Chapter 94
Anne flinched as if burned, quickly pulling her hand away.
“Ahem, ahem. So, where’s the magic circle?”
She deliberately turned her body, pretending nothing had happened, and looked straight ahead.
Soon, a vast circle came into view—its surface densely carved with strange, indecipherable letters.
“Wow.”
To scatter the awkward tension, Anne exaggerated her amazement and turned toward Hannibal.
“If I stand here, I’ll be transported directly to the Royal Palace of Ruto?”
“…According to the mage, every circle has its own coordinates. If you know them, you can travel not only to the palace, but anywhere else as well.”
“That’s amazing.”
“I think so too.”
Anne began walking around the circle, Hannibal following at her side as they circled the top of the fortress wall.
The high vantage point brought a refreshing breeze. From here, even the distant ramparts of Tégénès stretched in beautiful lines across the horizon.
For once, Anne let herself enjoy the peace, savoring the scenery in contentment.
Then her gaze fell downward—toward the dizzying drop below the wall.
“There aren’t any coordinates that would let us go straight down, are there?”
“I’ll carry you instead.”
He said it confidently, boasting that while he lacked magic, he possessed strength greater than any spell. Anne shook her head firmly at the man.
“No, I’ll make it down all by myself!”
And so, the two of them left the wall and started down the stairwell, Anne still cheerful and determined.
But only a little while later—
“Haa… haa…”
It was said that going down could be harder on the legs than climbing up. She now understood why. Her calves soon ached and burned.
“Climb on.”
“…Thank you.”
In the end, Anne had to ride down on Hannibal’s back.
Of course, she stubbornly blamed her trouble on her brand-new shoes—shoes she had hardly broken in.
“If we’re ever going somewhere with so many stairs again, please warn me in advance. It’s only because of these new shoes that my feet hurt. Normally, I walk just fine.”
“Yes, I know. I’ll be sure to do that.”
His reply carried a trace of quiet amusement.
“You’ve walked plenty already. You must be tired. Rest this afternoon.”
“Yes, Hannibal.”
Just as they arrived at the castle’s main entrance and exchanged their farewells—
“My lord.”
A retainer approached, looking flustered. Noticing the urgency, Anne only gave Hannibal a discreet nod and stepped aside.
“Ahh—”
As soon as she entered her room, Anne kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto her bed. Only then did the prickling fatigue surge from her toes upward.
Her vision began to blur with drowsiness when a knock came, and Dona stepped inside.
“Dona, I’ll just nap a little before getting up.”
“…Anne.”
Gone was the playful teasing from yesterday, when Dona had urged her to enjoy her outing with Hannibal. Her expression was grave.
“What’s wrong?”
Sensing the heavy atmosphere, Anne’s sleepiness evaporated. Dona fidgeted, then spoke with difficulty.
“Is the rumor true?”
“What rumor?”
“That you’ve been having secret trysts with Duke Benton.”
“…!”
Anne bolted upright in shock.
“What?”
At her horrified reaction, Dona looked relieved and sank into the chair by the bed.
“So it isn’t true, right? Anne?”
“…Tell me everything, Dona.”
Anne rose with a grave face and sat at the table. Dona followed, taking the seat across from her.
“The servants in the annex were gossiping. They said Count Arthur claimed—while drunk—that he saw you and the Duke secretly meeting in the garden.”
The words chilled Anne’s blood. She recalled the evening Count Arthur had barged in during supper.
“They said you slapped him and cried and made a scene. Granted, the Count’s drunken ramblings are nothing new, but still—why would he fabricate something like that?”
The rumor described her and Grey’s encounter in detail.
It could only mean Count Arthur really had witnessed it.
But something didn’t add up.
If it were the Arthur she knew, he would have denounced her immediately rather than trouble himself by spreading gossip.
“Could it be…”
She remembered Grey appearing with the Count in the annex’s drawing room.
Had Grey deliberately maneuvered things to corner her like this?
To ruin her reputation and force Hannibal to break their engagement?
But why? Was this how someone who claimed to love her acted?
“This morning, one of the servants came to tell me, and now all the maids are whispering about you. Anne… by now, even the Lord must have heard.”
At Dona’s words, Anne shot to her feet.
“Hannibal!”
She dashed out, heart racing.
Earlier, a retainer had sought him—he must be in his study.
Or had Jack gone to deliver the rumor already? Surely he had heard too.
The sweet memory of their outing together only moments ago was instantly drowned in cold dread.
The hallway felt endless; the door to the study loomed impossibly large and heavy.
