam Nora said curtly.
“Is something wrong with my mother? Has something happened?”
Her voice trembled like a tree in the winter wind.
“Just get in.”
The trembling spread through her entire body, but Christine steadied herself and climbed into the carriage. Madam Nora followed, carefully gathering her skirt to avoid the doorframe, and sat upright.
Once the driver shut the door, the small space felt even colder.
“I’m not here because of Mrs. Faledon.”
Oh, dear God…
Christine, who normally dismissed the idea of a higher power, found herself invoking His name as if in prayer. Relief that her mother was safe quickly gave way to dread as Madam Nora got straight to the point.
“The Duke has asked you to stay quiet. To live like a mouse.”
“…What do you mean by that?”
“It means you should avoid drawing attention to yourself.”
Christine’s eyes flickered in the dim light. Though it wasn’t what she had feared, the situation was no less shocking.
“You mustn’t cause trouble for him. If you’re grateful for his kindness, you should already know how to behave.”
Her words were firm and lecturing.
“Give up this performance. And every performance after that.”
Christine didn’t respond, but her eyes blinked slowly.
Brava! Bravo! Christine!
The applause from the stage echoed in her mind. The cheers for her name made her heart pound uncontrollably.
“You’ll continue as Violet for the rest of this season.”
The memory of those words from the conductor burned in her chest.
Christine straightened her back, steadying her breath.
The Duke of Deimos had no right. No one did. No one had the authority to strip someone of their dreams.
“I can’t do that,” she said firmly, her voice echoing with conviction.
Madam Nora smirked at the girl’s audacity.
“Do you think this is a request? Far from it—it’s an order, Miss Faledon.”
“….”
“You’d do well to remember your mother. Do you think her life-saving treatment paid for itself?”
Mother.
Christine bit her lip, ready to protest but hesitated.
Madam Nora, noticing the blood pooling in Christine’s lower lip, spoke sharply. Her hollow, bitter gaze held a mocking glint.
“Do nothing. Just breathe quietly. Is that so hard?”
With those parting words, Madam Nora left, her carriage disappearing into the darkness of Westwall. The sound of hooves fading into the night was the only reminder that what had just happened was real.
It was the night Christine’s dreams of becoming a prima donna were buried.
It was the second night Christine Faledon performed as Violet. Snow fell over the city, scattering like petals to celebrate her.
“Who is the unknown opera singer who bewitched the Crown Prince?”
Newspaper headlines screamed with excitement, and high society buzzed with curiosity about Christine’s Violet.
The Guno Opera House was packed, its seats filled despite the icy winter roads. Even seasoned aristocrats, lured by the Crown Prince’s glowing praise, came to watch.
The theater buzzed with disbelief. How could an unknown singer not only take on the lead role but also sell out the house? It was unheard of—like snow falling in summer.
