Kalian’s gaze remained fixed on the report he was writing.
“You don’t even let me see you enough to wear you out. I have to look all I can while I have the chance.”
At that, Kalian finally lifted his head to look at Angela.
She was right—they rarely had opportunities to face each other like this. And that was because Kalian himself had taken that chance away.
Angela was a woman who made him angry when he looked at her.
And yet, when he did, she also made his heart ache.
That contradiction made him think it was best not to look at her at all.
It had been a long time since they faced each other like this without clashing.
Kalian didn’t avert his eyes, as if granting her the chance to look all she wanted.
At the same time, he let himself take in the sight of her.
“Kalian, you’ve traveled far beyond Phaelon, haven’t you?”
Wondering what she was leading to, Kalian set down his pen and focused on her voice.
As if responding to that, Angela closed the book she had been holding idly and placed it on her lap.
“Have you really never had another woman?”
Kalian raised an eyebrow, as if he had just heard something absurd.
Angela continued.
“You might have met someone you liked. Maybe a princess from a neighboring country, a noblewoman from somewhere, or even a commoner whose life you saved. Not even once?”
“Never. Why are you suddenly asking this?”
Kalian folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.
“The maids said there were many women who admired you. I heard one even sent you letters from some faraway country. Come on, tell me honestly. I won’t have them flogged.”
Kalian thought to himself that the maids had shared all sorts of unnecessary things while tending to her bath.
“What they feel is irrelevant to me. Are you trying to make me out to be the kind of man who strays despite being engaged?”
“There are plenty of nobles like that. My father had a wife and still strayed.”
At her sudden remark, Kalian rubbed his forehead with his fingertips.
At the very least, today, he didn’t want Yvonne to occupy her mind.
He searched for a different topic to steer the conversation away.
“I find that promise of no flogging hard to believe.”
It wasn’t the best distraction.
But regardless of his regrets, Angela answered without hesitation.
“Why? Do you still feel bad about driving out that maid?”
“That maid.”
There had been a maid who was banished from the Bilton estate after Angela had beaten her until her hand was nearly torn open.
Her crime? Catching Kalian when he nearly stumbled.
Angela wasn’t asking out of mockery, and it was Kalian who had brought up the topic.
But still, recalling that particular moment of cruelty, he simply ended it with a curt, “Of course not,” before reaching for his pen again.
“……Everyone saw it, didn’t they?”
Angela’s voice rippled through the quiet office like a single drop of water.
“They saw His Grace hugging me earlier.”
The theatrical tone in her voice made Kalian pause.
He turned back to her.
“Wouldn’t I be a better match for His Grace? Lady Angela is far too undeserving. A wicked woman like her should marry a demon instead—someone like Lord Blueby, for instance. A man like him would suit her much better.”
“……?”
“I heard things like that.”
The expression on Kalian’s face twisted.
Lord Blueby—he had been executed for treason, but before that, he had murdered eight women, including his wife and mistresses.
How old had Angela been when she heard such words?
Kalian closed his eyes and asked,
“Did that maid truly say such things?”
“Kalian, you misunderstand something. No matter how much people feared me, they didn’t bow their heads to me when I wasn’t around.”
To Kalian, her words sounded like an admission that this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.
He opened his eyes again, studying her face.
There wasn’t a single visible trace of pain.
That only made it harder for him to look away.
It felt as if, the moment he did, she would finally reveal her wounds.
“Has this happened before?”
Instead of answering with the countless times it had, Angela shared another story—about the messenger she had sent to summon Kalian.
After the messenger returned and told her that Kalian wouldn’t be coming, the others had laughed among themselves:
— ‘He must hate the sight of her. Why else wouldn’t he come, even when she’s sick?’
— ‘Well, maybe if she waited naked, it’d be different. Should we tell her? Teach her how to summon a man who doesn’t want her? Hell, I could strip her myself if needed.’
The sound of Kalian’s teeth grinding together filled the silence.
Angela continued, recalling some memories clearly while dismissing others vaguely.
But that wasn’t enough for Kalian.
When had it happened?
Who had said it?
What else had they told her?
His questioning was relentless, like an interrogation.
“…I’m sorry.”
Then, suddenly, Kalian apologized.
Perhaps he had realized that he was digging into wounds Angela had chosen to keep buried.
But the reason Angela had been holding back wasn’t because she wanted to hide anything—
It was because of the expression on Kalian’s face.
She knew that look.
It was the face of someone drowning.
Someone so deep in the water that they couldn’t even reach the bottom, left only to wait for death.
It was the same expression she often saw in the mirror.
And because she knew exactly how that felt—
She didn’t want to say anything more.
Instead, she gestured toward the papers on his desk, silently telling him to get back to work.
Then, she picked up her book again.
Just as her eyes skimmed over the first lines of a myth she had no interest in—
Kalian, who had somehow approached without her noticing, took the book from her hands.
Then, kneeling on one knee, he came so close that he nearly brushed the hem of her dress.
Kalian carefully took both of her hands in his, as if handling something precious.
“…I didn’t know.”
