Chapter 6
She quickly dropped to her knees in front of Roseline.
“Please save me, my lady. Please take me with you.”
A flicker of interest appeared in Roseline’s eyes as she looked down at the maid clinging to her in a desperate whisper.
To grasp her intentions so quickly and throw herself flat like this—
the maid before her was sharper than she had expected.
“What’s your name?”
“Rose.”
Rose.
A name so common that her mother disliked it for sounding too much like a commoner’s—yet it was the nickname her father used for her in secret.
“It overlaps with mine. I don’t like that.”
“Th-That…!”
The color drained from Rose’s face—but only for a moment.
Roseline smiled gently and extended her hand.
“Your name is Mary now. What do you think? Will you stay by my side as Mary from now on?”
A vigorous nod.
Whether the young lady of the Grand Duke’s house had truly taken an interest simply because their names were similar—
or whether she was saving her life out of that whim, even going so far as to change her name—
there was no way for someone of her station to understand such intentions.
But with her life hanging by a thread, what did a name matter?
Grateful for the strange mercy of the angelic-looking girl before her, Rose hurriedly seized the opportunity.
“Good. I’ll be counting on you.”
Roseline reassured “Mary” with a smile.
It was a moment that would remain in both their memories for a long time.
After changing into the clothes the boy had left behind, the maid Rose was completely transformed into “Maid Mary.”
Not long after, the three women boarded the prepared carriage, each carrying their own unease as they set out toward the Duchy of Clifford.
Roseline worried about how to introduce the new “Mary” to the household servants.
If she met resistance, she had planned to help Mary survive outside the castle instead.
It turned out to be an unnecessary concern.
With the entire estate thrown into chaos by the tragedy that had befallen the Grand Duke, not a single person paid any attention to the arrival of a new maid.
The Reints family had been annihilated on charges of treason. Acting under the king’s command, the Grand Duke of Clifford had drawn his sword and executed the Margrave of Reints on the spot.
The Reints family… committing treason? Could that be true? Then that boy…
Roseline, who had been waiting endlessly for her father’s return, was left stunned by the shocking news.
After arriving at the castle, she had not even seen her mother once.
Under the pretext of reflecting on her reckless decision to follow into dangerous territory, Roseline was confined and forbidden from meeting anyone.
Only Cora and Rose—who had arrived with her—remained by her side.
Miriam had briefly considered having the maid who accompanied Roseline flogged, but decided against it, thinking there was no need to inflict further shock on her daughter.
Sensing the grim atmosphere of the estate, Roseline waited for her father.
She hoped he would appear as always, unharmed, and embrace her.
But that wish was not granted.
The father she had believed would return healthy as ever… never came back.
“The Grand Duke of Clifford… while dealing with the aftermath of the treasonous Reints family…”
“Speak properly!”
“…was assassinated… by a surviving descendant of the Reints family.”
At those words, Miriam—who had been pressing the knight sharply—collapsed in shock.
“Mother!”
Roseline rushed forward and caught her as she fell.
Miriam, her will to live shattered, closed her eyes after staring blankly at her daughter. A single tear slipped down her cheek.
Roseline slowly embraced her.
It was the day the glasshouse that had sheltered her so securely shattered.
Miriam’s wailing. Her screams. The sound of things breaking.
Listening to it all from the next room, Roseline shut herself away as though dead.
Even after her period of confinement ended, she continued to sink deeper into herself until the day of the funeral.
No matter how the maids begged, she neither ate nor slept.
My father’s death is because of me.
The boy from the Reints family—the one she had hidden and helped escape with her own hands.
That boy killed Father… No. That can’t be possible.
…Can it?
There was no one to hold Roseline warmly and tell her it wasn’t her fault.
Her mother, Miriam, had lost her sanity halfway from the shock of losing her husband.
In a room where she was completely abandoned and isolated, Roseline lay awake through endless nights.
If it was poison… then it’s possible. Even someone weak could harm a great man that way.
Roseline reached her conclusion at her father’s funeral.
She watched every detail as the Grand Duke’s body—bearing traces of poisoning—was prepared.
His eyes were peacefully closed, but the pain he must have felt at the moment of death was vividly etched into his expression.
I killed Father.
No tears came.
She did not look away from her father’s bluish face.
She had to witness his end.
As the daughter of the Grand Duke, she had a responsibility to fulfill.
She would stop being a foolish daughter.
The moment she accepted the reality she did not want to face, Roseline made that resolve.
“You know, don’t you? These are people from your mother’s family.”
Her maternal uncle, whom she met at the funeral, greeted her warmly.
Behind him, members of the Devonshire household filled the funeral hall.
Though it was natural for in-laws to attend, it was somewhat unusual for them to gather in such numbers and behave as if they owned the place.
