Chapter 4
Dylan looked down at the woman trembling like a leaf before him.
She was young—too young, really—to be the mother of a five-year-old child.
Was that why she was so naïve?
She holds my weakness in her hands, yet she doesn’t use it.
But in a way, Agnès’s innocent restraint was the right choice.
If she had run around shouting about his secret, Dylan would have had no choice but to “take care of” her.
And if she stayed silent—well, Dylan didn’t like killing needlessly.
He rubbed his chin with one gloved finger, his blue eyes studying her quietly.
“Did you say ‘anytime’?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Anytime you wish…”
“Doesn’t the Everchen family stop you from doing whatever you want?”
It wasn’t an accusation—just a calm, casual question.
But Agnès’s eyes wavered.
So he had investigated her.
Of course he had.
She was a woman who knew his secret.
Naturally, Dylan would have wanted to know whether she could be trusted to keep her mouth shut.
And so, by now, he probably knew everything—how she had been thrown out by Count Overhan, and how poorly she was treated back in her family’s house.
Agnès raised her chin, trying to steady her voice.
“I’m planning to leave the Everchen estate soon.”
“You’re prepared to live without your family’s protection?”
“Yes. Finding a job won’t be easy, but I can learn anything. Besides, I’ve saved enough for Noah and me to live on for a while. So please don’t worry about my freedom of movement, Your Grace.”
Dylan’s question itself gave her hope.
If he was asking that, it meant he was seriously considering her proposal.
Her golden eyes sparkled with a hint of excitement.
“Once I have my son back, I’ll move to the Basteron territory. That way, Your Grace can find me whenever you need.”
“Hmm…”
Dylan leaned back, his face thoughtful, and then slowly extended a hand.
Agnès froze when she saw his hand coming close to her veil—but he stopped before touching her.
“You should stand. I don’t enjoy keeping women on their knees.”
“But…”
“I know you’re desperate,” he interrupted calmly, “but your kneeling won’t change my decision. Stand up—I need time to think.”
His voice was polite yet cold, impossible to read.
Agnès hesitated, then placed her hand gently into his palm.
His firm grip pulled her up easily, steadying her on her feet.
When had she last been treated so gently?
She blinked, and Dylan rang the small bell on the table.
A maid entered almost immediately.
As she bowed, Dylan glanced at Agnès.
“While I think this over, you should get treated.”
“…Treated?”
She blinked in confusion, and Dylan lightly touched his own cheek before lowering his hand.
“Ah…”
“Forgive me for not pretending not to notice.”
“No, Your Grace. Thank you… for caring.”
The maid stepped forward soundlessly, signaling that she would lead the way.
Agnès hesitated for a moment, then lifted her skirt slightly and followed.
In the room she was taken to, the Basteron family physician treated the swelling on her cheek.
She had tried hard to hide it under her veil—how had Dylan noticed?
Had he been watching her?
Or had her movements given it away?
Either way, the fact that he hadn’t ignored it—and had instead called for treatment—made her smile faintly.
He’s kind, in his own way.
The thought warmed her.
It felt almost like a secret—this glimpse of gentleness in the man the world called a monster.
As always, people were not what they appeared to be.
Her little boy, Noah, was the same.
In Count Overhan’s mansion, everyone whispered that Noah was timid and dull—that it was no wonder his father disliked him.
But with Agnès, Noah was the sweetest child in the world.
He loved walking in the garden and knew every plant by name—sometimes even ones the gardener didn’t recognize.
Sometimes he would slip a flower into the pages of her books and wait for her to find it, grinning from ear to ear when she did.
“It’s the flower you said was pretty, Mama.”
Those words had felt like a blessing.
No one else had ever cared what Agnès liked or found beautiful.
To her parents and her husband, she had always been a well-behaved doll, nothing more.
But Noah had loved her—not as a role, not as a title, but as herself.
And so she would save him.
Even if Dylan refused her, she would find another way to take Noah back.
Her determination had never burned brighter.
Just then, the maid returned and bowed.
“My lady, His Grace has reached a decision. Shall I take you back to the drawing room?”
“Yes, please. Oh—wait.”
Agnès paused.
Then she decided not to put her veil back on.
Dylan had already seen her injury, had even arranged treatment for it.
To hide her face now would feel disrespectful.
She entered the room barefaced.
Dylan’s gaze lingered briefly on her cheek, but his expression didn’t change.
He simply offered his hand again, escorting her with perfect courtesy.
Once they sat and the maid left, he spoke first:
“I accept your proposal.”
Agnès’s eyes widened.
Then she quickly composed herself—but joy still shone through.
“Thank you, Your Grace. Truly, thank you.”
“It’s too early to thank me. To make our arrangement work efficiently, I have a counterproposal.”
“Of course. Please tell me. I’ll do anything within my power.”
“You can do it, certainly. I just don’t know if you’ll want to.”
His tone was oddly bitter, and she couldn’t quite read him.
Then he met her gaze and said quietly:
“Agnès Everchen, will you marry me?”
Agnès froze, her lips parting slightly in shock.
Dylan Harkvitz—a royal by blood, once considered for the throne, now the Duke of a vast northern domain.
And she—a mere viscount’s daughter, a divorced woman, with a five-year-old son.
Her beauty, her grace, her intelligence—none of that mattered anymore.
Among noble society, a divorcée with a child was damaged goods.
Her lips trembled.
“I—I couldn’t possibly…”
“It isn’t about ‘possibly.’” Dylan’s voice was low, calm. “I’m cursed. I must drink blood regularly. At most, I can last a week without it. Any longer, and I lose control… becoming the monster people say I am.”
The air in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
Agnès could feel his self-loathing like ice against her skin.
“If you agree to be my… provider, then I have no reason to refuse. I’d never have to silence another person again. But once you start visiting my house regularly, people will talk. And then a different kind of silence will be needed.”
“To stop rumors that our relationship is… improper?”
He nodded.
“It wouldn’t be good for your reputation—or for your son’s, once he’s under your care. Especially if I help you reclaim his custody. And as a royal, I must also uphold a certain dignity.”
“That’s… true,” she admitted quietly.
“Also, the social season will end soon, and I must return north. Royals can’t stay in the capital for long. But you, Lady Agnès—you’ll want to remain here until you have your son back.”
She nodded quickly.
Of course she would.
Even if she prioritised the deal, she still wanted to be close to Noah.
“If we marry,” Dylan continued, “I’ll have a reason to stay in the capital longer. Royals must hold their weddings here.”
He finished speaking and lowered his hand.
Agnès already knew what he was about to say next.
But you won’t want to marry a monster. Think carefully.
She could see it in his face—the same guilt-ridden look he’d worn that night, after drinking her blood.
Before he could finish that thought, she spoke first.
“I will.”
Dylan blinked, startled.
She met his gaze squarely and repeated herself clearly:
“I’ll marry you, Your Grace. If you’ll help me and my son, I’ll gladly become your person. Please—let it be so.”
For a moment, he seemed speechless. Then a dry, incredulous laugh escaped him as he bowed his head slightly.
She understood exactly what he had been about to say—
and it didn’t matter.
That he drank blood didn’t frighten her.
If anything, her words almost sounded as though she were trying to comfort him.
“…This won’t be a temporary arrangement,” he said at last. “It will be a marriage in name—a political one, if you will.”
