Episode 80

Rosalind leaned back on the sofa, tilting her teacup to her lips. Aside from a slight deepening in her complexion, she looked nearly the same as she had the last time we parted.

“Your complexion has improved.”

She noted in a brusque tone, though her gaze was warm.

Knowing her personality—gruff yet caring—I responded with a soft smile.

“Running here so early in the morning, you must be quite anxious about something.”

Rosalind remarked knowingly. I nodded in agreement.

“Well, of course, you’d be curious. I understand,” she said, her smile playful and inscrutable as always.

“So, how should I start?”

She rested her chin on her hand thoughtfully.

“How can I explain this in a way that won’t bring retribution from fate to either of us… or the duke?”

Her eyes darkened with genuine contemplation, and I waited patiently, unable to speak or rush her. Rosalind closed her eyes for a moment, deeply engrossed in thought.

***

Rosalind’s first encounter with Duke Rodore had happened before Evelyn left the duke’s estate. He was an unwelcome guest who arrived in the dead of night—the kind of deep night that even mice would be asleep. His visit to a lady’s room was startlingly rude, yet he had no hesitation. He picked the lock to enter, knocking on the door of her room where she slept.

‘Is this what it means to be a noble?’

She wondered, finding it absurdly ironic that he chose to be “polite” enough to knock after breaking into her home.

‘What kind of person does this?’

That was Rosalind’s first thought upon seeing the duke.

“There’s something I’d like to discuss. It would be best if you prepared yourself and joined me,” he said coolly, his casual demeanor making the situation even more bizarre.

‘Am I dreaming?’

Rosalind, still rubbing her sleepy eyes as she pulled on her clothes, tried to process what had happened. She didn’t remember opening the door for him, yet somehow he was in her house. And now, after disturbing her from sleep, he told her to get ready and come out. It was surreal.

The only reason she hadn’t used teleportation magic was that she wanted to confirm this absurd reality with her own eyes.

In her oversized cardigan and slippers, Rosalind shuffled toward the kitchen, where light leaked under the door. The duke sat there, calm as if he had visited this place many times before. In front of him was a steaming teacup, and an identical one had been placed across from him.

Rosalind sensed immediately that it was for her. She pinched the back of her hand, and it stung—proving it wasn’t a dream.

The reality of the situation only deepened Rosalind’s unease. As if sensing her hesitation, Igon gestured with his chin to the seat across from him.

“Don’t even think about running. Sit down.”

What was this? This was not just the overwhelming presence of a high-ranking noble; there was something strangely familiar in the aura of Duke Rodore, as if they were of the same kind.

“…To what do I owe the honor of your visit at this late hour?” Rosalind asked respectfully, though there was a subtle edge to her tone.

Igon let out a short laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Just sit down, and skip the polite formalities.”

Though mysterious in many ways, Rosalind obeyed and took the seat across from him. Still groggy from being woken up, she took a sip of the tea he’d brewed, hoping it would help her wake up. She recognized the tea leaves—they were a rare type she’d kept carefully stowed away in her cupboard. How had he even known to find them?

Igon held his cup with a graceful ease, lifting it to his lips as though he were well acquainted with her home. His brows lifted slightly as he inhaled the tea’s aroma, his gaze, almost otherworldly, fixed on her.

Then he spoke words that were nearly impossible to believe.

“You may not remember, but we’ve met several times before. I’ve come to this house unofficially more than a few times.”

“What?”

Her voice rose, startled, as she questioned him.

“We’ve had conversations like this before. Since I don’t want to waste any more time, let’s get to the point. There’s something you need to do at this juncture.”

He said, reaching beneath the table and lifting something heavy, setting it down in front of her.

“Take this. It’s your payment.”

Inside the pouch were gold coins, enough to make anyone’s eyes widen with greed. But despite her love for money, Rosalind knew better than to accept a sum whose origins she couldn’t understand. Her hands, resting on her lap, trembled slightly as she restrained herself from bowing and saying, “Thank you!” on the spot.

“What exactly… is it that you want me to do?”

“Protect the one who ran away.”

It wasn’t hard to guess who he meant by “the one who ran away.” Few people were known to both Rosalind and the Duke. Evelyn Rodore—breathtakingly beautiful, the tragic young lady of the Rodore family, and possibly the only person in the world this man truly cared for.

“…Is this something I can refuse?” she asked cautiously.

A low chuckle escaped Igon’s lips as he shook his head.

“No, you can’t.”

A sigh slipped from her lips as he leaned back in his chair, muttering quietly.

“Refuse, and you’ll die.”

His words were ambiguous. At first, they sounded like a threat on her life, yet somehow…

“And I’m tired of hearing the same answer over and over again.”

A hint of weariness, something unique to those who had lived through countless repeated lives, surfaced in his tone. ‘Is this the third time? Or perhaps even more? We’re both living the same life repeatedly.’

It would explain his vague words and careful stops, as if he were conscious of some binding fate.

“Sick to death of it,” he muttered.

He reached under the table once more, this time pulling out a dagger, which he placed on the table beside the pouch.

“Make your choice. I detest wasting time, so I’d appreciate it if you could decide before the tea cools.”

His smooth tone felt almost musical, yet his gaze remained unwaveringly intense. The threat was clear; if she so much as shook her head, that dagger would be at her throat. Before the tea cools? Looking at the cup, Rosalind realized the tea had already lost its steam.

Her gaze lingered on the cooling tea for a moment before she finally spoke.

“I’ll do it.”

She replied. It wasn’t a difficult task, the reward was generous, and the young woman in question still had much of her life ahead of her.

A faint smile crossed Igon’s face—the first she’d seen since he’d arrived uninvited into her home.

“Good,” he said, suddenly extending his hand.

Though she knew she shouldn’t, Rosalind found herself with no choice but to accept his hand.

“I’m counting on you,” he said.

She tried to suppress a smile in response, but her face remained stiff, unable to show any genuine warmth.