Chapter 42 — A Gift Only for You

“Count’s paintings still sell for a fortune even now. There aren’t enough copies to meet demand.”

“What good does that do? I can’t even show my face in public.”

“Then have someone paint a forgery.”

“?!”

Owen’s eyes went wide as if they might pop out. I lifted my teacup to my lips as if nothing had happened. Compared to the tea at the palace it was lower quality, but its scent felt exquisite.

“You expect me to paint a forgery of my own work! Do you think that’s reasonable?”

“Don’t get angry — hear me out. It’s not just about the money.”

“Elisabeth, you always say the most ridiculous things.”

I added a compliment and Owen’s expression softened a little.

“If a forgery so perfect it could be mistaken for the original appears, the art world will explode.”

“That may be true, but—”

“‘Is the real Owen back? No way — who painted that? The social circles will be buzzing about the Count nonstop!’”

“And what are you proposing, exactly?”

“Then you make your triumphant return — with the Crown Prince by your side. Can’t you picture that dazzling scene?”

“!”

Owen’s eyes glazed over as he nodded. He was soaked in the rosy future I painted for him.

(In the original story, it was Owen himself who came up with the idea to create forgeries and used the money to fund the revolution. Because of that, Claudia prospered.)

Sorry, but Owen and Claudia would not meet. Even if they did, they wouldn’t form any tie. I couldn’t hide a smirk of odd satisfaction at twisting the original.

“This is advice from a devoted fan of the Count’s paintings.”

“It’s a tempting plan, but…”

“Just decide. I’ll take care of the messy details.”

“…is it really possible?”

“Do you think the heiress of Amster would do a bad deal? Come on — let’s make history together. Let’s put Penelope in her place!”

Just as Owen, with a face full of gratitude, reached to take my hand, a sharp scream rang out from the next table.

“Kyaa!”

That was when I noticed the masked men. Instinct screamed at me: they were after me. Men in black clothes and gloves shoved a thick sack toward me.

“Who the hell are they?!” Owen barked.

The masked men pulled short knives from their sleeves. There were four of them.

(They must have seen Douglas and Nikolai leave and jumped at the chance. They’ll eliminate any troublemakers!)

They were brazen enough to try kidnapping in broad daylight. Panic rising, I stepped in front of Owen.

“Wait! You want her, right? We’ll go quietly — don’t hurt anyone!”

For a brief moment the kidnappers glanced at one another. Their hesitation felt like Owen’s last hope.

“Is there any advantage to hurting him? Your master won’t want this to blow up, will he?”

I don’t know where that courage came from, but my head was filled with the single thought: get Owen out of this.

“Ugh!” Owen’s body collapsed forward. One of the kidnappers had struck him in the groin. The men yanked the sack over my head. Light vanished; only a muffled buzzing reached me. Someone slung me over their shoulder. Blood rushed to my head.

(Am I going to die like this? What if they do something awful?)

I thought I had forgotten fear, but I hadn’t. At that moment the face I most wanted to see was Nikolai’s, with the corner of his mouth tilted in that crooked way.

“Even if I tell you to go, you won’t. Don’t worry — I’ll be back!”

Nikolai had replayed Elisabeth’s voice in his head a dozen times. Her red, proud lips. Her glossy crimson hair. The pair of provocative black pearls that glittered. Her scent — more charming than spring’s first blossoms, a midsummer stream, a ripe autumn sky, or the snow that announces winter — intoxicated Nikolai.

The presence of another man had annoyed him more than a little. Douglas’s all-too-handsome face still upset him. When the tail he’d put on Elisabeth reported her movements, every vein in his body seemed to turn inside out.

(This wasn’t a date or a romance. It seemed certain she didn’t intend to take another lover. She and Douglas are probably nothing more than friends…)

A childish sense of victory swelled in his chest. Even if it was because of a contract, Elisabeth’s heart belonged to him. But no matter how much he reassured himself, a flicker of anxiety remained. Elisabeth was a famed femme fatale. Men like Douglas, who clung to her, were not few. Elisabeth was more aloof than a cliff-blooming flower and freer than a bird cutting across the sky.

(Compared to that, I’m a Casanova with countless empresses on my arm. It wouldn’t be at all surprising if Elisabeth gave up the seduction game and left.)

The Elisabeth who closed her eyes and waited for a kiss. The Elisabeth who turned pale with embarrassment. The Elisabeth who averted her face at a strange, intimate moment. The awkward, the endearing — every facet of her terrified and enchanted him.

