Chapter 27
Bow Your Head
“You said we were going on a picnic!”
“We are. It’s an activity picnic.”
Daphne shrugged as she adjusted the weighty gun in her hands. Her maid, dressed in her finest, kept whining like someone who’d been dragged into trouble.
“This dress cost me two months of salary, my lady!”
Narid dramatically flung the hem of her dress, now dirtied from the damp mud. The layered dress was adorned with ribbons on every tier, a look wholly unsuitable for a clay shooting range.
“It did seem a bit over the top.”
Daphne, too, was wearing a black silk dress that covered her from neck to toe.
“And! You’re not even fully recovered, yet here you are shooting again!”
With her cheeks puffed in frustration, the maid was more upset about Daphne’s health than her ruined dress.
“Alright, alright, I’ll buy you a new one. Where’s it from?”
“Don’t bother! I have plenty of money.”
“More than me?”
“Extravagance is my joy, so don’t you dare stop me!”
Kisha claimed Daphne was acting like her usual self, but Narid sensed something off—a faint melancholy that Daphne couldn’t hide.
The maid had dressed so unsuitably and raised her voice in hopes of lifting Daphne’s spirits. Daphne knew this, and for a fleeting moment, she smiled. A few seconds later, though, her expression went blank again.
“Looks like the rainy season’s coming.”
From a distance, Misha approached, opening an umbrella and tilting it toward Daphne. Daphne tilted her head slightly as she met Misha’s gaze.
“It feels like I haven’t seen him in forever. Why is that?”
Tracing her memory, she realized she hadn’t seen him since her discharge from the hospital. It made sense—he was her secretary, after all, and must have been swamped in her absence. Since they were always together for work, even a short time apart felt unusually long.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
She gave his arm a light tap. Misha glanced at her briefly before adjusting his glasses deliberately. He seemed to be gauging her mood.
“What?”
“Pardon?”
Misha adjusted his glasses again. Daphne tilted her head to the left.
“Why are you so wary of me?”
Was it silent disapproval of a boss who had the audacity to slack off while he was drowning in work? It was a reasonable suspicion. Daphne nudged his arm gently with her elbow and grinned.
“I was sick, you know. I’ll be back at work next week. The hotel’s fine, right?”
“Yes. Take as much time off as you need.”
“Then can I rest until the royal wedding is over?”
“Ah, that might be a bit much.”
Misha lowered the hand that had been fiddling with his glasses, his expression tightening slightly as if the suggestion was truly too much. Daphne waved her hand dismissively, assuring him it was a joke.
Only two weeks remained until the royal wedding. The so-called “Happily Ever After Project” was on the cusp of success.
“But…”
Daphne felt no joy. Everything she had planned was in shambles.
It had only been ten days since Celestian Theriosa disappeared.
The only person she could have asked for help was Romeo, but he’d refused. Now, there was no one left in Secradion to aid her.
The clandestine groups she could approach had strict conditions and exorbitant prices. While Daphne didn’t lack money, it was her first foray into the infamous underworld.
― “Daphne Buchanan, your request cannot be processed due to unmet conditions.”
The rectangular red stamp reading “Request Denied” hit her like a slap to the back of her head.
“Oh, Mom.”
Amber Green had tied up Daphne’s inheritance in a trust. Considering she managed it all within three days while Daphne was out cold, she must have had her banker father’s support as well.
“So I wake up to find my unlimited credit card frozen…”
If Amber decided to leverage her gold mines as collateral and convert the trust into real debt, Daphne would be buried under a mountain of it. She’d likely have to sell off all her business assets, which were entirely her own.
― “Marry the crown prince of Agentar.”
Amber’s alluring red lips had delivered the solution to her predicament.
“I won’t look for him.”
For that reason, Daphne gave up on finding Celestian.
“It’s not like I liked him that much anyway.”
She kept convincing herself.
After ten days of indulging herself, the bullet wound had healed at an alarming pace, leaving only a lesson: she’d need to be even more cautious when handling guns in the future.
“It really does look like the rainy season is coming.”
Misha rubbed his fingertips together, damp from the drizzle. Daphne tilted her head upward at his words. Her yellow eyes, typically vibrant, looked dim in the gloomy weather.
Secradion, with its perpetually clear skies, had an unpredictable rainy season. The past few days of sporadic showers indicated that a prolonged downpour was imminent.
Although the rain was light and not enough to interfere with shooting, Narid, decked out in her elaborate attire, seemed to decide she’d had enough and requested to leave early. Daphne granted her wish.
Bang!
With a bored expression, Daphne fired at the red targets flying through the air. The increasingly fast-moving targets demanded focus, yet her mind was consumed by thoughts of a man who lingered stubbornly in her memory.
“What exactly didn’t I do for him?”
Bang.
“Not giving him a townhouse? Making him sleep on a cramped bed?”
The townhouse posed security concerns, and the princess-style canopy bed suited him perfectly.
Bang, bang!
“He destroyed the master bedroom himself, so why is that my fault?”
Though she hadn’t given him a townhouse, she had been preparing to grant him a luxurious room decorated to his princely tastes.
― “Why don’t you sleep with me?”
A stumble.
― “Stay with me. You want to, don’t you?”
Another stumble.
“Oh, damn it.”
Two pale green targets soared furiously into the sky, arced, and plummeted to the ground untouched.
Even in hindsight, his words were mortifying. Whatever his intentions, the sharp sensation of that day was etched into her mind, consuming her every thought.
