SHORT CHAPTER
The Lady You Want to Kill 5. Calrex Ember (5/39)
5. Calrex Ember
April came and went in the blink of an eye. Regardless of how quickly time passed, Beatrice was enjoying a life more peaceful than any she had experienced before.
In that time, Felix, somehow cowed, came to apologize to her; she tried on the gown personally delivered by the designer, discussed its design with her partner, the Marquess; and hosted Floria at the manor a few more times for tea.
As the debutante ball drew closer, so did the time for Beatrice to set her plans into motion. Yet she let time flow with calm indifference, unmoved by the passing days.
She thought about the upcoming debutante ball. This year, the seventeen-year-old imperial princess was making her debut, drawing nearly all attention to herself, leaving little room for others to shine—except for one.
Beatrice set her teacup down and lightly tapped the table. She was seated by the window, drinking tea at Laura’s suggestion.
The weather was unmistakably spring. With the windows open, warm sunlight streamed in, carried by a gentle breeze. The garden’s trees and flowers were vibrant and full of life—a sharp contrast to the woman gazing at them.
This debutante ball was one where Beatrice needed to stand out, and for a singular reason: the hidden library said to be somewhere within the imperial palace. Accessing it might require marriage to a member of the imperial family.
Conveniently, the twenty-five-year-old crown prince remained unmarried. In fact, given his status, he ought to have had a crown princess by now. Yet, for reasons unknown, he was still without even a fiancée.
Though the prince was rumored to engage in various flirtations, no one could definitively name a lover. Such affairs often ended after a single night.
Over the long years, Beatrice had experienced marriage multiple times. She had never borne a child—not out of inability, but because she simply had no desire to. Though her husbands had tried to coax or threaten her, none had succeeded. It was as if a lion had been pitted against a rabbit—there was no chance of her losing.
But to secure the crown prince, bearing his child might be the most straightforward strategy. She had no intention of loving him, and it did not matter whether he loved her. The real issue was the degree of favor, which determined power within the imperial family.
Who did the crown prince ultimately marry? Beatrice tried to recall as she glanced down at her teacup.
Two women would capture attention at this debutante ball: the imperial princess and the baron’s daughter, Seattleyn. Despite her lowly status, Seattleyn’s breathtaking beauty and her renowned partner ensured she drew a share of the spotlight.
Eventually, Seattleyn would marry the crown prince. And her partner for this debutante ball?
“Francis.”
That man, without fail, would lead Beatrice to her death. Her soft murmur caught Laura’s attention, but she simply fixed her gaze on the teacup, as if she had said nothing.
Francis was another of her accursed ties, like the Marquess. Just as Carnarvon Marquess had unnerved her with his unfamiliar demeanor, she wondered if Francis would seem different this time.
That man, with his emotionless face, brimming only with disdain and loathing—how would he look at her during the ball? Beatrice gestured for another sip of tea, and Laura quietly cleared the table.
Her thoughts, trailing one after the other, were momentarily halted by the breeze drifting in through the window. Everything felt futile—so tiresome and meaningless.
When would she finally die? With yellow eyes empty to the point of appearing pale, she looked at the world. Such thoughts left her utterly drained.
Though it was still midday, Beatrice changed clothes, swallowed one of the sleeping pills she kept on hand, and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over her head. Ignoring Laura’s concerned gaze, she shut her eyes. These bouts of lethargy came without warning, but she knew they would pass.
Beatrice didn’t wake until evening. Not of her own accord—one of the maids summoned her for dinner with the duchess.
Her golden eyes opened slowly in the dim light, momentarily glowing like those of a beast before dulling to human clarity. Rising from bed, Beatrice asked Laura for a shawl to drape over her nightgown.
While such attire would typically be inappropriate even among family, no one in the house dared to criticize her. The duchess’s silence on the matter ensured that the sons and staff followed suit.
Following Laura, Beatrice, still groggy, arrived at the dining room to find the three others already seated. From their appearance, it seemed they had just finished their respective tasks for the day.
“Apologies for being late,” she said.
“No, you’re right on time,” Agatha replied.
Dragging her feet, Beatrice took her seat. Calrex frowned slightly, and Agatha studied her with mild concern.
“Are you feeling unwell, Beatrice?”
“No, not particularly. I just feel like this from time to time—nothing to worry about.”
“From time to time? You seem drained of energy.”
“Just…”
Beatrice felt a twinge of irritation at having to explain herself. In the past, no one asked her such questions, sparing her the trouble. Now, however, she was forced to speak, which she found rather unpleasant.
But to maintain the image of a gentle, well-mannered youngest daughter, she had no choice but to answer.
“Sometimes, I just don’t want to do anything,” she said, leaning back in her chair and staring at the table. “Not eating, not even breathing.”
As soon as her words settled, the door opened, and the first dishes were brought in. The timing was awkward, preventing anyone from pressing her further.
Agatha had already been somewhat concerned after hearing that Beatrice had spent the afternoon sleeping. It reminded her of a friend who had experienced postpartum depression a few years ago. That friend, now much better thanks to her husband and therapy, had described feeling utterly drained during that time.
Her moods had swung wildly, sometimes becoming violent, and after spending all her energy, she would sleep for days on end.
Beatrice’s tendency to sleep longer than usual was something Agatha had noticed. Even for a noblewoman with little to do, sleeping nearly twelve hours a day was excessive. Most of her waking hours were spent gazing blankly out the window if she had no tasks to occupy her. Anyone observing her would recognize that something was amiss.
The family ate quietly. Beatrice mechanically placed food in her mouth as though it were a duty. Her two brothers occasionally cast confused glances her way, but these were intercepted by Agatha’s pointed look.
“Take her somewhere tomorrow,”her gaze conveyed clearly.
Both brothers understood their mother’s intentions, but their faces betrayed their reluctance. A silent battle of who would take on the responsibility began. Felix, still uneasy after his recent misstep with Beatrice, desperately emphasized his own busyness, hoping to shift the burden onto Calrex.
Though his protests were unconvincing, his fervor seemed to work. Calrex eventually sighed, conceding. With the hectic start of the year behind him, carving out half a day wasn’t impossible.
“Beatrice,” he said.
“Yes?”
Her response was prompt, as always. She only hesitated when she needed time to consider her answer. Calrex, his thoughts written plainly on his face, hesitated before continuing.
“How about we go horseback riding tomorrow?”
Horseback riding. Beatrice thought about it. She was well aware of her sluggish state and initially intended to agree quickly, but even this felt tiresome. As her silence stretched, Agatha intervened.
“Yes, that sounds lovely. The weather’s been so pleasant lately—it’ll do you good.”
With the duchess’s encouragement, Beatrice finally nodded once but added something unexpected.
⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡ ⋆
☕ Hi, friends! Your support means the world to me. If you’d like, you can buy me a coffee here: Click the link on the image! 💖
Thank you for keeping me inspired! 🌸
⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆
