Chapter 52
For now, she wanted to give Kaisa something far better than an old, ugly handwritten letter.
“I’ll have to practice my writing more seriously.”
The image of Anette pressing her forehead in exasperation after seeing her scrawl came vividly to mind. Back then, her hand had grown numb from gripping the quill too long, and she had quickly given up. But now, a little greed stirred within her.
She wanted to find fine stationery and fill it with elegant handwriting and graceful sentences.
“Or perhaps a gift would be better.”
Suddenly she remembered the suggestion of Yuri Densler, who had been busily promoting his wares at the tea party:
—“Our shop has the largest stock in Barhad of rare oils and jewels imported from across the continent. Please feel free to visit at any time. If you notify us in advance, we will serve you with utmost care.”
Lately, Kaisa had been rising before dawn and returning to his chambers only late at night. Rather than trouble him with needless explanations, it seemed better to slip away quietly on her own.
“That way, I can make it a proper surprise…”
When she imagined Kaisa’s joy at receiving a gift, a smile crept unbidden to her lips.
“Sharie?”
She quickly buried her face against Kaisa’s chest as he pulled the blankets over her.
“If I want this surprise to work, I mustn’t be discovered now.”
Whether it was her own simplicity or simply Kaisa’s uncanny perception, he always seemed able to guess her thoughts from the slightest change in her expression.
“I’m just sleepy,” she murmured, offering the excuse she had prepared in advance.
His large hand stroked her back gently.
“Tomorrow I’ll contact Miss Yuri right away.”
The thought of Kaisa’s delighted expression made her heart race. Sharie pressed down the laughter spilling through her lips and pretended to fall asleep.
***
Olivia Kusley, for as long as she could remember, had been forced into countless demands as the daughter of the Kusley family.
The posture of a lady.
Unwavering beauty at all times.
Composure and dignity in every gesture.
If she fell short of her father’s standards, even in the slightest, his wrath would fall upon her.
When she was young, it had been bearable. Back then, she mistook the attention he paid her for love.
But at some point, she came to understand—her father did not, and would never, love her.
“So? What did you think of her, now that you’ve met her?”
Olivia lifted her gaze from the floor.
‘So this is why he summoned me to his office personally…’
Suppressing a sigh, she recalled the tea gathering from that afternoon.
—“I’m Sharie Rosevin. I hope everyone enjoys themselves today.”
She remembered the girl’s shy smile throughout the meeting, how she hurried to refill empty teacups without hesitation.
And when Sharie suddenly transformed into a rabbit no larger than a hand, Olivia had been shocked. Though she had never cared much for animals, even she had itched to reach out and touch the little creature.
“Are all rabbit-folk really that small and adorable?”
Even if it had been a mere accident, it was clear that everyone at the gathering had warmed to Sharie. Olivia was no exception.
“She treated me with remarkable kindness,” Olivia said softly.
Javeni sneered, tipping back his glass.
“She looks kind only because she’s a fool with nothing in her head. What could a thing like that possibly accomplish?”
He had heard the whispers that since his marriage, the lord had changed. But what else could one expect from a man who had never kept a woman at his side before?
“It won’t last. A passing fancy at best.”
That was the consensus among Javeni and the elder council: a wife was nothing more than a decorative pretense. No matter how one dressed it up, she was only a hostage, taken under the guise of a peace treaty.
“She’s neither beautiful nor capable. Do you really think you could lose to such a trifling rabbit girl?”
“Father. Such words are ill-suited when speaking of one so exalted. I fear what might happen if anyone overheard you.”
“This is my house. And even if someone did overhear, what could they possibly do?”
He slammed down his glass and seized Olivia’s chin in his calloused hand, forcing her to meet his eyes.
His gaze raked her from head to toe—the golden hair, the slender, graceful frame, every detail molded to suit the family’s pride.
By any measure, Olivia was the most exquisite flower in Barhad.
“I told you, Olivia. Once you bear the lord’s child, all the power of Barhad will be ours.”
Their matching golden eyes locked. Though hers resembled his, they trembled with fragility.
Javeni clicked his tongue and released her chin.
“I will not sell you cheaply.”
Her jaw tightened. No matter how many times she heard those words, they never ceased to wound.
‘That look again…’
It was not the gaze of a father upon his daughter, but the calculating eye of a merchant appraising his wares.
She rose, averting her gaze.
“If we are finished, Father, I shall take my leave.”
It was laughable. To the world, her family was esteemed beyond measure, yet never once had Olivia felt proud of her lineage.
What father sells his daughter for profit?
“Haah…”
She stepped into the corridor, the air heavy with suffocation. Yet even so, betraying her despicable father was unthinkable.
‘I don’t even have the courage for that.’
At the window, she drew back the curtain. The night was deep, an owl crying in the distance. Guards stood vigil at the gate, their sharp eyes sweeping even up to her window. Servants, too, stole glances at her as they hurried about their late duties.
Olivia let the curtain fall.
‘I’m sick of this.’
Though it was her birthplace and home, the mansion felt like nothing more than a gilded cage. She was watched everywhere she went.
Her chest tightened unbearably. Before she realized it, she was walking back toward her father’s office.
‘Please, Father. Stop using me as a pawn for your dealings.’
It was hopeless—she knew it. But desperation drove her to at least speak the words.
Yet when she arrived, the office was empty. The ice in the glass told her he had gone to bed long ago.
Her heart sank. She turned to leave—then froze as a pile of papers toppled from the desk.
“Father, really. Did you leave the window open again?”
The window gaped wide, night air rushing in. He often left his work scattered when retreating to bed with drink.
Olivia stooped to gather the papers—and stopped cold.
“…What is this?”
Her breath caught as she read. No names were given, but the handwriting was unmistakable: Arceo, the High Prelate, once her father’s ally before his fall from power.
The letter suggested secret dealings between the two men.
‘Impossible…’
Her father had long shared correspondence with the prelate, bound by their obsession with bloodlines. But to think they continued even after Arceo’s imprisonment? To plot together still?
That would be outright treason.
Shivers crawled up her spine. She forced herself to set the letter down with trembling fingers—only for another document to catch her eye: a transfer record, showing vast sums sent from one of her father’s hidden accounts to a mercenary band.
‘Why… would Father…?’
He had his own knights, his own soldiers. Why waste money hiring vagrants in secret—unless it was for some filthy work that required silence?
And that “filthy work” could only mean—
Her pulse thundered. Hastily, she stacked the papers back on the desk and fled the room before anyone saw her.
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
‘What should I do?’
If she acted rashly, he would discover her. And even if she reported him, what good would it do?
Treason brought collective punishment. If her father fell, she too would surely follow him to the scaffold.
Why should she risk death on top of losing everything else?
‘I’ll just pretend I never saw it.’
Cowardly, yes—but had she not lived her entire life this way? Change was impossible now.
‘What could I possibly do?’
Even as she whispered such excuses, her hands would not stop shaking.
