“Episode 5”
“Why is the prince acting like that?”
<Bewcastle’s Mad Villainess! Will She Attend the National Wedding Next Month with a Traitor?>
This was the headline in the tabloid’s “Today’s Trouble” section, in bold letters. Kisha shook her head as she read it.
“A traitor, huh. Miss must be furious again.”
She glanced at the man leaning against the railing in the middle of the room.
Bathed in the sunlight pouring through the stairwell window, his golden hair and the ample white shirt he wore glowed. The man was beyond merely handsome.
‘What’s he doing there?’
A maid, who had approached Kisha from behind, began to punch her back, admonishing her.
“Move, Kisha!”
“Ouch! Why do you keep hitting me?”
“I told you to ask him to move! I just have the second floor left to clean.”
“Why don’t you do it yourself?”
“Didn’t you once subdue him? You even hit him.”
Since coming to this house, the man, who had woken up unusually early, was surveying the room as if measuring something. The staff had to work under tension.
Kisha clenched and unclenched her fists in bewilderment.
“That’s why it’s scary. What if he hits me back?”
“What are you scared of? You’re the winner of the fencing tournament.”
“That’s the problem.”
“Why is that a problem? You need to earn your keep, idiot. Hurry up, so I can finish cleaning and have some dessert!”
The continental fencing tournament where he had gained Daphne’s attention was notorious for its brutality.
Having survived until the very end, an orphaned swordsman, Kisha had simply subdued him and then unexpectedly withdrew, letting him win the championship.
But a few days ago, Kisha had hit that benefactor.
“They say the Grand Duke commands ghosts as soldiers. You know I’m scared of ghosts.”
“That’s because his title holds no power, you fool. Do you want me to hit you?”
“Aren’t you scared?”
“Of course…!”
Narid turned to look at the man, now craning his neck to stare at the ceiling. She gulped.
She was quite adept at navigating gossip from the lower rungs to the upper echelons.
The Grand Duke of Therios, with his radiant beauty, was notorious for leaving people he disliked in ruins.
There were rumors he returned to the kingdom by blackmailing the king, and that he was involved with pirates from Libian.
“I’m scared! That’s why I’m asking you!”
“Is that the attitude of someone asking a favor? I’m telling Miss everything!”
“Miss likes me more anyway!”
Narid raised her fist again. Finally, the boy made a decision and trudged forward. Kisha muttered under her breath.
“Uh… Your Grace.”
Kisha wasn’t small, but standing in front of the man, he seemed a head taller. His fine face was marred by a fading yellow bruise.
‘I’m screwed.’
Some instinct warned Kisha.
“Hm?”
But the man just looked down at the boy with green eyes.
“My friends need to clean, so could you please step aside a bit?”
The man glanced at the hesitant staff behind Kisha and smiled kindly.
“I was here first.”
That was true.
“That’s what I meant. They just wanted to make sure you’re real, you look like a moving statue. Yes.”
Kisha laughed awkwardly. Narid rolled her eyes and slapped her forehead.
“Your Grace, Narid needs to go upstairs, just five steps to the side would be enough.”
“Fine.”
“Oh, thank you.”
Celestian smiled faintly at Kisha’s words.
“Kisha.”
Kisha’s pupils dilated.
‘How does he know my name?’
When Kisha had encountered him in the tournament, she hadn’t had a name to introduce. Later, when she saw him in Daphne’s room, she only introduced herself by her surname. Before Kisha could wonder further, Celestian spoke up.
“Who am I in love with?”
“Excuse me?”
Celestian didn’t repeat himself. Kisha scratched her cheek, pondering for a moment. Just as she was about to answer “Our lady,” Narid interjected.
“Miss Psyche of Denver, of course. Every noble lady knows her. Our lady knows her too.”
“Right, it was Psyche.”
Celestian agreed without hesitation in a dry tone, which soured Narid and Kisha’s moods.
“Kisha.”
Celestian extended his large hand. His hand, seemingly untouched by hardship, was long and slender, with a deep scar running across the palm.
“What is it?”
“Lend me your sword.”
Kisha instinctively backed away, touching the sword hanging at her waist.
“I’m bored. My body feels stiff.”
Celestian furrowed his brow, clenched his fist, and tapped his shoulder.
Before the knight system was abolished in the kingdom, any boy dreaming of knighthood knew of Therios. Kisha was one of those boys who admired him.
Considering such a skilled swordsman had been idle for days, it was understandable he was itching for action. However, in this room, it was a different matter.
