Angela chapter 22

After receiving Annette’s permission, Angela took Beatrice and left the Empress’s palace.

Once they were gone, the tea party would likely disperse soon as well. The atmosphere had been ruined again, and it would be difficult to revive it. Especially if that fool from the Materson family remained.

“Hic, hic…”

On the carriage ride back to the Bilton estate, Angela stared out the window, listening to the endless sound of Beatrice’s quiet sobs.

“T-Thank you, hhic, thank you so much…”

She had already repeated those words more than five times.

But that gratitude was misplaced.

Angela had never intended to help her.

In fact, when Lady Materson had shifted her attention to Beatrice, Angela had thought she deserved it.

“See how it feels to suffer in a world without Yvonne.”

That was her honest thought.

Yet, as she sat there watching, her heart ached unbearably. It thrashed as if it would burst if she didn’t step in.

So she had.

That was all.

Any thanks should go to that unknown force that had pushed her into action—it had nothing to do with her.

“Beatrice.”

Angela’s dry voice cut through the damp air.

“Y-Yes… hhic.”

“Don’t let anyone look down on you. In Phaelon, not even royalty can treat a Bilton lightly. You are the second daughter of such a family. I signed off on it. I forced myself to do something I loathed—don’t make me regret it. Understood?”

“Y-Yes… hic, hic…”

Beatrice nodded, but her weeping still wouldn’t stop.

Angela was sick of hearing it.

She had no desire to continue this conversation, so she spoke again.

“Beatrice.”

Beatrice, her face drenched in tears, turned toward Angela with a trembling gaze.

Angela looked her dead in the eye and spoke coldly.

“Be quiet.”

Startled, Beatrice slapped both hands over her mouth, muffling her cries.

Gradually, the carriage fell into silence.

But not enough.

She could still hear the occasional sniffle.

If they arrived at the estate like this, Yvonne would take one look at Beatrice’s tear-streaked face and act as if her heart was shattering into pieces.

She would wipe away Beatrice’s tears again and again, mourning her pain.

Angela did not want to see that.

“Stop crying.”

She added the command icily, then turned back to the window, watching the scenery slip by.

Through the small pane, she saw the village people bustling about, doing their best to enjoy even the brief warmth of a short winter.

It looked so peaceful.

It irritated her.

Only after stepping in for Beatrice had her heart finally calmed.

She wanted to ask why she had to endure a test just to earn a moment of normalcy—why peace was something she had to fight for rather than something given freely.

But there was no one to ask.

And even if she cried about it, Yvonne would never wipe her tears the way she did for Beatrice.

—

Beatrice hadn’t fully stopped crying by the time their carriage passed through the gates of the Bilton estate.

As expected, trouble awaited Angela like a gift that had been carefully prepared for her in advance.

Even if she refused to take it, it was forced into her hands.

“Beatrice? My dear, why, why are you crying? Why, why…!”

The moment Beatrice stepped out of the carriage, Yvonne rushed to her, holding her tear-streaked cheeks with a look of utter distress.

Just as Angela had predicted.

“I knew it.”

She muttered under her breath as she watched.

Yvonne’s touch as she caressed Beatrice’s reddened eyes was so full of love that Angela could hardly bear to watch.

She turned away abruptly, deciding to leave the tearful mother-daughter reunion behind and head inside.

She had just begun pulling off her lace gloves when—

Smack!

Like a monster from a storybook, Yvonne appeared, her face contorted with rage, and struck Angela hard across the face.

Her head snapped to the side, ringing with pain.

For a moment, the world went dark, and when her vision returned, it was hazy.

“Y… Yvonne…?”

Confused by the sudden blow, Angela lifted her head, staring blankly at her.

But Yvonne raised her hand again.

Angela was powerless to stop the second slap.

Her nails scraped across Angela’s cheek, leaving a thin wound.

Tiny drops of blood welled up from her skin.

“M-Mother…!”

Beatrice cried out in horror, grabbing Yvonne’s sleeve to stop her.

Yvonne gently shook her off, then reached for Angela’s face once more.

By the third strike, Angela’s breathing had become unsteady.

She could see something in Yvonne that should not have been there.

She dared not lift her head.

If she met Yvonne’s eyes, she feared she would see the face of a woman long dead.

Her trembling hand clutched at her wounded cheek—her only attempt at self-defense.

“What did you do to Beatrice this time?”

Yvonne gritted her teeth as she spoke.

She was convinced Angela was the reason Beatrice’s face was so tear-stained.

With Angela’s long history, it was hard to call it a baseless accusation.

Still, she seethed with resentment.

Angela swallowed hard.

She tasted blood.

Was it because she had bitten the inside of her cheek, or because this situation itself was so revolting?

“I warned you, didn’t I? That I wouldn’t stand by if anything happened to Beatrice again!”

As Yvonne exhaled sharply, her voice shaking with rage, she lunged at Angela again.

This time, Angela seized her by the collar.

Off-balance, Yvonne stumbled forward, her ear brushing close to Angela’s lips.

Angela whispered, her voice low and deliberate.

“All my mothers have had bad hands.”

Just like Grace.

Exactly the same.

For so long, Yvonne had pretended to be different, but she wasn’t.

Angela stared at Yvonne’s face as it drained of color, hardening like a lifeless statue.

Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.

She passed the carriage and strode deeper into the estate.

Not knowing where to go, but not caring.

Anywhere was fine.

Anywhere but this wretched estate.

Anywhere but this place where that hypocrite still breathed.

Even if it meant stepping into hell itself, it would be better than staying here.

This was an escape.

Angela wanted to forget everything she had left behind.

