Chapter 65
At last, she could see it—those trembling, frightened eyes, shaken without direction.
“…I’m sorry.”
Hannibal muttered an incoherent apology and withdrew his hand. Only then did Anne relax, exhaling a sharp breath.
“Then, I’ll relay today’s matter to the lady and make the preparations right away.”
The schedule had to be moved forward, even by a single day. Anne bowed deeply and hurried out of the annex.
Watching her all but flee with quickened steps, Hannibal let out a late sigh.
“…Crazy bastard.”
* * *
“Haa… haa…”
Anne, heart pounding, almost sprinted back to the main castle. Without even catching her breath, she went straight to Victoria’s chamber.
“My lady.”
“Anne?”
Perhaps Victoria too had lost her sleep, for she opened the door immediately at the knock.
When Anne conveyed what Hannibal had said, Victoria sank onto the bed, her eyes brimming with tears.
“…Really… I’m going to be alright, right…?”
“Yes, you’ll be fine. It’s nothing. Truly, when this all passes, it’ll be as if nothing happened, my lady.”
Anne soothed her gently, staying at her side until she finally drifted into slumber. Then she left.
The head maid’s chamber was hers alone. Thank heavens no one else was there.
Anne stepped inside, biting her lips, swinging her fists in the air, then beating her own chest in frustration.
“Get a hold of yourself, Anne Perot!”
Slap! She smacked both her cheeks hard.
I am a maid. He is a noble.
I am a maid. He is a Clayde.
I am a maid. He is the lord of the West—Hannibal Clayde!
He is the ruler of the western lands, equal in stature to the witch who is revered as a god. How could someone as lowly as a maid dare…
Anne listed out hundreds of reasons why she must not let her heart flutter.
He belonged to the greatest noble house in the West, possessing wealth and military might enough to make even Highman wary.
And as if that weren’t enough—he had inherited the witch’s bloodline, his beauty sculpted like a statue.
“…And in comparison, I’m just…”
Anne began counting her own traits on her fingers.
“I’m the head maid. Competent, in my own way. Hmm… appearance not bad. I get along with my younger brother, who earns his keep. My relations with others aren’t terrible either. Yes… just ordinary. Ordinary.”
Before she could even use up all ten fingers, she shook her hands dry. Useless.
So live ordinary. Alone, but well.
“Even living just ordinarily feels like dying sometimes!”
A peaceful retirement. A safe and comfortable old age. That was the only future she had sworn to chase when she started over again.
Anne forced herself to erase the memory of the annex from her mind—
the solid warmth of his chest,
the touch of his palm brushing her cheek,
and most of all, Hannibal Clayde’s face shining brighter than the night sky.
Even each strand of hair fluttering in the wind had been beautiful.
“Stop. Stop thinking about it, Anne!”
Slap! She struck her cheeks again.
Getting burned once was enough. She mustn’t make a fool of herself twice.
She hurriedly changed clothes and threw herself into bed, pulling the blanket up over her head and chanting like a mantra:
“No nobles. No lords. That man… I must not. I dare not…”
* * *
“I want to go to the Witch’s Forest!”
It had been nearly two months since Victoria last joined the count and lord at breakfast, but now she suddenly declared it.
“What nonsense is that?”
“Why?”
Ignoring Count Arthur, she fixed her gaze on Hannibal.
“You wouldn’t take me last time, remember? If you don’t, I’ll go alone. I’ll pray there so that peace will stay here, that no war will come.”
First, she had to present a proper reason. But she also needed to look childish enough to loosen Count Arthur’s suspicion.
Hannibal clicked his tongue.
“Is that truly the reason? Not because you’re angry I came between you and Sandor?”
“…That too! If you’d just taken me in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened. So there!”
Her whining retort made Count Arthur shake his head in irritation.
“This time I’ll really go. I’ll pray to the witch for a proper husband!”
At that, Hannibal set down his fork, staring at her in exasperation.
“Ah, so that’s your true motive.”
Count Arthur chuckled at his unusually resolute daughter.
“Let her go, Hannibal. She’s of no use here anyway.”
He looked at Victoria with mocking eyes, clearly pleased at how much she managed to get under Hannibal’s skin.
“Then go and pray properly for peace. Be sure to write your wish, place it in the fire by the altar, and burn it, understood?”
“Yes! I’ll definitely do it!”