Like a devout believer confessing his sins before his god, Kalian admitted his long-standing ignorance.
His dark eyes gleamed with grief beneath his lashes.
“You never asked, so it’s only natural that you didn’t know.”
Angela granted him mercy, as if she truly were his god.
“But I never even gave you the chance to tell me.”
Rejecting that mercy, Kalian gazed up at her like a condemned man awaiting judgment.
If that was how he felt, he should at least wear the face of a sinner.
But there wasn’t a single flaw in his expression.
Angela couldn’t punish him.
Instead, she wanted to kiss him.
Her head tilted toward him.
Though the distance between them wasn’t far, it took an eternity to close.
Their lips were just about to touch—
Knock, knock.
At the sudden knock, Angela snapped back to her senses, quickly pulling away.
She had been as slow as a tortoise in approaching—but as quick as a startled rabbit in retreating.
“Your Grace, it’s Emmet.”
Hearing the voice from outside, Angela let out an awkward cough.
“…Ah, I seem to have interrupted.”
Upon receiving Kalian’s permission to enter, Emmet stepped into the office, looking genuinely regretful as if he had committed a grave offense.
By then, Kalian had already returned to his desk, and Angela had composed herself, stopping her suspicious little coughs.
His words likely meant nothing more than that he had disrupted their time together—
But even so, Angela’s face burned with an inexplicable heat, prompting her to stand up.
“I’ll be going back now.”
Careful not to knock over the tower of documents, she cautiously made her way toward the door.
“I’ll escort you to your room.”
Kalian reached out, telling her to wait.
But Angela didn’t even glance his way as she continued walking.
“Do you think I can’t find my way back? You’re busy—focus on your work.”
Leaving the office, Angela quickened her steps—only to suddenly drop to her knees in the middle of the hallway.
Thump, thump, thump.
It felt like someone was using her heart as a drum.
She might die from her racing heart before she ever got the chance to wither like an unbloomed flower.
Pressing both hands to her flushed cheeks, Angela could feel the tiny tremors beneath her fingertips.
—
“I have to go to the imperial palace.”
Kalian came to inform Angela in the morning before leaving the estate early.
He was on his way to meet the emperor, carrying the report he had written throughout the night.
“It won’t take too long.”
That was what he had said—but Angela knew there was no certainty in that.
If the audience ran long, or if the emperor invited Kalian to breakfast, there would be no refusing.
Rather than lying in bed and waiting, Angela called for Hilda and asked to visit the estate’s library.
Hilda gladly agreed to take her there.
A maid couldn’t have made such a decision alone, which meant Kalian had already given instructions in advance.
When Angela arrived at the library, a middle-aged librarian explained which areas were accessible to outsiders and which were not.
“But for you, my lady, I believe all areas are permitted.”
After finishing his explanation, the librarian returned to his desk.
Then, Hilda, who had remained by Angela’s side, added,
“His Grace said, ‘Let her do as she pleases. Whatever she wants.’”
“…Oh.”
Angela blinked blankly for a moment.
Realizing she must look utterly foolish, she quickly turned toward the bookshelves, pretending to examine them closely.
Even though nothing really caught her eye, she wandered between the shelves for quite some time.
It was a while before she finally selected a book.
Asking the librarian if she could take it outside the library, she received permission and left.
Even then, Hilda reminded her again,
“His Grace said ‘whatever she wants.’ Anything.”
Angela clutched the book to her chest, walking with light steps.
She began counting—how many pages would she have to turn before Kalian returned?
She had nearly reached her room when a servant of the Florence estate approached with a troubled expression.
Lowering his head before her, he spoke.
“M-My lady…”
Since he was the one Kalian had sent to fetch Mary, the excitement Angela had felt disappeared in an instant.
Tension gripped her, and she clutched the book tightly.
“I went to bring back the maid, Mary… but… she is currently imprisoned in the estate’s dungeon.”
“…What?”
“I do not know the exact details, but… that is what I was told.”
Angela blinked in disbelief, as if struggling to process the words she had just heard.
Her wide eyes wavered like storm-tossed waves.
The book slipped from her hands.
Then, without a moment’s hesitation, she turned and ran.
The regret of not leaving a message for Kalian did not slow her down in the slightest.
—
Even when Hilda tried to stop her, promising to prepare a carriage immediately, Angela couldn’t stop moving.
Only when she heard, “The carriage will be faster!” did she finally halt, panting for breath.
She hurriedly ordered them to make haste.
Though “order” was the word, her words spilled out more like a desperate plea.
And yet, she was the only one who didn’t realize it.
With the help of the Florence estate servants, Angela soon arrived back at the Bilton estate.
But her mind wasn’t focused on the horror of returning to this dreadful place—
All she could think about was finding Mary.
“Where is Mary?”
“…Pardon?”
“I asked where my maid is. If you give me another foolish answer, I’ll cut out your useless tongue.”
Upon arriving at the Bilton estate’s dungeon, Angela mercilessly pressed the guard stationed at the entrance.
A painful tightness gripped her chest, but so what?
If the guard didn’t move immediately, Angela was prepared to do whatever it took.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
