Chapter 51
“What’s taking you so long? …Wait, that dress—what is it?”
It was nearly time for Sion to arrive with Karl, but since Odette still hadn’t come down, Fernand came looking for her himself.
“My mother gave it to me as a gift. What do you think, Brother?”
Odette smiled innocently, as if she were completely clueless.
“That damn… wretched woman.”
Fernand ground his teeth with a vicious tone.
“You don’t like it? If it displeases you, I’ll change. You’re far more important to me than Mother is.”
Perhaps because he’d been at odds with his mother lately, Fernand seemed mollified by Odette’s words.
Clicking his tongue, he shook his head.
“Forget it. It’s almost time. What if you show up late and offend the marquis?”
He still had no idea he was being played by Sion.
‘At home he’s a tyrant, but in front of Sion he’s lower than a mangy dog. Pathetic.’
“You’re right. My brother is as perceptive as always.”
That was exactly why Odette had deliberately stalled until the last minute—she didn’t want to change out of the dress she liked.
Still feigning guilt, she lowered her gaze and followed Fernand down to the garden.
Soon, a carriage entered the estate grounds.
A sleek black luxury carriage bearing the crest of the Claist family, followed by a prison wagon.
“Do it exactly like we practiced yesterday. Stick to basic greetings otherwise, and behave as usual. If you run your mouth carelessly… you know what will happen, don’t you?”
With his eyes narrowed dangerously, the count repeated the warning he had already given many times.
“Yes, Father.”
Just as I always did under the watch of the count’s household, I put on a cold, arrogant expression—like a doll carved from ice.
I knew exactly what Father wanted to see. In my previous life, when Karl had come here, I had played the role of the villainess in this very spot. You could say I had field experience.
Only then did Father turn his gaze toward the approaching carriage.
‘Fine by me. I don’t want Karl to know my true standing in this family anyway.’
If he found out just how little respect I commanded in this cursed household, it would only work against me.
I wanted Karl to see me as the cherished, untouchable only daughter of the house.
To him, I had to be the kind of mistress one would never dare to offend.
The luxury carriage rolled to a stop. I stood exactly where Father had told me to, poised and silent.
This was a formal meeting between heads of houses. Protocol dictated that the heads should greet each other first.
But something unexpected happened.
“Welcome, Marquis!”
Before the marquis and Father could even exchange greetings, Fernand bolted forward like a puppy with its tail on fire, bowing even before Sion had stepped fully down from the carriage.
“…”
“…”
The disgraceful sight made the entire garden fall silent in an instant. Even Father, normally so imposing, seemed too stunned to speak.
“How vulgar.”
Sion smirked as he said it. Ordinarily, he might have spared Fernand’s dignity in front of the servants, but—
‘With that temper, there’s no way he would.’
“Move. Don’t block the way, you useless piece of trash.”
Like the insolent wretch he was, Sion kicked Fernand in the shin as he stepped gracefully out of the carriage.
It was a striking contrast—Fernand retreating with a flushed face and a limp, while still forcing a sycophantic smile for fear of losing his chance to become the marquis’s brother-in-law.
“Ahem. Marquis, was your journey here pleasant?”
Masking his humiliation, Father managed to resume a dignified air as he greeted Sion.
“Pleasant? Hardly. Why would I expect a pleasant trip when visiting you, Count?”
Sion gave a short laugh, then lit a cigar right in front of Father.
It was a blatant show of disrespect, shredding Father’s pride. Even when negotiating from a weaker position, Sion’s manner was as ruthless as a demon’s.
While Father’s face burned red, Fernand limped forward and lit Sion’s cigar like a servant, even standing on tiptoe to reach because of their height difference.
As I watched the farce unfold, Sion suddenly turned his gaze on me.
“Hello, Lady Albrecht.”
He exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke with a smile.
Now every eye in the garden—servants, Father, Fernand—was on me.
‘What’s this about? Last time we met, he swore at me and stormed off.’
“Greetings, my lord.”
I curtsied as etiquette required. But instead of merely accepting my greeting, Sion strode toward me and took my hand, brushing his lips over my gloved knuckles.
‘What is this new form of harassment?’
At least I was wearing gloves.
“To think you’d beg me for that foreign man. Is that really your type?” he murmured so only I could hear.
The smirk curling just one side of his lips made it clear he meant to insult me.
Of course, I couldn’t whisper a reply.
Father would badger me later, demanding to know what I had said to the marquis, and he was already glaring at me with a look that promised death if I misspoke.
So I launched into my performance—a villainess’s laugh, eyes shining with naked greed.
“Of course, my lord. Karl is beautiful, after all. And now he’s the last of the Fenrir tribe. Naturally, the most precious things should belong to me, shouldn’t they?”
A quick glance told me Father was pleased; a loathsome smile played on his lips.
I felt a flicker of relief.
‘Sion knows my situation. He must realize this is just an act.’
I expected him to play along.
But instead, he twisted his mouth into an even sharper grin and abruptly released my hand.
“What a wretched taste you have.”
“…Pardon?”
“You actually like that?”
It wasn’t just the insult to my taste—calling Karl “that thing” was strange.
In the game’s storyline, Sion had never shown Karl such disdain.
The Fenrir Kingdom might have been small in population and plagued by harsh climates, but its military strength and civilization were exceptional.
The reason they’d been so severely discriminated against by the continent’s people was precisely because they were too capable for a minority race—discrimination born of fear.
Before the kingdom’s fall, Karl, as the next head of the Fenrir clan, had been treated with all the honors due to a crown prince by the Varceha Empire.
Even after his people were reduced to third-class citizens, in the game Sion had always addressed Karl as a prince.
From Sion’s perspective, Karl was never someone worth degrading.
“Yes, my lord. I like Karl.”
Before I could finish speaking, Sion was already striding toward the prison wagon.
Pulling back the black covering revealed Karl inside, bound hand and foot in heavy restraints, a metal gag forcing his mouth shut.
‘This isn’t treatment for a man—it’s for an animal.’
Noticing my frown, Sion looked pleased. Ignoring the perfectly good door, he gripped one of the iron bars of the cage and pulled.
The bar warped unnaturally, creating a gap wide enough for a grown man to pass through.
“Come out, foreigner.”
At that, Karl glared at Sion with open defiance.
