The pink-haired girl didn’t leave the room until Angela had finished every last crumb of bread and drained her cup of water. It seemed like Angela was the only one who found this claustrophobic setup unbearable.
“You’re pretty when you eat well.”
The pink-haired girl nonchalantly tossed out such absurd remarks. If only she’d say something remotely useful for once.
“Who put you up to this?”
That would’ve been even better.
But in response to Angela’s pointed question, the pink-haired girl merely grinned like a fool and muttered, “Who knows.” Whether she truly didn’t know or was just playing games was impossible to tell. Either way, both possibilities were equally infuriating.
Angela shut her mouth again. She felt pathetic for even attempting to have a conversation with this airheaded pink-haired girl who kept spouting nonsense about her being “pretty.” Just then—
“How’s Kalian doing?”
The name sprang from the pink-haired girl’s lips, completely out of the blue. Judging by her reaction, it was clear that Angela’s expression had shifted dramatically.
“Pfft! Was it really that shocking?”
The girl burst into raucous laughter right in Angela’s face, adding another ridiculous comment about how even her shocked face was beautiful. Angela furrowed her brow.
“How do you know Kalian?”
Angela barely restrained herself from snapping, Someone like you? The girl kept laughing for a moment longer before finally calming down and answering.
“We were in the same mercenary troop as kids. Until Kalian caught the Duke of Bilton’s eye and left.”
Angela studied the girl’s face closely, searching for any trace of a lie. She found none of the usual tells.
Still, it wasn’t enough to take her words at face value. After all, growing trust between a kidnapper and their hostage was about as likely as a flower blooming in the middle of Angela’s war-hardened heart.
“How old was Kalian when the duke noticed him?”
A small test, but a telling one.
“Twelve, probably. But does it matter? Kalian doesn’t even know his real age.”
Angela’s gaze flickered.
Kalian had once told her that his memories began from his time in the mercenary corps—that everything before that was vague. He didn’t know exactly how old he was and had been living by the age estimated by the commander back then.
It was a precise answer.
“What’s your name?” “Tristan.”
The pink-haired girl beamed brightly.
—
Tristan, who claimed to have been Kalian’s childhood friend, shared a trove of new information about him.
One particularly striking revelation was that Kalian used to be a massive crybaby. The first time he had to kill someone, he apparently cried for days on end.
Looking at him now, it was hard to imagine—but Angela had met Kalian when he was twelve, already a mercenary. If he’d been thrust into a battlefield at an even younger age, forced to kill just to survive, then simply enduring it without losing his mind was impressive in itself.
Angela shot Tristan a sharp look for calling him a crybaby. Tristan just chuckled and, yet again, muttered that maddening phrase: “You’re pretty when you glare.”
Kalian’s friend or not, Angela briefly considered tearing her tongue out.
But she held back. She was too curious—too desperate—to hear about Kalian from someone else’s lips. Perhaps it was the situation, but simply hearing his name brought a strange sense of comfort.
“Were you two close?”
“Why? Glaring at me like that—what, would you be mad if we weren’t?”
Tristan grinned mischievously and nodded with exaggerated enthusiasm.
“Super close. We were the only kids there. Most mercenaries aren’t that young, y’know? Actually, this is a secret, but… when Kalian cried after his first kill, I cried too. It was my first time as well.”
She giggled incessantly, amused by the memory.
“The two of us clinging to each other, bawling our eyes out… the others would groan, ‘Ugh, those crybabies,’ and shake their heads like we were pathetic.”
So that’s where the “crybaby” thing came from.
The fierceness in Angela’s eyes softened. Tristan noticed instantly, and her grin widened even further.
“Kalian’s found himself a good bride.”
Angela wasn’t quite a bride yet—but she didn’t feel like correcting her.
It was at that moment that Tristan’s expression suddenly changed. She reached into her coat and pulled out the black hood she’d used to cover Angela earlier.
“What are you—?” “Shh. Hands behind your back.”
Tristan flipped the hood back over Angela’s head before she could resist, muffled her protest, and then pulled her arms behind her and loosely tied them with rope.
Loose enough to be undone—strangely so. Angela had just begun to wonder when—
Bang!
The door burst open.
“Oh, you’re finally awake.”
—
The rough voice was familiar. Angela easily recognized him as the man who had once sat across from her and Jamie at the negotiation table.
“Did you keep a good eye on her? Didn’t try anything funny, did you?”
Another man’s voice chimed in, accompanied by the sound of dull thuds—thwack, thwack. Just as she suspected, Tristan was the one being hit. He coughed and replied in a small voice, “No, I didn’t do anything.”
Angela’s face twisted under the hood. The same girl who’d been smiling endlessly now sounded thoroughly cowed.
“Take it off.”
The hood was yanked away in one swift motion, but Angela’s gaze remained sharp as a blade. She glared at the man before her with eyes that could kill.
“Hah, noble girls really aren’t afraid of anything, are they?”
The man who removed the hood chuckled, and their leader, who must have been standing nearby, approached with a wide, toothy grin. He crouched in front of Angela and lightly tapped her pale cheek, as if daring her to show some fear. The thick, sticky touch of his hand lingered before pulling away—again and again.
Angela almost broke free from her bonds on instinct and struck him across the face.
“Now, now. No need for such a scary look. Why don’t we try negotiating once more?”
The man offered, as if speaking magnanimously—though Angela was barely restraining herself from retaliating.
“Of course, we could just hand you over to the highest bidder as promised and walk away with our pay,” he went on. “But the more we think about it, the more we wonder—might you offer us something even better? What do you say?”
He spoke like a man doing her a favor. Given that her life was on the line, perhaps in some twisted sense, it was generosity.