Anne swallowed hard and knocked carefully.
“It’s Anne Perrot.”
The door opened. Jack appeared—expressionless, unlike his usual faint smile when greeting her.
“Is the Lord inside?”
“He is not.”
“What?”
She had rushed here to explain herself immediately, only to find him gone?
“Where did he go? When can I see him?”
Jack answered stiffly, his tone cool and formal.
“He went to the annex. Said he had something to confirm.”
“The annex…!”
Of course. He must have gone straight to confront Count Arthur.
Anne bit her lip, hesitating. Her heart urged her to run after him, but her mind told her it would be better to wait and speak calmly with Hannibal later.
“When he returns from the annex, please tell him to come see me—even if it’s late. In my room.”
“Yes, my lady.”
As the study door shut with a click, Anne stood staring blankly, feeling hollow.
Late that afternoon, Hannibal strode into the drawing room where Count Arthur was drinking.
The older man scowled at the sight of his son.
“Entering without knocking… tch.”
Ignoring him, Hannibal seated himself across the table.
“Why have you been spreading such rumors?”
“What rumors?”
“That you saw Anne meeting the Duke in secret. Enough of these drunken lies.”
“They aren’t lies. They’re the truth.”
The Count set his glass down with a snap.
“The truth? Are you saying you spied on the Duke that night?”
Having rushed here the moment he heard the rumor stemmed from his father’s drunken tongue, Hannibal glared, brows furrowed. The Count only looked indifferent.
“Yes. I saw her sneaking out of the annex late at night. Suspicious behavior, don’t you think? A very profitable find.”
His tone implied he had been waiting to catch her in a compromising moment.
A cold sneer flickered in his eyes.
“The Duke must have pursued her.”
Hannibal trusted Anne. He knew how deeply she loathed Grey.
“She was already there. As if by appointment. Hannibal.”
The Count’s retort was firm.
“Anne is not the woman you think she is.”
Hannibal’s straight brows shot upward, his face twisting.
“What kind of woman, then?”
“The common sort you find in the capital—flighty, shallow, chasing after men.”
“Father!”
Hannibal’s glare burned, but the Count only lifted his glass mockingly.
“Break off the engagement, Hannibal.”
“That will not happen.”
Though the Count himself had once approved the match, now he demanded the opposite. Hannibal resisted immediately.
He knew well enough: his father had always despised Anne’s background as a former head maid. And now he was redirecting all blame onto her, when it was Grey who deserved it.
“Anne Perrot is tainted by scandal with Grey Benton. End the betrothal. Marry a woman from the West instead. The Duke said he would take her—let him. You never liked women of the capital anyway.”
But Hannibal had already heard of his father’s frequent drinking bouts with Duke Benton lately. He was convinced there was another motive.
So he warned coldly,
“Father, don’t let the Duke use you.”
The Count let out a derisive chuckle.
“And you, Hannibal—you’re the one being used. By Anne Perrot. Fool.”
His bloodshot eyes glared sharply as he jabbed a wavering finger at his son.
“That fountain pen I left in the dining hall—it belonged to the Duke. A cheap thing, the sort a maid might save penny by penny to buy. And the Duke knew everything about Anne. What she eats, what she wears… even how she sleeps.”
Hannibal’s face drained of color. Encouraged, the Count bellowed:
“Don’t you see? It wasn’t just him chasing after her. She’s no different from all those maids scheming to snare a nobleman and rise above their station! And still you don’t understand?”
When he even dragged up Hannibal’s painful past, the younger man pressed his lips tight before answering.
“Anne is different. Even if she once knew the Duke, that time is over. She despises him now.”
She is not like that woman. She never lied to me. Whatever her past, she hates Grey Benton.
The Count’s gaze turned piercing, as though reading his heart.
“Not anymore? And has she said she loves you now?”
“…”
Hannibal couldn’t bring himself to answer. His fists clenched white.
“The treaty is nearly here. You’ll sit beside your fiancée at a banquet where the Duke of Hyman and the Archmage of Ruto will be present. And your bride will be infamous for her scandal with Benton. What a fine spectacle that will be! Ha ha!”
The honor of House Klaid dragged through the mud, tied to her rumors with Grey.
“The Duke said it himself—he’ll take Anne once you’ve broken off the engagement. What does that mean? Even if you marry her, she’ll leave you for him in the end. He’ll squeeze her dry and she’ll crawl back to him!”
His mockery wasn’t merely a warning. It struck every raw wound Hannibal bore.
The memory of love was long gone—but the memory of betrayal was still vivid.