(I’d invited her to the duel ground to make up for it, but the pack swarmed and it all got ruined. I should have killed them…)

Faces of those who had insulted Elisabeth came to mind. If Elisabeth had not intervened, a massacre worthy of imperial history might have occurred. Lately Nikolai’s own patience annoyed him. He wanted to wipe out those scoundrels hiding behind the mask of nobility — not for the empire, but because they had slandered Elisabeth with filthy tongues. That was reason enough for destruction.

“What can I get you, sir?” the shopkeeper in a leather apron asked, hesitantly.

Nikolai finally glanced around the stable’s shop. Horseshoes, bits, bridles, whips, spurs — various riding gear were neatly displayed.

“I heard there’s a skilled craftsman here.”

“You’ve come to the right place. We can make anything from top quality materials.”

“I need a double saddle.”

“We don’t have such a thing.”

“Then make one.” Nikolai said, scanning the shopfellow’s face with a sharp look. The shopkeeper’s shoulders stiffened under the pressure.

“B-but…”

“Ten days will be enough?”

“I’m sorry, that’s impossible! No craftsman would take that on. There are backorders.”

Before the man could finish, Nikolai flipped his coin pouch. Gold coins cascaded out, and the shopkeeper’s jaw dropped.

“Does that make you reconsider?” Nikolai asked.

“You’re going to give this much?!”

“The woman who will sit in front is a noble lady. Make sure it’s comfortable — she’s not used to riding.”

“With this, I could buy dozens of horses and build a training ground!”

“We have enough.”

“Huh?”

“Come back in ten days.”

Leaving the dazed owner, Nikolai walked out of the tack shop. He smiled slightly at the thought of how surprised Elisabeth would be when she saw the double saddle.

(If anyone asks if I’m carrying another woman, I’ll answer: this was made only for you.)

He looked forward to the ten days. He was dying to see what expression Elisabeth would wear.

(I shouldn’t return to the palace yet. Should I go to that kebab place again? Hmm, maybe I’m full. Where do women like to go?)

He’d never had to think about such things. Politics and war were one thing; dates were foreign and difficult. But he didn’t dislike it. If he could make Elisabeth happy, he’d do anything. He’d spend every coin without regret.

(If only I’d had Kares investigate earlier. I was underprepared.)

Nikolai pulled his hood up — he didn’t want the jittery excitement on his face to show. He hurried, then suddenly stopped. A sharp dread stabbed his heart.

(Elisabeth’s scent is gone! Has something happened to her?!)

He started running as the question formed. The knights who had been shadowing the emperor dashed after him. Cold sweat beaded on his clenched fist. Passersby scattered and shouted. The café where Elisabeth had been waiting was too far away. Had she been left alone for this long? A choking mixture of foreboding and regret tightened around his chest. By the time Nikolai arrived, Elisabeth had vanished.

Kidnapping. How common a trope. The original story didn’t have this. Even if it did, readers would delight. No one disliked watching the villainess suffer a little.

(I feel sick being the one who experiences it firsthand. My hands and feet feel numb. What was in this sack? Oh — the smell! My head hurts.)

I groaned on the bumpy rear seat of the carriage. The fear of dying was gone — because I overheard the kidnappers’ conversation.

“Be careful with her. Do you know how much her ransom is?”

“They said ten million gold? You could almost call her the Empress’s ransom!”

“Lower your voice. If that woman wakes up she’ll be trouble.”

“Who is she anyway?”

“I heard she’s a viper — some warned us not to fall for her tricks.”

Only ten million gold? Me — heiress of Amster, beauty and brains — worth only that? I ground my teeth. The kidnappers didn’t know who I really was. If they did, they wouldn’t be satisfied with such petty coin. Who, then, had tried to abduct me?

(Obviously not Simon’s father — he’s after my fortune. Maybe one of the heads of the other three houses? Maybe they conspired. Kidnapping — that’s such an unimaginative scheme. Pathetic.)

I clicked my tongue and fidgeted. You could never be too careful. A pretty woman like me had to watch herself. More than anything, I couldn’t stand the stench in the sack any longer.

“Hey?” I asked.

“What?” came a grunt.

“Take the sack off. I’ll behave.”

“Shut up! Don’t try anything.”

A fist slammed into the floor. It sounded meant to intimidate, but only made their hand hurt. I spoke again with a calm, businesslike voice.

“If you take the sack off, I’ll give you twenty million gold.”

“Twenty million?”

“If you loosen the bindings a bit, I’ll give you another ten million.”

“W-what?!”

“I’m not asking to be freed — just a total of thirty million for a fair deal, isn’t that tempting?”

I could hear a dry swallow even inside the sack.

(They must be suspicious and unsettled. But they’ll waver. You lot move for petty money.)