“Milady, if you don’t mind, may I ask your name?”
A man with a flushed face spoke to her. Caught off guard, Roxana simply blinked in response. She had never experienced something like this before. She was supposed to return alone.
“You came with Lord Russell, didn’t you? To be honest, I’ve been watching you since then. I’ve been searching for you to speak with. I know it’s rude to speak without a proper introduction…”
The man took a step closer, looking ready to grab her hand and kiss it. Roxana instinctively stepped back, avoiding his gaze.
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you perhaps have a fiancé?”
He asked again, disappointed by her quiet rejection.
“Still, I’d at least like to know your name.”
His eyes scanned her up and down. Her golden hair, clearly a wig, and those mysterious violet eyes—she was a rare beauty, even in the grandest of gatherings.
“I’m sorry.”
When his eyes reached her long, pale neck and continued down toward her chest, Roxana quickly turned around and apologized again.
“Wait a moment.”
Just then, the man grabbed her arm to stop her from leaving. Startled, Roxana instinctively shook him off. The situation reminded her of a similar incident not long ago, but this time, a chill ran down her spine.
The man’s face twisted in irritation from the repeated rejection.
“There’s no need to act so high and—”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
A cold voice cut in, stopping the man mid-sentence.
“L-Lord Marquess…”
“I asked you what you’re doing.”
Curtis Russell’s ashen eyes were fixed on the man’s hand gripping Roxana’s arm. The air around him felt deadly, and the man hastily let go.
“She, she looked like she was about to fall, so I just tried to help—”
He must have lost his senses while drunk. To dare lay hands on Curtis Russell’s woman… The man in front of him had a fearsome reputation from his mercenary days—on par with the northern barbarians.
“I’m glad to see you’re unharmed. W-well then, I’ll take my leave!”
Realizing he could end up in pieces if this went wrong, the man awkwardly laughed and quickly ran off.
A chilly breeze blew through the spot he had fled from. Roxana let out a deep sigh internally. Of all moments, why did it have to be this one?
As she stood there unsure of what to say or do, a cold voice dropped over her head.
“Was this your plan all along? Seducing Frey?”
“…What?”
Roxana looked up, baffled by the absurd accusation.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I mean, Roxana.”
Curtis leaned in with a faint smile, his shadow swallowing her whole.
“Do you want to marry into nobility? Wash away your identity and become a noblewoman?”
“…”
“I get it. You want to wear nice clothes, eat fine food, and be pampered by maids.”
As the sarcasm piled on, Roxana’s flustered expression grew increasingly calm. Curtis grew more irritated at the sight. He’d desperately searched for her, afraid she’d run into her former fiancé. Now, he felt like a fool. Why had he even looked so hard for her? To see her dolled up and alone with some man he didn’t even know?
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“I’ll say what I said last time: if that’s what you want to believe, go ahead.”
Roxana held down the emotions rising in her chest. She wouldn’t let herself be swayed. Curtis was fickle, unreadable—tender one moment and cruel the next. He was just toying with her like a cat with a mouse.
“So you’re not even going to deny it.”
Curtis let out a mocking laugh and turned away.
“Let’s go. Frey is waiting.”
The banquet wasn’t over yet. She wanted to return to the estate right away.
—
—
“To the eternal prosperity of the South!”
“To eternity!”
As the jester’s performance ended, thunderous applause erupted. After the toast, the baroness clapped twice toward the musicians, and lively music filled the hall.
Guests rose from their seats, approaching their preferred partners and extending their hands in invitation. The center of the grand hall quickly filled with dancing couples. As expected, all eyes were on the rarely seen Russell siblings.
Since it was customary for men to invite women to dance, several young ladies began to hover near Curtis.
“Marquess, won’t you dance? The ladies seem to be waiting.”
A woman seated to his right gently asked. Curtis gave a faint smile and quietly sipped his drink.
“I don’t know how to dance. Dancing with a guy like me would be no better than dancing with a doll.”
“Oh my… what a shame.”
The noblewoman covered her embarrassed expression with her fan and turned to speak with someone else. The short reprieve from small talk ended quickly as two men approached.
“Well, if it isn’t Lord Russell. What brings the Marquess to a place like this?”
“I’ve been holed up in the territory so long, I feared I’d forget my manners.”
“Forget your manners, you say. Ha ha.”
“As you know, I only have one skill.”
Curtis made a slicing motion across his neck, and the men shivered slightly, exchanging nervous glances.
“Well, uh…”
He knew exactly what they were thinking and suppressed a scoff. Though born a noble, Curtis had once been branded a traitor and lost everything. Clearing his name and regaining his title had taken considerable effort. His reputation as the brutal leader of a mercenary group didn’t help.
But that wasn’t the only reason many nobles avoided him. When he had traveled across the country, he had refused many questionable requests—raiding noble caravans, attacking neighboring territories—anything without clear justification or likely to cause trouble later. That made him some enemies.
“Ahem, anyway, we’ve heard rumors that a new mine was discovered in your territory…”
“Yes, and we have a few proposals related to that.”
Seeing no opportunity for casual friendliness, the men cut straight to business. Curtis listened half-heartedly while trying not to yawn.
He had only come because it was Frey’s wish. As expected, it was dull and tedious. He couldn’t understand why people wasted their time and money on such indulgences.
His eyes drifted to the left. Roxana was trying to stop Frey, who looked somewhat intoxicated.
“Why don’t we get some fresh air?”
“I’ve only had a few drinks. If you want air, go alone.”
“But—”
“Are you my mother now?”
Frey pushed Roxana’s hand away and fumbled for more wine. Finally, Curtis had enough and took her glass.
“Frey. That’s enough.”
“Oh. Brother.”
Frey turned to him, face flushed with wine.
“You seemed too busy to care, but I guess you were watching after all.”
“Stop drinking and go out for a bit. It’s not too cold.”
“Well, if you insist.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
Supporting the staggering Frey, Roxana helped her outside. Curtis’s gray eyes followed their retreating backs.
—
—
Frey had drunk so much that she could barely walk. Roxana helped her to a bench outside.
“Why did you drink so much?”
“I don’t know. It just kept going down.”
Frey leaned her head on Roxana’s shoulder, smiling contentedly. Roxana gently stroked her hair.
“I’m never coming to a place like this again.”
“Why not? You seemed to enjoy it.”
“It wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be.”
“But everyone seemed interested in you. So many people talked to you.”
“Pfft.”
Frey suddenly burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. Roxana blinked in surprise. After laughing for a while, Frey finally replied.
“They weren’t interested in me, Roxana. It was all because of my brother.”
“Huh?”
“I’m not an idiot. People don’t care about a blind girl. They just talk to the poor sister to get close to the powerful brother.”
Roxana fell silent at her unfiltered honesty.
“Something happened, didn’t it?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Milady.”
Roxana gently took Frey’s small hand. Despite the chill, her skin felt warm.
“Did something happen? Please tell me. I’ll keep it a secret.”
“…A story…”
Frey’s face gradually blurred with emotion at the seriousness in Roxana’s voice. Roxana quietly waited for her to speak.
