Chapter 12
The cryptic words that seemed to tighten around Tilda’s throat made her heart pound. At the same time, she felt his gaze, as if waiting for her reaction.
When she remained silent, he asked, “You don’t seem too concerned, even though your opponent is such a woman.”
“Being afraid won’t change anything.”
“Impressive.”
She looked at him as she couldn’t fully grasp his reasons for helping her while simultaneously wanting her to fall. But one thing was certain—she didn’t want to react the way he expected. It seemed like he enjoyed provoking her.
“How long can I stay in this mansion?”
“As long as you like,” Kalus answered easily.
“But if anyone finds out I’m here, won’t that be troublesome for you?”
“The servants here are all Turin people who owe me favors. No secrets will leak.”
“And what about others who visit the estate?”
“Rare. Even if they come, they’ll only stay in the main reception room. As long as you don’t show yourself there, you’ll be fine.”
Tilda nodded.
“…I’ll stay a little longer then.”
“And after that?”
“…”
After a moment of hesitation, she spoke.
“I’ll go to the Vatican.”
—
Tilda stayed at Kalus’ mansion, checking the newspapers daily. After a week, when they couldn’t find her body, the police declared her dead. People were abuzz with the news.
Even without stepping outside, she could feel the empire’s shock.
Kalus didn’t mention it directly, but she knew the whispers about her were spreading, especially at the temples. She couldn’t help but wonder:
‘Does my grandfather know about this?’
If he heard she had died, what kind of expression would he make?
He had always looked at her with cold eyes, but maybe he’d feel a little sadness this time.
Tilda smiled bitterly. Since he was on a distant continent, there was a good chance he hadn’t heard yet.
If even her grandfather didn’t grieve, how many people would truly mourn her death? Most people would probably just be curious about the reason for her disappearance like they were chasing after a piece of gossip to liven up their dull lives.
She watched her own death unfold through the newspapers.
“Who died?”
The question came from Comly, who had been playing nearby. His wide eyes looked up at her.
Tilda had grown quite close to the Edzel siblings during her stay. Comly, always chattering away, was as cute as a sparrow, his innocence refreshing like morning dew. Just watching him run around brightened her mood.
She nodded. “It seems someone has.”
“My sister says death is a sad thing…”
“Comly, it’s not polite to bring up such topics during tea time,” Stella scolded, setting a tea set on the table. She took the newspaper from Tilda and began pouring hot water into the teapot.
He had lost interest in the topic of death and now was gazing longingly at the cookies on the table. Tilda, not being fond of sweets, pushed the plate of cookies towards him.
Stella, pouring the tea, explained, “Today’s tea is rooibos. I noticed you haven’t been sleeping well, so I prepared something mild. It’s even safe for pregnant women.”
“Thank you.”
Tilda had fully dropped her guard around Stella by the third day of her stay. That night, when Kalus had been away, she had fallen ill again from the aftereffects of the poison. Stella had nursed her through the night with such care and dedication that it became impossible to distrust her, despite knowing she was of the Turin race.
Tilda slowly started to accept Kalus’ words. Perhaps the idea that the Turin were an evil race hated by the goddess had been a long-standing prejudice.
Spending time with the Edzel siblings helped slowly heal the ragged edges of her heart.
Though Kalus often still managed to unsettle her. But she had grown used to it, and no longer blushed or got upset every time.
“Though I can’t ignore him completely…”
Click.
As the tea time ended, Kalus entered the room. Stella, sensing the mood, quickly left with Comly.
Kalus smiled as he spoke. “You look like you’re having fun.”
“Children are lovely.”
“Children, huh?”
“…What about it?”
“So, does that mean you don’t find me lovely, despite my devotion?”
She barely managed to suppress the frown that threatened to form at his shameless question.
“You clearly don’t know the meaning of ‘lovely’.”
Her tone was icy as she retorted.
Kalus, undeterred, laughed heartily. She had gotten somewhat used to his invasive “healing” methods, but his shameless attitude was something she couldn’t quite adjust to.
“Do you enjoy teasing me?”
“I simply enjoy talking with you.”
He casually tossed out his flirtatious remark.