* * *

“Since she was at a tea party, will she be skipping dinner? She doesn’t eat much, so she probably will. Should I prepare her bath in advance? No, she might still want some fruit, so I should check the kitchen first…”

While tidying up Angela’s room, Mary was lost in thought, contemplating how best to prepare for her return.

Then, she noticed through the window that the carriage from the palace had arrived. Beaming, she ran down the stairs.

But as she descended, she suddenly sensed something was off.

The atmosphere was strangely tense. Her previously cheerful steps slowed as she picked up on the unease lingering in the air.

When Mary reached the first floor, she hesitantly looked around.

The only ones entering the mansion’s lobby were Beatrice, sobbing uncontrollably, and Yvonne, gently patting her shoulder in consolation.

Angela was nowhere to be seen.

She had left looking more beautiful than ever, so logically, finding the most beautiful woman should have led Mary straight to her.

But no matter where she looked, Angela wasn’t there.

“W-Where is our lady?”

Growing anxious, Mary paced in agitation before grabbing a passing maid.

“Excuse me, where is Lady Angela? Didn’t she come back with Lady Beatrice?”

“I don’t know!”

The maid snapped, shoving past Mary with her shoulder, nearly knocking her over.

Mary, now feeling a deep sense of unease, quickly grabbed another maid.

“Wait! Excuse me! Lady Angela—hasn’t she returned yet?”

But the second maid reacted the same way, pushing Mary aside as if she hadn’t even heard her.

Stumbling slightly, Mary glanced around before desperately catching hold of yet another person.

“What happened? Why isn’t our lady anywhere?”

It was Rita.

Her expression turned sour as she glanced around cautiously before dragging Mary into a secluded corner of the mansion.

Pushing her against the dimly lit wall, Rita mimed smacking Mary on the head and whispered,

“Stay out of sight and go back to your room, you idiot.”

Mary was beyond frustrated.

That wasn’t the answer she wanted.

There was only one thing she needed to know.

“No! Where is Lady Angela?!”

“Shut up!”

Rita clamped a hand over Mary’s mouth and scolded her in a hushed voice before letting out a deep sigh and finally explaining.

“…She did return with Lady Beatrice, but Madam slapped her three times, and then she stormed out.”

“W-What? She got… slapped? Why? Why?”

“How would I know? Judging by how swollen Lady Beatrice’s eyes were from crying, something must have happened between them outside—”

Rita trailed off abruptly.

A doubt flickered in her mind.

What if… that wasn’t the case?

Maybe, just maybe, the face she had tried so hard to forget—the face of a young girl from long ago—had been there again today.

“She left alone? She went out alone?”

Mary shook Rita’s arm insistently, as if she were clinging to her for answers.

Rita pursed her lips, looking uncomfortable.

“Yeah.”

“Did no one follow her?”

“If anyone had, they’d be dead meat. The Madam was furious—way more than usual. We were all too scared to even breathe.”

“B-But it’s already late… It’ll be dark soon…”

Mary muttered anxiously, shifting from foot to foot, unsure of what to do.

Then, suddenly, a thought struck her.

“Hey, hey! Where are you going?!”

Mary bolted, leaving Rita behind.

“I said stay in your room, damn it! Ugh, whatever!”

Rita’s scolding fell on deaf ears.

—

[Krnilnatheoyogassigajipulnagasseoyohonjaseo]

Big trouble. My lady left the house. Alone.

Unlike usual, Mary’s message, riddled with her characteristic jumbled letters, was instantly clear.

Kalian, who had been resting with his men at a temporary campsite, immediately untied his horse.

Bigo, who had just been feeding Bell, was startled by the sudden movement and hurried over.

“Kalian, sir, what’s wrong?”

“I have to go ahead.”

“What? Now?”

It was an absurd statement.

They were deep in the mountains, where the terrain was rough.

Though Florence Manor, at the center of Rhone, was only a three- to four-hour ride away, they had chosen to set up camp rather than push forward.

They had recently been ambushed by another flock of Alkyon, and eliminating every last one of them had left the knights utterly drained.

Tracking why these creatures, typically native to northern Phaelon, had ventured this far south was a concern for later.

For now, Kalian and his knights had focused on ensuring none were left alive—if even one remained and caused civilian casualties, the consequences would be dire.

Although the number of Alkyon they had faced today was nothing compared to those in the Golden Plains, the fight had still pushed them to their limits.

The knights were sprawled about in exhaustion, groaning that they couldn’t move another step.

Even Bigo wanted nothing more than to collapse and sleep.

So what was Kalian thinking, trying to ride off again?

But Kalian’s resolve was unwavering.

“Bigo.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Pick a few knights who can keep up with me. The rest of the unit stays with you and returns later.”

“Wait—why? What’s happening? At least tell me—!”

“Lady Bilton left the house without an escort.”

With that single statement, Kalian mounted his horse.

In the blink of an eye, he disappeared into the darkness.

Riding at a reckless speed along treacherous mountain paths.

Even in daylight, this terrain demanded caution.

At his pace, what should have taken three or four hours would take only one.

That is, if anyone but Kalian could survive such a ride.

How were they supposed to “keep up” with him?

Bigo sighed.

“Listen up, everyone!”

Despite his grumbling, he immediately called the resting knights to gather.

Regardless of the circumstances, a noble lady wandering the streets alone at night was no different from a death sentence.

And a knight did not stand idly by when a woman was in danger.

As expected, the moment Bigo explained, the knights—who had just moments ago sworn they could not move another inch—jumped to their feet, eager to chase after Kalian.

Bigo picked out those who looked the least exhausted and sent them in pursuit.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───