Chapter 1
“Beloved young master.”
In his childhood, Lionel Bianque—the young heir of the ducal house—was more often called by that embarrassingly sweet nickname than by actual name.
As the only successor of a prestigious house where children were rare, he carried the weight of countless expectations from birth—and he met those expectations with ease.
“The young duke must be a once-in-a-millennium genius! To think he mastered not only the Imperial language but also foreign languages and various fields of study so quickly…”
The finest instructors handpicked for young Master Lionel all sang praises of his brilliance in unison.
“Honestly, I’m not sure there’s anything more I can teach him.”
Even his swordsmanship master—a former commander of the Imperial Guard—was constantly amazed by the boy’s extraordinary talent.
The young duke also showed exceptional skill in administrative matters. When he reorganized the capital of the duchy to prevent the spread of an epidemic that had originated in the Empire, he was only eleven years old.
Not even having undergone his coming-of-age ceremony, the young duke was, in today’s words… what was it again? Oh, right. A “cheat character.”
But when someone is too perfect, there’s bound to be backlash.
Rumors began to surface that he was a potential candidate for the imperial throne. To prevent such dangerous whispers from spreading beyond the duchy, the Duke and Duchess took extra precautions.
Yet despite their efforts, it didn’t take long for Lionel to become renowned throughout the Empire. The reason for his fame, however, was none other than…
‘Urgent: Seeking Portrait of Duke Bianque. Name your price. Will pay top value.’
It was because of his dazzling beauty, so radiant he was called the incarnation of the Sun God.
The day after he attended his first imperial ball, the capital’s plazas were plastered with flyers requesting a portrait of the young duke.
“If you’re not seeing anyone, may I correspond with you?”
“When can I see you again? I heard your schedule in the capital is packed—could you invite me to the duchy next time?”
From noble ladies his age to heads of noble families, he was relentlessly pursued by attention the entire time he stayed in the capital.
Anyone else would have found it annoying, but the kind young duke always greeted people with a smile.
But after that day, the “beloved young master” became an entirely different person.
“They really ought to tell us what ‘that day’ was. How ridiculously unhelpful.”
A young woman—perhaps still a girl—let out a sigh full of irritation as she absentmindedly flipped through the pages.
But to know your enemy is to win every battle. If she wanted to understand him, she’d have to endure a bit of annoyance.
Brushing some dust off the diary’s edge, the red-haired woman continued reading.
“Kill them.”
Those were the words that the now-adult Lionel uttered habitually. ‘Kill them.’ Those two indifferent words took countless lives.
“If only Lord Lionel would smile innocently again, just once.”
With that futile wish, the diary ended. Atalante closed the worn diary with a soft sigh.
So that tyrant once smiled like an angel in his youth? Even a passing dog would laugh at that.
Scoffing, she took a sip of pink-colored tea.
Berique tea—said to help with fertility. Though she had absolutely no intention of having children, Atalante had no qualms about drinking a tea so obviously meant for that purpose.
It takes two to make a sound, after all. With no physical relationship, there was no way she’d get pregnant.
“I went through all that trouble to sneak this out of Lionel’s study, and it’s barely worth it.”
Clicking her tongue in mild annoyance, Atalante rested her chin in her hand and looked out at the well-kept garden.
Roses blooming everywhere matched the color of her red hair—it was quite a sight. But unlike the beautiful scenery, Atalante’s mood was far from pleasant.
Today marked exactly one month since she had become the Duchess and moved into House Bianque’s estate.
Which meant—it had also been over a month since she’d last held a weapon.
The hand confined in a pair of delicately laced gloves felt unbearably empty. Revolver, musket, rifle—it didn’t matter. She just wanted to fire a gun. Just once.
Making do with a substitute, Atalante stretched out her arm and aimed her finger at a bird perched on a tree.
“Bang.”
Though her finger-gun was aimed with perfect precision, the bird only tilted its head before leisurely flying away. As expected. No bullets were going to fly from her fingertip.
She let out a sigh heavy enough to crack the earth when a familiar scent tickled her nose.
A thick fragrance that overwhelmed all the rarest of floral scents… There was only one man in the world, as far as Atalante knew, who smelled like that.
“My lady.”
‘Of course,’ she thought, turning toward the voice.
Brilliant silver hair shimmered in the sunlight, dazzling her eyes to the point it almost hurt to look.
“Atalante.”
Looking at her needlessly dazzling husband, Atalante squinted on instinct.
