Chapter 38
Clack.
A faint vibration traveled through the hand gripping the doorknob.
Clatter!
At the same time the door rattled violently, a shout burst out from beyond it.
“The door is locked!!”
“This one’s locked too!!”
“Tear it down!!”
Before Jesse could even register the sound of approaching footsteps, the door shook violently.
Bang, bang!
She bit her lip hard.
Bang, bang!
The hinges splintered and red light burst sharply through the cracks. One more strike and the door would give way. Jesse slipped her body between the curtain and the wall and drew her dagger.
I’d rather die than ever drag Grace down with me.
The veins bulged on the back of her hand gripping the blade.
“You wretches.”
The voice, cold as eternal glacial ice, seized everything in the annex.
A chilling wind blew in—parched, biting, and so cold that all movement froze. The knights, who had been in a frenzy, forgot even how to breathe under the inexplicable dread. They wanted to ignore it, but the presence was impossible to overlook; their heads turned despite themselves.
“!”
Someone was standing on the landing, as if conjured from nowhere.
Backlit by the moonlight streaming through the great arched window, the figure looked down upon the knights. She spoke again.
“You wretches.”
Her voice was like snow that had piled up since the dawn of time—layer upon layer of emotion frozen into ice.
“Madam!”
Lady Isaac, breaking free of her stupor, pushed through the knights and rushed forward.
Eliza’s narrowed eyes followed the maid. This was not the familiar sight she knew. The hair that was always elegantly pinned was now disheveled, and the once blossoming, rosy face had withered, robbed of vitality.
At last, Eliza beheld the true image of the maid who had stayed with her to the very end.
Her heart lurched downward. As the stagnant blood in her veins began to stir, the hazy film clouding her eyes melted away.
The shattered doors gaped open, freezing air spilled in through the flung-wide main gate, torches belched black smoke that stained the ceiling, and weapons—gleaming swords and blunt clubs—filled the hands of the intruders crowding the corridor.
A laugh broke from her lips.
That laugh sent shivers down the spines of all who had trespassed into her annex. Eliza laughed coldly for a long moment, then asked languidly,
“Was it the Duke who ordered this?”
Count Ruwen, who had swallowed nervously, hurried to respond.
“Madam! This is not the time—”
“I asked if it was the Duke.”
Her curt interruption cut him off like a blade. Drawing her wide gaze to a sharp focus, she locked eyes with him.
“Madam, at the ducal estate right now—”
“You cannot answer me?!”
The once languid voice turned sharp as a sword, slicing through the Count’s words. Eliza descended one step at a time, driving him into a corner as though vomiting up all the blood she had kept dammed inside.
“Who dared, without my leave and against my maid’s protests, to order my chambers torn apart?! Who gave the command to desecrate the domain of Eliza Richmond?!”
Her thunderous rebuke forced the knights to lower their heads and retreat. Even those who had hefted the iron battering ram set it down in panic.
Crossing the path the knights had cleared, Eliza advanced toward Count Ruwen. His palms were already drenched in sweat.
People had whispered that she had lost her mind, that she was at death’s door. She had shown no reaction when her cherished maids were cast out of the castle, nor when her opulent rooms were stripped from her. Her treasures had become Lady Rinco’s, and the ducal estate of Richmond itself no longer seemed hers.
Yet now, the very presence of the old dowager was tightening around the throat of the stalwart commander of knights.
Stopping a step before him, Eliza spoke.
“Was this your doing, Count Ruwen?”
“……”
Her glare pierced his silence, and she commanded:
“Leave.”
The Count’s mind went blank. Retreat was impossible; by crossing this threshold, he had already passed the point of no return. He clenched his fists hard.
“I cannot leave without inspecting that room, Madam.”
“What did you say?”
“The ‘Invisible Ones’ who assassinated the late Duke seem to have entered the estate. We must open that door and confirm it, Madam!!”
As he shouted, Eliza’s eyes ignited with fire.
“Is that so?”
“……”
“The ones who murdered my children, those wretches I would tear apart with my bare hands, have entered my castle?”
She whirled around and strode toward the near-broken door. To the knights holding the ram, she commanded:
“Open it. I will see for myself.”
When the knights hesitated, she roared,
“Do you dare disobey?!”
One knight, almost shoved forward by the others, finally opened the door. Eliza extended her hand to the torchbearer.
“Madam, allow me—”
“Silence!”
Snatching the torch, she brushed off even Lady Isaac’s attempt to take it from her, and searched the room herself. Neither the knights nor the Count could do anything but watch in stunned silence.
There was even a glint of madness about her.
She tore through the room in a frenzy, then, at last, yanked aside the heavy curtains and froze. Through the window stretched a scene of utter chaos. For a long while she stood still, then, handing the torch to Lady Isaac, turned slowly.
With the blood-red light at her back, Eliza looked like a reaper risen from hell. A few knights instinctively retreated, while she asked calmly,
“Shall we search further?”
The Count could not bring himself to say yes.
Eliza’s glare burned into him.
“Arwen, are those vile intruders in my domain?”
Lady Isaac shook her head gently.
“They are not, Madam.”
“Then only my bedchamber remains. Who will search it?”
“……”
Not a single knight dared volunteer.
Even the Emperor of Decan himself would not lightly order such a thing.
In the razor-edged silence, Eliza began to walk slowly. The knights shrank back, bowing their heads in unison. She halted once more before Count Ruwen.
“If you find the ones who murdered my children, bring them to me. I will burn them to ash, every last hair on their heads.”
“……”
“Leave, Ruwen.”
Deep in her eyes, fire swelled and rolled like molten waves.
＊ ＊ ＊
After Grace and Walter had left, Eliza found no sleep. The sleeplessness gnawed at her. Just as she was on the verge of drifting into a light doze—
A maid’s scream rang out.
“Stop!! This is where Madam resides!”
In a haze she descended the stairs. The corridor was filled with knights clad in the Richmond crest. It was like plunging into icy water—her mind snapped awake. And when she saw her maid, aged and worn, a decade of memories flashed before her eyes.
Eliza now stood by her bedchamber window, watching the knights retreat. As their torches receded, her reflection emerged in the blackened glass.
Staring back was a haggard old woman.
The disheveled white hair spilling down her shoulders was so unfamiliar. Lost in thought at her own image, memories of the past came flooding back, as if they had happened only yesterday.
The glossy black hair her maids once dressed so carefully had been her pride. When her father lived, she monopolized his love and reigned over the imperial palace. As the Duchess of Richmond, she dominated not only the northwest’s society but also that of the capital. The highest seat was always hers, and she swept through the world with a train of maids like a queen.
Eliza lowered her gaze to her hand. It was adorned with large jeweled rings, familiar in its refinement, yet now it looked like a withered branch, brittle and thin.
How had the Queen of Richmond—who once maintained perfect composure even before husband and children—fallen to such a state?
“In this wretched place, looking like a corpse in a tomb. Not even knowing if your limbs have been hacked off, just barely breathing—is that what you call living? Well? Grandmother?”
Recalling Walter’s biting words, Eliza gave a hollow laugh.
“Impudent as ever. Just the same now as when he was a child.”