“Your mother is in no state, so she has entrusted matters to us, her family. Do not trouble yourself over it.”
The Duke of Devonshire said this as he stopped Roseline, who had been quietly observing them.
“The responsibility now rests heavily on your shoulders. Unfortunately, the only child left behind is a daughter…”
Though he spoke as if it were regrettable, he seemed oddly pleased.
A sense Roseline had possessed since childhood rang an alarm in her mind.
There was definitely something.
Even if it was not directly related to her father’s death, it was clear that her uncle was pleased by it.
“……”
No. It wasn’t certain.
Can I still trust my instincts? It was because of them that Father died.
Perhaps it was nothing more than a delusion born from her desire to blame someone else.
Roseline coldly reexamined her own fault.
She did not realize that her self-assessment had dropped drastically compared to before.
“You must carry on your late father’s will.”
Snapped back to reality by her uncle’s words, Roseline nodded with dry eyes.
They say Mother refused food and drink for some time after Father’s death as well.
Roseline tightly held her mother’s pale hand, as if trying not to lose even that faint warmth—but Miriam did not return the gesture.
Watching Miriam pull her hand away and beat her chest in grief, Roseline steadied herself once more.
She wanted to hide in her mother’s embrace and cry, but the mother who once frightened her could no longer protect or restrain her. Instead, she had become someone Roseline needed to protect.
I should have them prepare some soup for Mother.
After the Grand Duke’s death, most of his loyal retainers declared their resignation and scattered. Their places were filled by people sent from Miriam’s family, the Devonshires.
The head chef was among them.
The Devonshire-born chef knew her mother’s tastes well—but knew nothing about Roseline.
Before helping her mother leave, Roseline cast one final glance around the funeral hall.
The Grand Duke who cherished her like a jewel, and the knights who followed him, were no longer here.
Only after losing it did she realize how precious and strong the protection surrounding her had been.
No one from the Devonshire family paid attention to Roseline. Their focus was solely on Miriam’s grief.
Other nobles, intimidated by the Devonshires’ dominance, dared not approach Roseline or Miriam. Afraid of being mistaken for opportunists, they avoided her like timid animals.
As Roseline helped Miriam away, the Duke of Devonshire gave a final reminder.
“You must listen well to your mother.”
“I will.”
If I had, Father wouldn’t have died.
But the Duke’s apparent satisfaction at her father’s death made it impossible for her to regard him kindly. A chill crept into her reply.
The Duke, momentarily displeased by her tone, soon dismissed it as the shock of losing her father and nodded.
I don’t like her attitude… but she is that tiger-like Clifford’s child. It’s only natural she has some bite.
For now, she’s the most useful tool I have. I can tame her in time.
The Duchy of Clifford was, for all intents and purposes, already in his hands.
Concealing his sinister thoughts, the Duke of Devonshire sent Roseline off with a benevolent smile.
Ten years later.
The Devonshire ducal house, which had stopped at nothing in its pursuit of power—
The authority they had built with blood, once thought eternal, vanished in an instant.
“At the end of the day, they’re nothing more than vassals. When a kingdom collapses, what can they possibly do?”
A letter—clearly written with bitter emotions—fluttered in the man’s hand.
It contained words of welcome and praise for the occupying forces from Caldrov, along with a cautious proposal of marriage.
Gerard, the commander of the invading army that had overtaken Verita, laughed arrogantly, barely concealing his excitement.
“Still, I’ll give Devonshire credit—they do have an excellent sense for reading the times.”
“Sounds like you like what the letter says.”
The servant placing down the teacup trembled at the sight of the man lounging across from him with one leg crossed.
Speaking so casually—even in private—to Prince Gerard was permitted to very few.
Anyone would be appalled by such disrespect, but knowing the blood price he had paid to stand there, none dared to object.
“Indeed. I didn’t expect them to rush in offering up their daughter this quickly.”
“Devonshire had a daughter?”
“No. Ah, you’d know this one well.”
With a playful grin, Gerard handed over the letter.
Callahan accepted it without hesitation.
His eyes paused briefly on the portrait before scanning the lines of text.
“Roseline Clifford. She’s not Devonshire’s daughter—she’s their niece.”
“They don’t have one, so it amounts to the same thing. The message is clear.”
Chided for spoiling the mood, Callahan silently stared at the portrait again.
The image of a strikingly beautiful woman.
Yet within her remained traces of the girl who had once helped him, despite being his enemy.
But the eyes that had once sparkled like flames in his dreams now appeared overly gentle in the painting.
Is that the painter’s doing… or has she truly lost her light?
Gerard nudged him teasingly.
“What are you staring at? Surprised she’s that beautiful?”
The excitement in his voice betrayed his own thoughts.
“Who knows.”
Callahan, as if he had never been engrossed at all, casually set the letter down.
I’ll just go and see for myself.