Angela found the idea of being at the mercy of such filth infuriating—but gave her answer without hesitation.
“If you return me safely to the Bilton estate, you’ll receive a fortune the likes of which you’ll never see again in your lifetime.”
“Money first. Sending you back comes later.”
The man’s reply was cool and firm. His refusal to budge drew a sharp retort from Angela.
“And what assurance do I have that you won’t just take the money and still sell me off? You’re already betraying your original employer—what’s to stop you from cashing in twice?”
“And what assurance do I have?” he shot back. “What’s to say you won’t send knights after us instead of coin once you’re home?”
Angela had raised a fair point, but she knew this was an argument she couldn’t win. A hostage had no leverage. And yet, these brutes thought themselves clever for orchestrating such a crude betrayal—how pathetic.
Before their eyes, Angela began to write on the paper they provided. A feather pen was placed in her now-freed hand, and for a fleeting second, she imagined plunging it into the man’s throat.
But charging into a hopeless fight was foolish bravado—just as she’d once warned Jamie. All she could do was write exactly what they dictated, word for humiliating word.
She penned a plea claiming her life was at risk if they didn’t receive payment—an undignified message meant to extort her own family. But amidst the shame, one faint glimmer of relief surfaced in her mind:
Maybe Yvonne isn’t behind this after all.
Once Angela signed the letter, the man snatched it away and handed it to one of his men. Then he drew a dagger from his belt. Angela’s eyes widened.
“No need to be frightened. I don’t plan to hurt you,” he said with a laugh, stepping closer.
Angela didn’t blink. She watched his every move.
Suddenly, he seized a handful of her golden hair—and with a single slash, cut it off.
“Send this with it.”
He handed her hair to his subordinate, just like the letter. Then he touched her cheek again.
This time, the contact was worse than before—clinging and revolting.
“Grow it back once you’re safe at home.”
Angela slapped his hand away with a fierce motion. But the man only chuckled, thinking her resistance little more than a spoiled tantrum, and sauntered out. He didn’t forget to order Tristan to tie her up again.
Left alone with her, Tristan gazed at the freshly cut strands of hair scattered around. After a long silence, she murmured just one thing:
“A bob cut would look good on you.”
—
“Are we really going to betray them?”
One of the men in the group that had just exited the room turned to Hunter and asked. He was the one who’d voiced discomfort about kidnapping the Lady of the Bilton family—now he seemed equally troubled by the idea of turning on their client.
The man knew their adversary wasn’t to be taken lightly.
They were dealing with none other than the royal family of the Tarán Kingdom. If they hadn’t accepted the job in the first place, maybe they’d have avoided this. But now? There was no easy way out.
He rubbed his dry face with a weary hand.
Hunter, noticing his anxiety, scoffed and narrowed his eyes.
“That fussy lady should be delivered properly to our client. The Bilton family’s just the cash cow.”
It was a blatant display of greed.
—
Jamie managed to catch up with Kalian only when the latter neared the mission zone.
Kalian, focused on the path ahead, heard the sound of hooves behind him and swiftly brought his horse to a halt. The knights following him also reined in one by one.
“Lord Kalian…!”
Jamie nearly fell off his horse as he approached. Vigo jumped down to support him, but Jamie stumbled past him and stood in front of Kalian, eyes brimming with tears.
“Lady Bilton has been kidnapped…”
In an instant, the color drained from Kalian’s face.
“What are you saying!?”
It was Vigo who shouted in his place.
Jamie, though one of the younger knights, had been assigned to guard duty at the Bilton estate—a testament to his skill. And yet, he had failed to protect Angela and returned alone?
It was almost impossible to believe.
—-
“It was a sudden ambush. There were five or six of them, and their swordsmanship was far from ordinary. The coachman was killed on the spot, and Lady Bilton… she surrendered herself to them, saying it was to save me. I’m so sorry.”
Jamie finally broke down in tears. The clear droplets that fell shimmered with the shame he felt.
“You didn’t see where they went? Even a general direction will do.”
Kalian asked, his voice calm—unexpectedly so. Vigo glanced up at him. Though Kalian’s face was pale, there was no discernible emotion. It was an odd sight, ill-matched to a situation where one might expect a man to be howling in rage.
“…I’m sorry.”
Jamie bowed deeply. Kalian gave a single nod, then issued his commands in a voice stripped of inflection.
“Vigo, I must follow Angela’s trail, so I’m handing over command of the reconnaissance unit to you. Carry out the mission here. Jamie, go to the nearest village for treatment, then return to the estate and deliver this message to the knights: as of now, the full force of the former Florence family’s knighthood is to prioritize the rescue of Lady Bilton above all else.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” “Yes, Your Grace.”
Both men answered in unison. Though the idea of Kalian leaving the mission site unsettled them, neither dared to object. There was nothing—nothing—that could take precedence over Angela’s safety in his eyes.
Vigo suddenly noticed Kalian’s hand, gripping the reins, was trembling. Of course he wasn’t fine. He was just pretending to be. Kalian was the type who would force himself to stay composed, knowing that only a clear head could bring her back.
“I leave the rest to you, Vigo.”
Vigo saluted sharply at Kalian’s words.
“Dry your tears, Jamie. What she chose to do was right. She will be found—unharmed. So do your part to make that happen.”
With that, Kalian turned and began retracing the path they had come. His pace was furious—blisteringly fast. It was the clearest sign that his heart had reached its breaking point.
She’ll be safe. If they meant to kill her, they wouldn’t have spared Jamie.
Kalian repeated the thought over and over, like a mantra, as he spurred his horse forward.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