― “You don’t love me, do you?”
How many times had she reassured that needy prince that she loved him? Saying “I love you” wasn’t hard, and half of it had been genuine.
Daphne ground her teeth. Because of him, her entire fortune had been tied up, leaving her trapped like a delicate bird in her mother’s gilded cage.
That perfect face, which had put her in this predicament, surfaced in her mind once more…
“…Do you miss him?”
Startled, Daphne turned sharply toward Misha. Her flushed cheeks made Misha equally taken aback.
“Who? Me?”
“No, I meant the scoreboard.”
“Oh, you don’t have to bring it over. I’m winning today, anyway.”
The turn shifted to the next shooter, Kisha, who hummed happily as he raised his freshly loaded gun skyward.
“This is annoying.”
Daphne removed her wide-brimmed hat and dropped it at her feet.
“Do you not like the hat?”
“Or are you worried you might lose?”
Misha and Kisha each asked.
“Yeah.”
Daphne gave a curt reply, her expression hardening.
Thunk.
The rounded crown of the hat caved in as she gave it a sharp kick. What began as one kick turned into a relentless assault. Her frail body swayed from the force of her movements, prompting Misha to grab her arm in alarm.
“Boss, you’ll reopen your wound.”
“Misha Serenade, go over there and shoot instead.”
Daphne shoved the Winchester into Misha’s arms with a loud thud. Startled by the gun’s weight, Misha blinked in surprise.
“I can’t shoot, Boss.”
“I taught you.”
“Even so, you know my eyesight isn’t great.”
Misha tapped his glasses twice to emphasize his point.
“What kind of man can’t shoot a gun? If you don’t hit a perfect score, your pay’s docked for three months.”
“W-what? Just like that?”
Intimidated by her piercing yellow eyes, Misha hugged the gun tightly. Meanwhile, Daphne resumed stomping on her hat.
Kisha and Misha exchanged glances, momentarily imagining that the crushed hat was someone’s head.
“I’ll buy you a drink.”
“My lady, you’re not allowed to drink.”
“Boss, you shouldn’t be drinking.”
Ignoring them, Daphne raised her middle finger before punching the column’s button. She snatched the gun back from Misha and took aim.
Red clay discs began flying rapidly through the air. Daphne and Kisha alternated shots, shattering the targets in quick succession.
Kisha, apparently in top form today, refused to yield points easily. Daphne, growing anxious at the thought of losing, even contemplated kicking him in the shin.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Beaucater.”
Daphne, despite being a full-grown adult and an independent business owner, was referred to as “Miss” instead of the more proper “Lady” or “Beaucater.”
She glanced sideways at the group addressing her. They were aristocratic businessmen who supplied her hotel with sugar, amenities, and cigarettes.
Bang!
The sound of a shot echoed as Daphne’s Winchester shattered its 20th target, scattering it across the lawn.
She lowered her gun to greet them, as did Kisha. The shooting range, now quiet, was filled with the odd laughter of the men.
“Sir Karen, Sir Dati, and Sir Hannon. How have you been?”
“We heard you collapsed from overwork, but you seem to have recovered quickly.”
“Or were you just indulging in some boyish games?”
“Perhaps,” Daphne replied nonchalantly, her yellow eyes briefly glancing upward in boredom.
“You still don’t seem to understand the concept of shame,” one of them remarked.
Laughing amongst themselves, they failed to notice Daphne’s visible annoyance.
“We were genuinely concerned when we heard you’d been bedridden for three days.”
“Thank you for your concern. As you can see, I’m fine now.”
Misha and Kisha exchanged quick bows and stepped away, muttering quietly to each other.
“Who are these guys?” Kisha asked, lowering his voice.
“Idiots,” Misha answered simply.
“They look decent enough. Are they businessmen?”
“Yes.”
Kisha took another shot at a flying target before pressing the button, closing the 3-point gap that had Daphne trailing. No new targets appeared.
“Strange, the first prince isn’t here today,” one of the men suddenly said.
“Shouldn’t we stop her?”
“Wait and see.”
Daphne remained silent, though Kisha flinched in alarm. As Kisha moved to intervene, Misha caught his arm, stopping him.
“You used to drag him everywhere. Are you bonding with your two servants again?”
“Where’s the rebel? Did you tie him to your bed or something?”
Kisha flinched again. All the men could see was the back of Daphne’s head as her foot shifted slightly. The crushed hat at her feet seemed to plead for mercy.
“Shouldn’t we step in?”
“She’s fine.”
But the battered hat looked anything but fine.
Romeo’s claim to declare Celestian dead had fallen through, as no trace of him could be found. As a result, the incident at the café had been swept under the rug.
The royal family’s control over the media remained strong. Even news of Daphne, labeled as “Secradion’s Villainess” and a former fiancée of Romeo, being shot didn’t make it to the press.
“Oh, I agree with Sir Dati. It’s tiresome.”
Despite the playful tone, her voice sent chills down their spines.
“It seemed like it would last longer this time…”
“So, I killed him.”
Daphne’s finger slid into the trigger guard of the Winchester. Though it wasn’t loaded, the dry click of the trigger echoed sharply.
“Ha! You’re joking, right? Do you think we’d be scared?”
“I don’t lie.”
Daphne’s curt response caused the businessman’s face to harden.
“If you’d like, you can join him in the same grave. I heard somewhere that…”
She hefted the heavy gun with a grunt, her lips curling into a dangerous smirk.
“Buried bodies make excellent fertilizer for tree roots.”
