The Lady You Want to Kill 4. Felix Ember (4/39)

4. Felix Ember

Time passed neither too slowly nor too quickly. Once a week, Beatrice would have tea or a meal with the Duchess. Her eldest brother, Calrex, who was perpetually busy, would occasionally inquire about her well-being, while her second brother, Felix, often barged into her room whenever he was bored.

Despite his admission into the Imperial Knights, Felix seemed to have plenty of free time. ‘Doesn’t he have a country to protect?’ she often wondered as he showed up far too often for someone supposedly busy.

Beatrice sealed two letters, one for Florianne and the other for the Duke of Marques, and handed them to Laura. She then glanced at the man lounging comfortably on the sofa opposite her desk, sipping tea.

“Another day off?” she asked.

“I still train every day, but it’s hectic with the debutante ball preparations. There’s not much for me to do. I’m still low-ranking, after all.”

“I see.”

“Why, don’t you want me to visit?”

“You’d come regardless.”

“True. You know me well.”

It was true that Beatrice had spent many lifetimes dealing with Felix, but his overly simple thought process made it easy for anyone to figure him out after just a few hours together. Still, she refrained from pointing this out. Instead, she stood and sat on the sofa opposite him. Laura, having delivered the letters to another servant, poured Beatrice’s tea and set it before her.

As Beatrice calmly drank her tea, she felt Felix’s piercing gaze on her. He had a habit of showing up, talking about whatever was on his mind, staring intently at her for a while, and then leaving. She didn’t understand his behavior, but she found it easier to simply let it be.

“You really are a strange one,” he muttered.

“Am I?” she replied.

“I’ve heard bits and pieces from Mother, but I guess I’m too young to understand. You don’t seem at all like what she described.”

Beatrice quickly realized what he was referring to—the events surrounding the late Duke’s funeral. In front of the Duchess, she had presented herself as a misunderstood, timid youngest daughter, awkward with emotions and social interactions. It seemed Felix had heard all of it.

Setting down her teacup, she met Felix’s gaze with her own. Golden eyes stared at each other, hers calm and unyielding, his probing and insistent.

“You don’t have to believe it if you don’t want to,” she said.

“Well, look at that. You won’t even bother pretending in front of me? I’m offended.”

“Whether I pretend or not, you wouldn’t believe me anyway. Why waste the effort?”

Felix was determined to unearth something from her expression, but he couldn’t find anything hidden there. Beatrice rarely showed any emotion, and despite living in the same household, Felix knew almost nothing about her. It left him with little to go on in his attempts to uncover her secrets.

Felix knew for certain that Beatrice had been mistreated by the maids assigned to the separate annex. When the Duchess dismissed all the annex staff, their confessions had shocked even Felix and Calrex. The abuses ranged from sprinkling glass shards on her bed to placing insects in her food, embedding tacks in her slippers, and serving her spoiled meals. They had even locked her in a closet when she was younger. The sheer cruelty and persistence of their actions left Felix dumbfounded.

The Duchess seemed to believe Beatrice’s naturally timid personality had been shattered by the bullying. But Felix disagreed. Even before their father’s death, there had always been something odd about her.

Some children, it was said, were born with a cruel streak—those who felt no sympathy for the weak and sometimes derived pleasure from destruction. To Felix, Beatrice fit that description.

An old memory resurfaced. Beatrice had just turned six. At that time, the Duchess and her sons had not yet decided to resent her outright. Though they weren’t warm to her, they had resolved not to be cruel.

Beatrice, still young enough to toddle around on her short legs, had come into the library one day clutching a small stuffed rabbit someone had given her. Felix, engrossed in a book, noticed her presence. At the time, his curiosity about having a younger sister outweighed his feelings about his father’s betrayal.

He had called her over, sat her down, and even pulled out an old picture book he’d enjoyed when he was five.

“And so, the witch who tried to kill the princess was caught by the prince and punished,” he read aloud.

“Why was the witch punished?”

“You’re silly. I just read it to you—she was punished because she did bad things.”

“What kind of punishment did she get?”

“She was probably locked up and executed.”

“What’s ‘executed’?”

“Hmm, it means dying. Usually with a big sword.”

“So, if someone does bad things, they’re always executed?”

“Of course! His Imperial Majesty’s knights and the holy knights of the temple are really scary.”

“What if…”

Beatrice’s golden eyes, eerily identical to Felix’s, gleamed with curiosity as she looked at him. Her round face and large eyes made her seem endearing, and Felix briefly considered patting her head.

At the time, Felix thought that even though their mother didn’t like Beatrice, perhaps with time, they could all get along. As these thoughts filled his mind, the young girl’s dry voice reached his ears.

“What if no one finds out I did something bad?”

“What?”

“Then I wouldn’t be punished, right? If no one knows.”

Her wide eyes blinked slowly, the sound almost audible, as her long lashes fluttered. Felix, still a child himself, felt a strange unease creep up his spine. There was something disconcerting about the way her innocent face asked such a question, yet he couldn’t reconcile it with her apparent naivety.

Before he could respond, Beatrice pressed on.

“If hurting the princess is bad, does that mean it’s okay to hurt people who aren’t princesses?”

Young Felix couldn’t answer her question that day. It wasn’t fear exactly, but an unsettling sensation crawled up his legs like icy tendrils. Even at his age, Felix recognized the oddity of the moment. Had he thought such things when he was her age? He tried to recall but found his memories too vague.

Over time, as he watched his mother and brother grow increasingly distant from Beatrice, Felix began to think that his initial unease might not have been misplaced.

Beatrice’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present.

“You can think I’m strange if you want,” she said flatly.

“I suppose your story about asking the priest to kill you was a lie, too,” Felix accused.

Beatrice let out a sigh, the first she had ever released in his presence. The sound caught Felix off guard, silencing him momentarily.

She found this entire situation unbearably tedious. If only Felix could let things slide like their mother. Instead, his sharp memory and tenacious personality wouldn’t allow him to move on.

Beatrice didn’t mind being watched or scrutinized. What irritated her was Felix’s constant probing and his insistent attitude, as if daring her to convince him otherwise. If she could truly die, she wouldn’t bother with these tiresome charades.

But for reasons beyond her understanding, this cursed life trapped her in an endless loop, forcing her to endure the burdens of existence over and over again. Though she couldn’t voice it aloud, Beatrice still wished for death.

Even as she navigated this peaceful period of her life, determined to maintain good relations with her family, the desire to end it all gnawed at her constantly. If her death required a sacrifice, whether it was her brother sitting before her or half the world, she would make it without hesitation.

Her gaze fixed on Felix, cold and unwavering. Her golden eyes didn’t blink as they bore into his, conveying an indifference that chilled him to his core.

For the first time in his life, Felix encountered a look devoid of expectations or demands. Her pale face tilted slightly, expressionless, yet her eyes carried a glacial obsession.

Though he couldn’t fully grasp the depths of her desires, Felix sensed that her fixation revolved around the concept of death. The realization sent a chill through his fingertips.

“Yes,” she finally said, her voice empty.

Felix recognized the admission not as a denial of her desire for death but as a confirmation of its truth. Beatrice, however, was indifferent to his understanding.

She rose from her seat. Seeing no indication that Felix planned to leave, she decided it would be easier to leave herself. She had an appointment anyway, and there was no harm in letting him stay in her room.

“I have an engagement to attend. Stay here if you’d like,” she said curtly, leaving without waiting for a response.

As Beatrice exited with Laura trailing behind, the maid’s expression appeared unusually tense. Beatrice noticed but thought little of it.

 

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