But the idea didn’t fit. Beatrice didn’t act like someone who had suddenly acquired unnatural strength. She wielded her power with ease, confidence, and precision, as though it was as natural to her as breathing. There was no hesitation, no strain—just mastery.
Amanda’s thoughts turned pragmatic. If black magic users had short lifespans due to the strain on their bodies, perhaps this could be used to wrap up the case. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for noble families to quietly accept an official narrative that avoided deeper scrutiny, especially when it benefited all parties involved.
She mulled over how to frame the situation. The lack of evidence in the manor could work in their favor. If the investigators were to consider the possibility that the culprit had already succumbed to the effects of their magic, it might explain the absence of a suspect.
“Someone strong enough to do this wouldn’t live long,” Amanda murmured under her breath.
Her steps slowed as she reached the lower level of the manor. The investigators wouldn’t give up easily, but planting the seed of doubt could lead them to dismiss further inquiries. With enough subtle guidance, the truth would remain buried.
For Beatrice’s sake, and for their own, Amanda resolved to use every ounce of cunning she had. The investigators could chase ghosts if they wanted. All that mattered was protecting the one person who had given them a chance at vengeance—and survival.
* * *
Beatrice woke to the sound of knocking. She peered out from under her blanket just in time to see Laura opening the door. The room was pitch-black, making it obvious she’d slept for a long time.
Sliding out of bed like a snake shedding its skin, she stood and stretched briefly. Laura, having noticed her stirring, excused herself to the visitors at the door. She retrieved a shawl from the sofa and draped it over Beatrice’s shoulders before lighting the room.
Even as the sudden brightness filled the space, Beatrice’s expression remained neutral. Her gaze settled on the two men standing just outside the door. Both were familiar, though they seemed somewhat discomfited by the sight of her in her nightclothes. Their eyes darted around the room, refusing to settle on her.
With a silent wave, Beatrice gestured for them to enter and sat down on the sofa. Laura began tidying her hair, gently smoothing it back and pressing it lightly behind her ears.
“…What brings you here?” Beatrice’s voice was heavy with sleep, its roughness betraying her recent waking.
“The Imperial Third Order was asked to assist in the matter regarding the Count’s household,” Theodor began, his tone formal yet soft. “Commander Gildbet expressed concern for the ladies of the manor and asked us to check on you.”
“Have you already seen the Countess’s daughter?”
“Yes, we just returned. She remains bedridden, so I cast some restorative magic. I hope it helps, though I’m not certain.”
“It will,” Beatrice replied calmly. “Her physical condition has deteriorated due to stress. The magic will aid her recovery.”
Beatrice felt a dryness in her throat and gestured for Laura to fetch some cold tea. Laura nodded, stepped outside briefly, and left the door slightly ajar as she went to retrieve it.
“I understand why you’ve come,” Beatrice continued, turning back to the men. “But I don’t require restorative magic.”
“Understood,” Theodor replied, though his voice carried a hesitance that Beatrice didn’t miss. Francis, standing silently with his hands behind his back, also seemed uneasy.
Beatrice regarded them both, her golden eyes glinting with quiet observation. Their unease didn’t particularly interest her, so she said nothing further, waiting for them to speak.
Theodor and Francis exchanged a subtle glance. They had already agreed to keep Francis’s visions of Beatrice a secret. Whether the vision signaled her own death or a danger related to the murder investigation, it was imperative to ensure her safety for the next twelve days—the window during which his visions typically unfolded.
The challenge was how to justify their protective stance without raising suspicion. Explaining Francis’s ability outright was an option, but there was no guarantee Beatrice or her household would believe them.
Theodor had reluctantly settled on a lie, though the moral weight of it lingered heavily in his conscience. He took a deep breath and leaned forward slightly.
“Lady Beatrice, I’m not sure how to explain this properly, but…” he hesitated, gauging her reaction.
“Speak plainly,” Beatrice said, her tone flat.
“You are in danger,” Theodor declared.
Beatrice’s expression barely shifted, save for the slightest arch of a brow. Her eyes, however, seemed to ask: ‘What nonsense is this?’
“Forgive me if this sounds abrupt,” Theodor continued, “but the circumstances surrounding the murder at the Count’s estate are more complex than they seem. We have reason to believe you may be targeted next.”
