<Episode 8>
It happened when I was thirteen.
On the way from the capital to the western Valtres territory, I was kidnapped by the nanny I had cherished like my own mother. She sold me to a cult in exchange for money.
A sum so paltry it wasn’t even enough to cover a noble girl’s monthly allowance.
So rather than the betrayal itself, what shocked me more was that she sold me for such a miserable little amount.
I had to ask her why. I went straight to the underground prison where she was held.
“Why did you do it, Emma? If you had asked me, I would have simply given you the money.”
Broken by torture, she had confessed everything she knew, and now she did nothing but wait for the noose.
Though I resented her, some part of me still loved her. If she had shown even the slightest hint of remorse, I had been ready to spare her life.
But Emma said—
“I’ve hated you from the very beginning.”
“…Why? What did I ever do wrong?”
“Because you were born. Because the lady had to die because of you!”
My mother, the Duchess of Valtres, died giving birth to me.
Emma had been her handmaid since childhood.
I knew they had been close, but it never once occurred to me that she might resent me because of it.
“But that wasn’t my fault.”
Ahahaha—Emma let out a loud, almost mocking laugh, as if she’d heard the funniest joke in the world.
“You don’t need a reason to hate someone, my lady. Back then, I simply needed someone to blame… and it just happened to be you.”
“……”
“So, my lady… don’t give your heart away so easily.”
Those words became Emma’s final testament.
The next afternoon, word came that everyone involved in the kidnapping had been executed by hanging. Chesire visited shortly after, worried because I had been abducted by thugs.
“Your Highness must never betray me.”
I clutched the collar of my year-old fiancé as though I meant to tear it apart, begging him desperately.
I had already surrendered my whole heart to him. If he were ever to betray me like Emma had, I felt I would never rise again.
“Why would I ever do something so cruel to you?”
“You don’t have to love me forever—just don’t lie to me. And please… please never betray me…”
“Do not worry, my lady. We are bound for life.”
“Please promise me, Your Highness. Promise that you will never betray me.”
Then Chesire, with an unusually solemn expression, declared—
“I swear upon the name of Chesire Vladis.”
‘Wonderful. Just perfect.’
Of all dreams—why that one?
Seeing Chesire in the duke for even a moment must have shaken me more than I’d expected. Leaning against the carriage window as I slept had left my neck stiff; I massaged it quietly.
Across from me, the duke gave a brief remark.
“You slept again.”
“…I was tired.”
Not a great excuse when I barely ate but slept just fine.
Alone together in a small, silent carriage—boredom had made me yawn until I dozed off for real. Of course I couldn’t admit that.
It felt embarrassing to keep falling asleep in front of the duke, who hadn’t slept for an entire month.
‘Probably because of me.’
It was strange that I, not a saint, could suppress his miasma just by existing—and stranger still that he remained perfectly fine without sleep for so long.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t think of him in human terms.’
I had never felt miasma like his from a living person before.
Naturally so.
I had seen people corrupted by miasma, yes—but they were almost always mindless, senseless. If the miasma grew too dense, they became monsters entirely.
Like zombies, in a way.
‘Maybe the duke is just a very beautiful, very intelligent zombie.’
While I was having such blasphemous thoughts, the carriage slowed and stopped.
“Arrived at Northellan, Block Three.”
I instinctively stared at the duke.
With his hood pulled low to hide his striking features, he met my gaze with unreadable eyes.
“……”
“……”
The silent staring contest didn’t last long.
My noble upbringing had made being escorted from a carriage feel natural—and without thinking, I found myself waiting for the duke to help me down.
‘Mortifying!’
“The r—ride was rough, that’s all. I’ll get off first.”
It was a nonsensical excuse—the carriage was a hired one Giselle had summoned from outside the Winter Castle. Still, I clung to it and reached for the door handle.
Clack.
“…Ah.”
But the duke’s hand fell over mine, pushed the handle, and then, without hesitation, he leapt lightly from the carriage before I could react.
“Come down.”
He looked up at me, hand extended.
It wasn’t perfectly textbook form, but an escorting gesture all the same.
I placed my hand in his, dazed.
“Th… thank you?”
A proper nobleman would have replied with “Think nothing of it,” or “It was no trouble.”
But this was the Demon Duke.
“Is that enough?”
He asked instead, as if checking off a task.
‘If this man had been in high society, the ladies’ tea parties would have been filled with gossip—actually, no. They would have forgiven anything.’
That face was enough to excuse any lack of manners.
I was reminded once more of the power of beauty.
“If we could sell just your face, the Winter Castle could double its living conditions.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing at all.”
The capital of Bellmeier—Northellan.
Unlike the duke’s eerie, haunted-castle-like estate, the capital looked surprisingly proper and peaceful.
Buildings and roads, clean and well maintained despite lacking polish.
People walking through streets dusted with a thin layer of snow.
Block Three, the busiest commercial district, was lively even in the cold.
Antiquated but functional temperature-regulating magic devices stood along the streets, keeping the air just warm enough.
‘Wow. The castle didn’t even have firewood, let alone magic devices.’
It sounds like a lie, but it’s true.
They hadn’t heated the castle at all—only recently did they begin burning firewood. Even so, it was still freezing enough that I kept a body-warming spell active around the clock.
I got distracted admiring the unfamiliar city and quickly pulled myself together, calling the duke—
“Du— I mean…”
“Speak.”
Seeing him here—in a bustling, crowded shopping district rather than atop some desolate castle wall—felt jarringly strange.
And walking beside me like this? Even stranger.
“Now that we’re out here… what should I even call you? I mean, Your Grace—no, um… you? Sir…? Uh… hey…?”
Good grief.
With people around, I had no idea what form of address was appropriate, and a complete mess tumbled out of my mouth.
The duke, sculptural face as unreadable as ever, answered indifferently—
“Just call me by my name.”
“…Me? Call you?”
“Yes. Continue with what you were saying.”
I knew Winter Castle ignored hierarchy—but this?
His expression didn’t shift in the slightest, while I had trouble hiding my discomposure.
‘I never even called Chesire by his name.’
Even though we’d been engaged since childhood, he was always “Your Highness” to me—the small sun of the Empire.
I looked at the duke—who, amid the bustling scenery, radiated an atmosphere utterly apart from everyone else.
Then I finished my interrupted question.
“…Are you really allowed to come outside?”
Up until now, I had honestly suspected that he was something like a bound spirit.
He felt like someone born and destined to die within the Winter Castle, someone who would never leave it.
Yet he had stepped outside so easily. Whatever Giselle told him must have been persuasive.
“There is no place in Bellmeier I cannot go.”
“Well… yes, that makes sense…”
He strode ahead with long steps.
“If you accept that, then keep up.”
Sighing, I grabbed the edge of his robe.
“No. Stop for a moment. Did you come here just to take a walk?”
“What are you dissatisfied with? I believe I’m accompanying you quite adequately.”
“Not even close.”
Why had Giselle pushed me to go out with him?
‘He’s way too conspicuous!’
The duke simply walked—tall as a lamppost, cloaked suspiciously, drawing curious stares everywhere.
It wasn’t the robe—it was probably his miasma, which even those without magic could sense as an ominous aura.
Normally only those with holy power or mana could detect miasma clearly, but his was in a league of its own.
“Who’s that man? Covered head to toe in black in broad daylight. Never seen anyone dressed like that.”