Clatter! With dishes rattling, Victoria shot up from the table, thrilled at Hannibal’s permission.
“At this rate, will she ever marry? No mistress of the house to guide her, and so she grew this unruly. Hannibal, you must wed quickly—”
Count Arthur’s usual nagging began anew.
Hannibal ignored it and left the table. Behind him, his father’s scolding followed, sharp and unrelenting.
* * *
Three nights later.
Anne, Oliver, and Victoria stood waiting before the entrance to the castle’s underground vault, summoned by Hannibal.
“We’re leaving tomorrow morning, right?” Oliver asked.
“Yes.”
“Then why call us out this late at night? And why bring our luggage too?”
“Who knows.”
Victoria seemed indifferent, while Oliver chattered with curiosity.
Anne stayed quiet until the sound of Hannibal’s footsteps made her look up.
“My lord.”
“You’re all here.”
Confirming the group, Hannibal produced a key and unlocked the underground vault.
This was a place only the Clayde lord himself could enter.
Only once or twice a year, for cleaning, would the head maid or butler be given the key. Otherwise, entry was strictly forbidden.
Anne hesitated for a moment.
Are Oliver and I even allowed inside…?
The air that rushed out was musty, making her hold her breath as she followed the others in.
“Wow, I can’t believe I’m actually in here. Are we even supposed to be?”
“That’s exactly my thought,” Anne agreed.
Victoria, however, looked around with wide eyes, reaching toward a glass case.
“Just look. Don’t touch.”
As though he had eyes in the back of his head, Hannibal caught her in the act. Victoria quickly curled her fingers back, withdrawing her hand from the trinket.
“Geez, then why bring us here if you won’t even show us anything?”
“I’m wondering the same, my lord,” Anne added after Victoria.
They passed displays lining the entrance corridor, until finally they reached an empty circular chamber.
In its center sat a desk, and atop it, a pedestal that held a small stone.
“The Witch’s Compass is just sitting here? No wonder Mei could steal it so easily!” Oliver grumbled.
Anne studied it closely. So this is a witch’s relic… It looks nothing more than a small, ordinary compass that fits in the palm of a hand.
“This underground vault holds treasures handed down through the Clayde line. All are enchanted with tracking spells, so even if lost they can be recovered. Most are weapons that only a Clayde can properly wield.”
Hannibal fixed his eyes on the three.
“I brought you here because I trust you. You alone know about my contract.”
Count Arthur might have guessed his son had bartered something, but he never asked what or cared to know.
Only Oliver, as his childhood friend, had pressed Hannibal until he confessed. And Anne, through recent events, had ended up revealing the truth to Victoria.
“With three of you, it’s hardly a secret anymore. So this time—go and end it once and for all.”
Oliver frowned.
“End it? You said you gave your life as the price. What, are you planning to offer up Victoria instead? Is that why you called us, Hannibal?!”
Righteous Oliver Gatens could never follow such a twisted command, even from his dearest friend. His voice sharpened, as though ready to grab him by the collar.
“No! I want to go,” Victoria interjected.
“What? Victoria! Heartbreak or not, this isn’t right. There are plenty of good men in the world. Don’t throw yourself away for the likes of him!”
Anne sighed, glancing at Hannibal. Clearly, he hadn’t explained everything to Oliver. At least a little cover story would’ve helped…
As she rolled her eyes, Hannibal’s gaze caught hers.
“No one will die. Everyone will come back safely. I promise, Oliver.”
“…Really?”
The certainty in his voice made Oliver relent immediately.
Watching the two, Anne could sense the deep trust forged between them over years. A trust she couldn’t help but envy.
Victoria sidled up to Anne then, clutching her arm.
Of course—she was the most anxious of all.
Anne patted her hand comfortingly.
“My lady, it will all be fine.”
Hannibal tapped Oliver’s shoulder, then opened one of the many drawers lining the walls.
Inside were bundles of rolled parchment. Pulling them out, he held them up—and Oliver’s eyes widened.
“You want us to use teleportation scrolls?”
“Yes. It’s dangerous, so use them. In the Witch’s Forest, time flows strangely—you can’t measure it precisely. Still, it should only take about a day. Oliver, make sure to keep track of the time and return at this hour. At the latest, three days. If you’re not back by then, I’ll come for you myself.”
Anne peeked at the old parchments as Oliver fussed over them, but she couldn’t read a single thing inscribed upon the sheets.