“And what reason is that?” Beatrice asked, her tone calm but sharp.
“Certain patterns in the crime suggest the perpetrator may have more than one target,” Theodor lied smoothly. “Given the Countess’s daughter’s association with you, as well as the timing of your presence here, it’s possible—”
“Possible,” Beatrice interrupted, her voice steady but cold. “You’re basing this on possibility?”
Theodor hesitated but held his ground. “It’s a precaution, my lady. We mean only to ensure your safety.”
Beatrice leaned back into the sofa, her gaze narrowing slightly. “And how do you propose to protect me from this ‘possibility?’”
Francis, who had been silent until now, stepped forward cautiously. “We’ll remain nearby, my lady. Should anything happen, we’ll be here to intervene immediately.”
Beatrice tilted her head, studying him. She didn’t trust their explanation but sensed no malice behind their intentions. After a long pause, she shrugged lightly.
“Do as you wish,” she said dismissively. “But do not expect me to adjust my behavior for a danger you cannot even prove exists.”
Theodor and Francis exchanged another glance, this time with subtle relief. It wasn’t a complete acceptance, but at least she hadn’t outright refused their presence.
Laura returned moments later with a tray of tea, placing a glass in Beatrice’s hand. She sipped it slowly, her golden eyes flickering with faint amusement as the two men took their leave.
Once the door closed behind them, Laura asked, “Should I prepare anything, my lady?”
“No,” Beatrice replied, a faint smirk curling her lips. “Let them play their little game. It might be entertaining.”
* * *
Back in the Ember Duchy’s estate, Beatrice found herself surrounded by a mixture of relief and suspicion. As soon as they arrived, Agatha Ember came rushing down the grand staircase, her usual composed demeanor replaced by palpable concern. She fussed over Beatrice, circling her and checking for any sign of injury.
“Are you hurt? Did anything happen?” Agatha asked, her hands hovering protectively over Beatrice’s shoulders.
Beatrice, unperturbed by the whirlwind of attention, calmly replied, “I’m fine, Duchess. You worry too much.”
From the corner of her eye, she caught Theodor’s soft smile as he watched the interaction. His expression carried a peculiar mix of warmth and calculation. It seemed he was already planning how to approach Agatha about the fabricated threat of black magic.
As Agatha led Theodor away to discuss the situation, Francis remained steadfastly by Beatrice’s side. Despite his seemingly stoic demeanor, there was an unmistakable flicker of genuine concern in his eyes.
“You should rest, Lady Beatrice,” Francis suggested gently.
“Resting won’t change anything,” she replied, her tone sharp and dismissive.
Francis pressed on, his resolve steady. “The manor has capable knights, but if someone connected to black magic attacks, my presence could make a difference. Allow me to stay close.”
Beatrice stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. His concern seemed genuine, but she couldn’t shake the suspicion that he, like Theodor, was hiding something.
“Do as you please,” she said finally, her voice tinged with indifference. She turned and began walking toward her chambers, fully expecting Francis to follow.
Once inside her room, the golden glow of the late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the elegant furnishings. Beatrice sat on a chaise near the window, her mind preoccupied with the puzzling chain of events. Francis took up a position by the door, standing at attention but not intruding.
The silence between them stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Beatrice sipped her tea, watching Francis from the corner of her eye. His stance was formal, his gaze forward, yet there was a subtle tension in his posture—an alertness that betrayed his unease.
“Why do you care so much?” she asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.
Francis blinked, caught off guard. “Pardon me, my lady?”
“You act as though you’re worried about me,” she said, setting down her cup. Her voice was calm but carried an edge of skepticism. “But I can’t tell if it’s genuine or if you’re merely following orders.”
Francis hesitated, clearly weighing his response. Finally, he said, “I’ve seen things—visions—that lead me to believe you’re in danger. That’s why I’m here. To protect you.”
“Visions,” Beatrice repeated, her golden eyes narrowing slightly.
“Yes,” he admitted, his voice steady but guarded. “They’re… difficult to explain. But they’ve proven accurate in the past.”
Beatrice studied him, her expression unreadable. She didn’t fully believe him, but she could tell he wasn’t lying outright. If anything, his words seemed more like half-truths, carefully chosen to obscure something deeper.