She wondered how many women he’d seduced like this, but then gave up, realizing it was a pointless thought. She looked at him seriously.
“I have a question.”
“What is it?”
“Can you change my appearance?”
“It’s possible.”
He answered. After a pause, she got to the point.
“Then change my hair and eye color.”
“If you tell me why, I’ll do it.”
Of course, he wouldn’t agree without knowing the reason.
He constantly monitored her, even checking in on her late at night just to see her face. Despite their agreement, he didn’t seem to trust her at all.
‘Even though we’ve made a close deal, there’s no trust between us,’ she thought, frustrated. Still, she answered him straightforwardly.
“I want to visit the Belmont estate.”
“The Belmont estate?”
“It’s a place I can never return to.”
Once she entered the Vatican, she would never be able to go back to the Belmont estate. She also had no desire to step foot in a place where Aclea lived.
That estate would become Windson and Aclea’s stronghold. Just thinking of them laughing and enjoying their time there made her avoid even looking in its direction.
But still, the estate held memories of her mother, ones that remained faint yet precious.
She wanted to revisit the memories she had in the estate before Windson moved in. With the fainting spells mostly gone, she figured a few hours outside would be fine.
“I won’t be able to go inside,” she said.
“Seeing it from the outside will be enough,” she added.
Kalus nodded and changed her hair and eye color. Her silver hair turned into curly blonde locks, and her blue eyes became a light hazel. It was a common appearance, the kind you could see on any street.
“You suit silver hair and blue eyes better,” Kalus remarked, stroking his chin as if displeased.
She didn’t respond, instead retrieving a robe from the wardrobe. As she prepared to leave, he added, “You’re not fully healed yet, so don’t stay out too long.”
Tilda paused, looking back at him. He seemed a bit wary, as if concerned she might not return.
‘Does he think I’ll break the contract and run away?’ she wondered.
With his arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe, Kalus gave her a warning. “If you’re late, I’ll come get you.”
—
Tilda left the mansion in the carriage Kalus had prepared, glancing back at the estate as they rode away. Despite the deep secret it held—being entirely staffed by the Turin people—the mansion appeared peaceful and tranquil from a distance.
After an hour of riding, the capital’s bustling streets came into view.
‘I didn’t even know where Kalus’ estate was,’ she thought. Despite being a high priest with a rank equivalent to a duke, Kalus didn’t own any land. Instead, he was given a mansion, one of the largest available, which subtly reflected his status and influence.
As the streets outside the carriage grew busier, Tilda instinctively pulled her hood tighter over her head. Even though no one would recognize her, she still felt a little nervous. Mustering her courage, she lifted her head to look outside.
While her heart was ravaged by an inner storm, the world outside remained calm and unchanged.
‘I wonder, if my life had been ordinary, could I have lived as peacefully as those people?’
She knew it was a pointless question, but bitterness filled within her, making her situation feel all the more unfair. The tears she had fought so hard to hold back began to well up, and she quickly forced herself to stop thinking about it.
“We’ve arrived,” the coachman announced.
The carriage stopped a short distance from the Belmont estate, in a nearby village. Tilda carefully stepped out, her heart calming at the familiar scent of the grass. She looked around, deciding to head to the hill behind the estate first. The hill, with its beautiful field of reeds stretching across the top, was a place of fond memories.
As she gazed at the familiar reed field, unchanged after all these years, memories of playing hide-and-seek with her mother came rushing back. The sight of the field bathed in a golden hue at sunset had always been breathtaking.
After reminiscing for a while, Tilda descended the hill and approached the stream near the estate. The area was a bit noisy—some of the estate’s maids were by the water, doing laundry. Not wanting to be seen, she hid herself.
Just as she was about to leave, she overheard a conversation that made her pause.
“Hey, do you think Lady Tilda really died?”
One of the maids was talking about her.
“Who knows? Maybe she ran away because the shame of the divorce was too much for her.”
“Well… maybe that would be for the best. The empire is about to be stirred up with talk about the late Duke anyway.”
The late Duke…?
Tilda, who had been on the verge of leaving, froze in place at the mention of her father.