“That might be dangerous.”
“Do you think I can’t handle a sword?”
“No, that’s not it.”
Celestian’s tilted head and light green eyes, like newly sprouted leaves, looked flawless.
“If not that, do I seem dangerous to you?”
Celestian leaned slightly to meet Kisha’s eye level. Kisha hesitated once more.
Even just beyond the walls of Bewcastle Manor, many were still eager to kill Celestian. While Kisha didn’t care much, Celestian was a traitor who had attempted regicide.
Despite his combat prowess, Celestian was docile only to Daphne. Even when the servants were rude, he never ignored them and always smiled pleasantly.
“I won’t do anything. I just need to stretch.”
Overall, he didn’t seem malicious.
“I’ll find you a wooden sword.”
As Kisha debated whether to offer a real sword, Narid interjected again, following Daphne’s order to treat him like a prince. She gracefully curtsied.
“Would you wait in the garden? Kisha will be your sparring partner.”
“The garden is far.”
“The rose garden is just outside the back door.”
Celestian raised his left eyebrow, expressing his skepticism.
Narid recalled another rumor about him. It was famously whispered in social circles that he had exterminated and covered up the Count’s family to possess Lady Denver.
A beautiful stalker, a two-faced psycho!
As if to prove the rumor, he acted gentle in front of Daphne but only maintained a superficial politeness now, which Narid could see.
“There must have been a reason why Count Serenade particularly disliked him.”
Moreover, their previous master used to shudder at the sight of this prince and would hide all newspapers related to him.
“Without the lady’s orders, there’s nothing I can do for you, Your Grace.”
“The lady’s orders?”
“Yes.”
Narid’s voice trembled slightly. She tried to appear bold but was honestly scared.
“No choice, then. Thank you.”
Contrary to the tension, no verbal abuse or violence followed. He merely lifted the corners of his mouth in a brief smile before his lips returned to a straight line.
Narid was momentarily dazed but quickly snapped back to reality.
“Could you please move aside a little?”
“It’s difficult when I haven’t gained anything,” Celestian responded with a charming smile, tilting his head to the left.
Narid nearly lost her composure again but reminded herself of the cake waiting for her.
“Tell me what your lady likes.”
Narid answered confidently, “The prince.”
By “the prince,” Narid meant Romeo, who was currently the crown prince.
“Me?”
To her memory, the last man Daphne had shown interest in was a dark-haired prince, and she had once expressed disdain for blondes.
“And right now, our lady has everything she likes.”
This was the best revenge Narid could manage.
“She particularly likes the prince’s appearance.”
Celestian, unaware of the maid’s hidden agenda, seemed satisfied with the answer, straightened his back, and moved exactly five steps away.
Narid, pleased, quickly ran up to the second floor.
“Kisha, it seems Narid was just mocked,” Kisha shrugged.
“If you need anything, just call me.”
Kisha bowed respectfully and turned to leave.
“Oh, Kisha. I’ve been forgetful lately.”
Feeling the presence suddenly behind her, Kisha tried to move quickly but was already firmly held by the shoulder. It hurt immensely, though he seemed to grip it lightly. Kisha frowned.
“The other day.”
“Yes?”
Celestian smiled brightly, causing Kisha to smile as well, despite feeling a chill down her spine.
“You were the one who hit me in the face, weren’t you?”
❖ ❖ ❖
‘Why does it matter who I take to the wedding? Do they have that much space to fill?’ Daphne thought as she walked past the mansion’s front gate, silently cursing the tabloid she had just read.
“Writing this crap after taking my money? They must have a death wish.”
She held a large bouquet of pink hibiscus flowers that Celestian liked. She wasn’t carrying all the luggage; her maid, Misha, was handling that.
“Oh, my lady, welcome back…”
Narid, with a pale face, came out to the front gate to greet her employer.
“Thank you for coming out so far, Narid. My legs are fine, I can walk in by myself. Is there something wrong in the room?”
Receiving the cake box from Misha, Narid watched Daphne’s reaction nervously as they walked back to the room.
“Well, you see, the prince, um…”
“The prince? Why?”
“That is, Kisha…”
Narid turned even paler. Daphne quickly understood.
‘Looks like the trophy finally threw a fit.’
She smiled subtly, pretending to leisurely admire the Angel River, while Narid anxiously anticipated the approaching storm.
As they approached the room, all the servants were waiting outside the door for Daphne.
“My lady!”
“Oh my, what’s going on?”
