Chapter 3
Mosquis cast a single glance at the fallen child.
“Better than waiting here to die, I’d say,” he remarked, his tone carrying the weight of magnanimity—or at least the pretense of it. Then, with an air of self-satisfaction, he turned to Medea.
“I’ll take this one with me as well.”
Medea’s eyes didn’t flicker; her voice was calm, almost detached.
“Pardon? You intend to take two children…?”
“That child will be of little use, even if taken,” she said evenly.
Mosquis and his companions murmured in discontent.
“If you make such decisions on your own, we’ll bear the duke’s wrath,” one protested.
“Meril, bring both children to my room,” Medea ordered.
“Yes, Miss,” Meril replied.
But Medea moved forward as though the murmurs around her were nothing more than background noise, her steps following the path where a sliver of light broke through the darkness.
A single, watchful pair of eyes followed her, holding its breath, until her last step emerged from the shadows.
“Miss, we’ve brought the children,” Meril announced, holding the hand of the sky-haired child.
Behind her, Sophia carried the other, who had collapsed moments before.
“Has this one regained consciousness?” Medea asked, examining the child atop Sophia’s back.
Jet-black hair like the night sky, skin so pale it seemed almost translucent—every breath came in shallow whispers, as if the child wished to hide from the world.
“Yes, Miss. But… why did you ask us to bring both children?” Meril asked cautiously, glancing at the second child as she followed Medea’s gaze.
Until now, Alek Leshanin had permitted Medea to bring only one child with her—just enough to not interfere with her plans. And Medea had accepted that, usually taking only one from among those her father captured.
“Miss, a knight from Itarun, son of the traitor Frederick, was captured recently. Known for his remarkable spirit, he even became an Imperial Knight. Surely, the Duke will take interest in his son. We must bring him first,” Meril had whispered.
And the child she had suggested to Medea had been only the sky-haired one.
“So… the child you mentioned, Meril… and this one?” Medea’s eyes shifted to the child in Sophia’s arms.
“I’ll send them back.”
“To the underground prison?”
“Yes, for now.”
“Then why bring them here at all?”
Even she couldn’t explain it. Perhaps it was the memory of her own childhood, longing for just one gentle hand to hold her.
“…They looked like they might die at any moment. Once they recover, send them back,” she said flatly, her words betraying none of the turmoil within.
The small hand resting on Sophia’s shoulder twitched at her words.
“Yes, Miss. Where should the children stay?”
“Give them my adjoining room.”
Meril nodded in compliance.
“Miss, the Duke is calling for you,” came a voice—Luke, steward of the Leshanin household.
“Medea.”
“Yes, Father.”
Though her eyes mirrored his violet hue, their expression was entirely different. Where Medea’s were serene, his seemed hollow, brimming with deficiency. He did not know what he lacked, yet sought to fill it with ambition—a foolish, desperate gaze.
“Do you know why I’ve called you?”
Had word already reached him? Surely it was Mosquis’ doing.
With the barest hint of a smirk, Medea met her father’s gaze.
“It must be because of the child I brought,” she said lightly.
“You are not ignorant,” he replied. His smile feigned warmth, yet an uneasy tension lingered beneath it. He was waiting, with thinly veiled patience, for her to admit fault and beg forgiveness.
“It is indeed the child I brought, so you cannot be unaware.”
Yet Medea answered as though oblivious to the subtle scrutiny.
“Medea, my only daughter,” Alek began, his tone softening.
“Yes, Father.”
“You know I’ve always allowed you to take one child at a time, but last time, a certain… pest ruined things, did he not?”
“You, Father, who rarely errs, made the mistake.”
“Exactly. That pest!” Alek’s violet eyes glinted with barely restrained madness.
“Each of these children is precious now—they are the foundation of my power.”
“You mean…”
Medea hesitated. There was no desire to answer his mad gaze too readily.
“You mean one of the two children I took should be returned,” she said finally.
“Yes. If you lack suitable aides, I will provide more. My grand plan must not falter, Medea.”
“Of course. I shall instruct Meril to return one child,” Medea replied, deliberately vague as she assessed her father’s expression. He had yet to learn the details about the sky-haired child. She had ensured that Meril and Gabisus kept their knowledge quiet—for now. Soon, even that child would slip from her hands.
“Good, Medea. Send Mosquis to fetch the child…” Alek said with a smile that wore the mask of a doting father.
“Don’t go in there!”
“You must have the Duke’s permission to enter…”
Voices of Meril and Luke rang out from outside the study.
But the study door opened before they could intervene.
Black as midnight hair, eyes the color of deep lakes, and a child small enough barely to reach the doorknob appeared.
“You are…”
The child she had brought from the underground prison—whom she had promised to return to her father.
How the child managed to open the stiff, heavy door was a mystery, but two voices came faster than curiosity.
“Luke, take them out.”
“Please allow me the honor of serving Miss. I beg you, Duke,” the child implored.
Alek clicked his tongue, incredulous, as the child’s plea reached him.
“Do you know the impudence of your actions, little one?” Alek said, looking down with amusement at the tears threatening to fall.
“Father…”
If this continued, her efforts to rescue the child from the underground prison would have been in vain. That child would likely become the first test subject for crossing Alek’s temper.
Medea moved to block the child, but the child spoke first.
“From the first moment I met Miss, I felt her nobility. If I can, I wish to serve her wholeheartedly. This is because her father, the Duke, is noble, I assume.”
Though trembling, the child met Alek’s gaze without flinching, tears threatening, yet spirit unbroken—a mirror of Medea’s younger self.
“If you desire to serve Medea merely because she is noble, would it not be more glorious to obey me?” Alek threatened, attempting to drag the child back toward the underground prison, as the first test subject, where death awaited.
Medea’s mind raced, though her face remained calm.
“To serve the noble Duke is indeed an honor, but guiding Miss Medea to grow as worthy as you, Duke, would bring me greater joy. Grant me this, and I will do anything,” the child said, faster than Medea’s own action.
Alek laughed—not cruelly, but with satisfaction.
“Princess, I will do anything as long as I may serve you. Please, do not cast me aside.”
The child’s defiance and resolve reminded him of his daughter’s past self.
“Anything… Can you truly bear that responsibility?” he asked.
The child’s resolve was unwavering:
“As long as I live, my decision will not falter.”
“Very well. Then show me,” Alek replied.
Medea did not yet know how those few words would change not only the child’s life but her own. In that brief, tense encounter, the blue-eyed child earned the right to serve Medea.