“And what did these visions show you?” she asked.
Francis faltered for a moment, his gaze flickering away before returning to hers. “A future where you’re hurt—or worse,” he said softly.
Beatrice leaned back in her chair, her gaze piercing. “I don’t need protection,” she said firmly. “And I don’t fear whatever it is you think is coming.”
Francis didn’t argue. Instead, he lowered his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Even so, I will stay close. Just in case.”
The conversation ended there, the room falling back into silence. Beatrice returned her attention to the view outside, her thoughts swirling with questions she couldn’t yet answer.
Was Francis truly concerned for her, or was he another piece in Theodor’s elaborate game? And what exactly was their end goal?
One thing was certain: she would find out. And when she did, they would regret underestimating her.
* * *
Theodor and Agatha’s conversation concluded with a surprising twist: instead of both men departing, only Theodor left the Ember estate. At the dinner table, Agatha explained the situation to Beatrice, who listened with her usual detached expression.
“Francis will remain by your side as a temporary bodyguard until Theodor discovers a method to dispel the mark,” Agatha said with concern.
“How troubling… Black magic that even the imperial mages cannot detect,” Agatha added, her brow furrowed.
Beatrice sipped her tea calmly, her tone neutral.
“I see.”
‘Of course they couldn’t detect it—because it’s not there.’
She kept the thought to herself, watching Francis, who stood a respectful distance behind her, hands clasped behind his back. His presence was suffocating.
He might appear to care for her safety now, but he had been the very person who had taken her life repeatedly in her past regressions. His proximity was unnerving, and her displeasure simmered just beneath the surface.
Agatha, noticing none of this, continued with a reassuring smile. “We’ll be strengthening the estate’s security as well, so there’s no need to worry, dear.”
“I’m not worried,” Beatrice replied smoothly. “I trust the knights will do their job well.”
“Of course, they will. But I’ve also decided it’s time for you to have a proper personal knight. I know you’ve refused before, but with the circumstances being what they are, you can’t continue to go without one.”
Beatrice’s lack of a personal knight was entirely her own doing. She had always refused, finding them to be nothing but a hindrance to her freedom. However, Agatha’s maternal worry seemed to have reached its peak, and Beatrice saw no easy way to argue against her without raising further suspicion.
“I’ll consider it,” she said diplomatically, though her tone made it clear she had no real intention of doing so.
As they continued their tea, her brothers arrived at the dining room, their expressions clouded with concern. Having been informed of the situation by Agatha, they both stared at Beatrice with a mixture of alarm and protectiveness.
The sudden shift in their attitudes felt cloying. Beatrice found herself repressing the urge to scoff.
‘How hypocritical,’ she thought, watching the pity in their eyes. Their attention, though born of genuine worry now, felt misplaced and far too late to undo the past.
Francis, meanwhile, remained a silent observer. He watched over Beatrice as if she were a fragile figure who might crumble at any moment. His gaze, though soft and seemingly well-meaning, grated on her nerves.
Theodor’s ploy, whatever it was, had managed to entangle her in a web of fabricated danger and false sympathy. Beatrice’s only solace was the thought that this ordeal would eventually come to an end.
Her voice was calm but carried a subtle edge as she addressed Agatha. “I hope this situation resolves soon. It’s tiresome to be the center of such unnecessary concern.”
Agatha, misunderstanding her tone, reached across the table to pat Beatrice’s hand reassuringly. “I know it’s overwhelming, dear, but everything will be fine. We’ll ensure your safety.”
Beatrice gave a faint, polite smile in response. Internally, her patience wore thinner with each passing moment. All she wanted was for this fabricated “threat” to dissipate so she could return to her own plans—whatever they might lead to.
* * *
Late at night, Lily and the other four maids gathered secretly in Lily’s room. They shared every detail they had heard, either from their interrogations or while serving the knights, piecing together the information they had collected.
“So, they’ve concluded that the count was killed by someone who uses black magic?” Lily asked.
Amanda nodded. “That’s right. They think it was someone who used black magic to enhance their body.”
“Samantha, that ‘marking magic’ you mentioned—does it actually exist?” Lily inquired further.
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