“Stop testing my hearing. My ears work just fine. Why do you always call me twice?”
Though she grumbled irritably, her husband—Lionel Bianque, the Grand Duke—smiled radiantly as if he hadn’t just been scolded.
“Because I love both calling you ‘my lady’ and saying your name.”
“…What?”
“No matter how many times I say them, it’s never enough. Both the title ‘my lady,’ which is too good for me, and the lovely name ‘Atalante.’”
He whispered sweetly, lowering his head to meet her gaze. Then, once more, he gave her a deep, warm smile.
Beneath his sky-colored eyes, a small beauty mark on his cheek stood out.
His features were so strikingly beautiful that one could forget he even had a mole there. But in many ways, Lionel was far too pale.
And that was the color Atalante hated most. She preferred the pitch black of things like guns.
With a sunken voice, Atalante pressed her index finger against his perfectly shaped forehead and warned:
“I told you not to say cringey lines like that.”
“What exactly was cringey? Tell me and I’ll fix it right away, my lady.”
He even remembered to add “Atalante” at the end, looking up at his wife with a face full of apology.
‘That part right there.’
Atalante swallowed her retort and glanced at the empty seat across from her—a silent cue for him to sit.
Without missing a beat, Lionel sat exactly where she indicated and looked up at her with sparkling eyes, like a dog waiting for its master’s praise.
‘Even if you look at me with those twinkling eyes, I feel nothing.’
“I’ve told you before, and I’ll say it again: everything you say makes me cringe.”
It was her way of saying ‘don’t talk to me.’ But the duke didn’t seem fazed at all and responded with an easy, “I see.”
“Ah.”
Then, suddenly, he let out a strange sound and started waving his hands around.
‘What the hell is he doing now?’
1. He pointed to himself with his index finger.
2. He opened his palm and pointed to Atalante.
3. He curled both index fingers and touched his thumbs together.
4. He turned his palms and made a large circle in the air.
Repeating this mysterious series of gestures in front of her, Lionel irritated her just as much as his usual nonsense did.
‘How can everything he does be so aggravating?’ She was almost impressed by his consistency.
Watching him continue to move his lips and wave his hands, Atalante eventually gave in with a sigh.
“Just say it.”
As soon as she gave permission, Lionel opened his mouth as if he’d been waiting all day.
“I love you, very much.”
“…Sh—”
Atalante barely stopped herself from swearing outright.
The Grand Duke of Bianque, foolishly smiling and endlessly confessing his love to his wife—it was so out of character it bordered on absurd. No wonder people had started whispering that he’d lost his mind.
‘And they’re not wrong,’ she thought. ‘Because this is all thanks to that damn potion.’
The Love Elixir.
Lionel’s blind love for Atalante had begun with a potion bearing that ridiculous name.
Before he drank it, there had been no connection between the two of them. Their worlds had been far too different.
If they had anything in common, it was that both were infamous in their own spheres. They were both called villains.
Having a fellow villain madly in love with her… it was, in a word, awful.
“Do you like me even a little more today?”
Lionel asked the same question he always did when the attendant poured tea. It was practically his “Hello?”—a phrase he never skipped, not even once.
‘Did she like him just a little more today?’
Of course, her answer was always the same.
“Not at all.”
Though her reply should have hurt, Lionel didn’t look the least bit disappointed. Instead, he smiled softly, looking at her with overflowing affection.
“Then tomorrow, I’ll make sure you like me a little more.”
His voice was so full of unwavering conviction that Atalante couldn’t bring herself to refute it.
Instead, she reached out her arm toward Lionel. At its end was the same finger-gun she’d used earlier on the bird—now pointed directly at him.
For a moment, the duke blinked in surprise. But then he smiled brightly and raised both hands in surrender.
Atalante, however, didn’t smile. The more his lips curled with playful affection, the tighter her brows drew together.
“I might kill you someday.”
She spoke slowly, still aiming her finger-gun at him.
‘When my people are safe.
When the antidote that can bring you back to your senses is ready.
And…’
‘When I uncover your secret.’
Like it or not, the day might come when she’d have to pull the trigger on this man.
Suddenly, the memory of the fierce fight they’d had in a dark bedroom flashed through her mind, sending heat pulsing through her core.
For just a moment, the duke’s eyes turned cold. But it was only a fleeting instant. The next second, he smiled sweetly—the smile he showed only to his duchess.
And what he said next was as sweet—and suffocating—as his gaze.
“If I’m to die by your hand, I’ll gladly accept it.”
