Chapter : 58
“Between the princess… and me.”
The words came out in broken chunks, almost spat through clenched teeth. Curtis felt as if he had been ambushed while riding a horse at full speed—an invisible, sharp arrow piercing and hollowing out his heart.
“I have eyes and ears too. That’s why I’m telling you to relax.”
The following words were cruelly gentle. He forced a small smile.
“My mistress is very considerate. It was good to have her by my side.”
“……”
“A nun, a maid, a governess, and even a mistress. And now she volunteers to play the role of a matchmaker—there’s nothing she can’t do.”
The horse, running fast, came to a sudden stop as Curtis pulled sharply on the reins. The jolt tilted Roxana backward, and the back of her head hit his broad chest.
Roxana tried to straighten herself, but the hand gripping the reins wrapped tightly around her waist, making it impossible to move. Curtis buried his face into her shoulder, holding her firmly.
“…Did I make you angry?”
Feeling his warm breath against her shoulder, Roxana could only move her lips. Curtis twisted his head and whispered,
“You always make me like this.”
At his low reply, Roxana bit her lower lip. His words were true—Curtis had always been angry with her, ever since they reunited.
She understood why he couldn’t help it. She was accustomed to his anger now, but hearing it spoken aloud made her chest ache.
“Then why do you keep me by your side on the days I make you angry?”
“I told you. You drive me crazy. And I enjoy it.”
“……”
“I’m still curious about your limits.”
“At the end of those limits…”
It was a question she had never dared ask before. Swallowing hard, Roxana asked slowly,
“What… is at the end?”
“Well…”
Curtis paused, as if considering, then asked in return,
“Won’t I kill you, and won’t I die too?”
Despite the shocking content, his tone was as casual as if asking what she would have for breakfast. Roxana, chilled by his calmness, chose silence over words.
Curtis lifted his head, grasped the reins, and kicked the horse forward again.
“Roxana?”
Freya, waking from a deep sleep, called her name softly. There was no reply. She carefully got out of bed. The attending maid had already been sent out, so she was alone in the room. Thirsty, she swept her hand across the nightstand but found it empty. She had no choice but to call for any maid or servant in the corridor. Making up her mind, Freya walked to the door, holding the wall for support.
“Is anyone there?”
She opened the door and peeked into the corridor, but no one answered. Even the soldiers stationed nearby seemed to be on a short break. As Freya hesitated and was about to close the door, someone grabbed her wrist and pulled her outside.
“Oh. A young lady I haven’t seen before.”
“I-I won’t let go!”
Even without seeing them, the smell of alcohol hitting her nose stiffened Freya’s body. She struggled to pull her wrist free, but the difference in strength was too great.
“I’ll scream! Let me go!”
“Scream?”
As if that wasn’t bad enough, another man’s mocking laugh came from beside her, his voice slurred by alcohol.
“You’re overreacting. Go ahead and scream. No one’s here for the opening ceremony anyway.”
“Even if there were, it would just sound like a squealing chorus, right?”
“Exactly.”
A sinister conversation passed between the two men, and Freya, pale with fear, yelled desperately,
“Someone help me! Ugh!”
“Shh. What good will yelling do right away?”
Her cries were muffled by a firm hand. Freya squeezed her eyes shut as the man’s breath hit her face—it felt like filth pouring over her body.
“You’re quite the little brat, aren’t you? Stay still!”
The tighter she struggled, the stronger the grip on her mouth became. One of the men pushed her backward, and Freya, losing her balance, sank to the floor.
“Stay quiet.”
The men laughed cruelly and stepped closer. Freya, frozen in fear, tried to lean back further but remained seated on the ground.
“Don’t come closer! Go away!”
Tears welled up, and a shiver of fear ran through her whole body. Brother. Roxana. Mother, Father. She called each face in her mind, but the only sound that returned was the door rattling as it closed.
“I’ll make you feel good…”
Just as the men leered and reached for her ankles,
“Gah!”
“What the—ah!”
They both screamed in pain and tumbled away from Freya.
“O-Brother?”
Freya wiped her tears and lifted her head. But the voice above was unfamiliar.
“You worthless pests.”
“Y-Your Highness…”
The men, suddenly sober as if doused with cold water, bowed frantically.
“So… this means…”
“You, who should be guarding the castle gates, take advantage of the opening ceremony to roam inside and assault women?”
“P-Please spare us! We were drunk! We just came into the castle to grab a single bottle…”
“Drunk on duty. How irresponsible.”
Enoch gestured to the knight behind him to take action as the men reached to grab him.
“Throw them in the underground prison and submit them to a military tribunal.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Please forgive us! It was a mistake!”
“A mistake, Your Highness!”
If brought before the military court, they could lose their ranks or even face execution. The men pleaded, but then another soldier grabbed their arms. Only after the two scoundrels were dragged away like cattle did the room fall silent again.
Enoch extended his hand to help Freya to her feet.
“I happened to hear the commotion and, risking intrusion, opened the door.”
“……”
“Are you alright?”
Freya, too shocked to answer, remained silent. Enoch, bending to check her condition, realized she was the daughter of the Viscount—a girl who was said to be blind.
As he withdrew his hand, her trembling fingers gripped it tightly. Surprised, Enoch instinctively opened his mouth.
“How…?”
“I can see faintly, like through fog. It’s been like this for a while.”
It had started after the attack on the way to the castle. The shock, strangely enough, turned into a blessing. When she regained consciousness, the world, once pitch black, began to appear faintly, little by little.
Her vision wasn’t fully restored and might be temporary, so she hadn’t told anyone—not wanting her brother or Roxana to get their hopes up only to be disappointed.
Thus, she confided in only the man before her.
“I was told it was psychological, so I’m really glad.”
The young girl seemed about sixteen or seventeen. Enoch, who had felt sorry for her, brightened. He helped Freya to her feet lightly and turned around.
“I will summon a maid.”
“No, it’s alright. But…”
Freya grabbed Enoch’s coat as he was about to leave and bowed deeply, her heart racing and face flushed.
“May I know your name…?”
“Enoch. Enoch Franz.”
Even she, who had been secluded in the castle, had heard of him. Freya asked cautiously,
“You’re called Your Highness… Then… are you the Duke?”
“Yes.”
Before Enoch could reply further, the door opened again, and one of his aides approached. Enoch’s face stiffened as the aide whispered something in his ear.
“Since she’s alright, I’ll go check on the others.”
“E-Excuse me!”
Freya, her face bright red, hurriedly called after the quickly retreating Enoch.
“Thank you!”
“It’s nothing.”
He bowed briefly and left. Freya held her racing heart for a while, still trembling.
When Roxana returned, she noticed Freya’s strange behavior. Throughout the day, her face had been distant, as if floating in the air. When asked what had happened, she didn’t answer, staring through space as if imagining someone.
Concerned, Roxana tried to stay close to Freya the next day, but it was Freya who pushed back instead.
“Tonight is the fun banquet. Go with your brother.”
“But…”
“I’m really fine. Guards are posted at the door, and I haven’t assigned a maid. I’m neither bored nor lonely.”
“Are you really sure?”
“Yes. So go ahead. Your brother is waiting.”
Freya smiled and nodded. At the banquet, there would be many people wearing masks, and she wouldn’t be able to recognize the Duke. Instead, it was better to stay quietly in her room and reflect on the events. The more she thought, the happier she felt. It wasn’t desire but a happiness that came simply from possessing the memory. Like a dog secretly burying treasure and returning to it again and again, Freya wanted to savor her emotions alone. Perhaps, with careful thought, a way to meet him again might appear.