Their eyes looked like they were greeting a savior. Daphne felt slightly burdened by their unusually intense welcome and stepped back.
“Hey, what happened to your face?”
Misha ran up and grabbed Kisha’s face, laughing.
“I thought you quit. Why are you back?”
Kisha muttered sullenly. From Daphne’s angle, she couldn’t see Kisha’s face and curiously looked at her long hair.
“I resigned. I just came to pack my things.”
Misha and Kisha glared at each other.
“Anyway, my lady, I’m sorry. I’ll repay you with my life.”
Before Daphne could see Kisha’s face, he prostrated himself on the ground, begging for forgiveness.
“Hey, hey. People might think I treat you like this. Get up.”
“I’ll repay my remaining debt with my life.”
His tone was theatrical.
“Your life isn’t that cheap. Get up while I’m being nice.”
After her indifferent remark, Daphne glanced at the other servants, who all wore various expressions of whiteness, redness, or paleness.
“It must have been quite an incident.”
Daphne felt a curious thrill, similar to the anticipation before unwrapping a present.
When she opened the door and stepped inside, white scratches crisscrossed the blue marble floor. Daphne slid her shoe over them.
“Are these sword marks? Where did they get a sword?”
“The traitor, I mean…”
“The prince.”
Corrected by Daphne’s raised eyebrow, Narid immediately rephrased.
“The prince subdued Kisha and took it.”
“Kisha? With one hand?”
The ornamental ancient urns were shattered, and the tapestry that covered them was ripped like a pizza slice. The damage was quite artistic.
‘If this is the price of his looks, it’s cheap.’
“How did you know?”
Daphne’s casual remark about subduing Kisha with one hand had been a shot in the dark, but Narid’s pale face confirmed it. She thought about what it meant for a swordsman to lose their sword—it was almost equivalent to being castrated.
“Our Kisha has been rendered impotent,” Daphne clucked her tongue as she finally stood directly in front of her room. The mahogany door was terribly chipped.
“Great.”
Daphne had already been considering a remodel this season. Her thoughts were interrupted by a large shadow falling over her, causing her to turn with a deeply displeased expression. It was Kisha, his face a swollen mess.
“Oh my, Kisha, your face looks terrible.”
“My lady, I am in great pain.”
“It looks that way.”
“The Grand Duke has taken the butler’s revolver as well. It’s dangerous.”
A gun too?
Daphne paused, her eyes darting about in thought.
“Your face looks more dangerous. At least your face was tolerable to look at before.”
Kisha hung his head and whimpered. Daphne nodded understandingly, bringing her finger to her lips to signal the servants to be quiet.
After being humiliated in the banquet hall, Celestian had been very quiet for a few days, and it seemed he had chosen today to finally act out.
The moment Daphne opened the door, her bedroom was a mess, like a chaotic abstract art piece.
“Wow.”
All color drained from the servants’ faces. The maids looked on the verge of tears, their eyes on Daphne for any hint of reaction.
“My lady, it’s dangerous,” Misha, usually chatty, managed to say, her mouth agape.
A broken table and a sofa with its legs snapped off could be overlooked—they were replaced monthly anyway.
But the black wool carpet imported from the West was in tatters. Daphne nearly lost her balance stepping on it, almost dancing like a girl in pink shoes.
‘I planned to replace this anyway.’
The aurora curtains, a gift from her mother, were shredded like a ten-tailed whip, and the large glass window was shattered, spiderweb cracks spreading from a round hole at the bottom left.
‘I can always buy new things to replace them.’
However, when she saw the large portrait that occupied one entire wall, her face flushed with anger.
“Hello, Vucater.”
The culprit who had trashed her bedroom was lying horizontally on the large bed, viewing the world upside down. Thankfully, the bed he lay on was untouched.
“I asked you to hang from the East clock tower, but you’re hanging from the ceiling. How does it feel? Do you feel taller?”
His voice, light and pleasant, sounded almost affectionate. Daphne locked eyes with the upside-down Celestian. Despite the low light, his green eyes sparkled.
“Celestian, you’ve put bullets in me.”
“In you?”
“In my portrait.”
“Is that your portrait?”
“Who else’s would it be?”
Celestian pressed his lips together before smiling.
“Isn’t it beautiful? I like women who cry like that.”
Every opening on the woman’s face in the portrait had a bullet lodged in it. The trajectory of a bullet shot from just below her eye to her collarbone made it look like the woman was crying black tears, sobbing in the painting.
