Chapter 47
Elia was the woman most admired among noble ladies and married women alike.
Because of that, the social gatherings hosted by Princess Elia and her close circle were exclusive—no one could simply walk in uninvited.
Charlotte belatedly began to look around. Strange scenery came into view. It seemed she had somehow ended up in the royal garden.
“No one asked for a harpsichord performance. What are you doing here?”
“You crept in here like a stray cat, didn’t you?”
The faces of the ladies and noblewomen looking down at Charlotte instantly turned cold.
“This isn’t just a matter of a social gathering. If you’ve trespassed into the palace, you must explain your means and motive.”
“W–wait! Princess Elia, Your Highness, there’s a reason for this!”
“That’s something you can tell the knights.”
Princess Elia’s voice was icy. Charlotte begged for mercy, but there were no exceptions in the princess’s dictionary.
“I suppose no one will dare entrust Lady Charlotte with harpsichord lessons anymore.”
“I let her teach my second daughter… I can’t help but worry what she might have done to my family under the pretext of music lessons.”
As Charlotte was dragged away by the knights, the ladies covered their faces with fans and whispered among themselves.
‘N–No… This has to be a dream!’
Charlotte regretted tormenting Jaina at the Magic Tower, but it was already far too late.
Charlotte, by sheer luck, wasn’t thrown into prison. But that brought her no comfort.
Her social standing—painstakingly built over years—collapsed in an instant.
She was practically exiled from society.
No one would want to associate with her now, let alone marry her.
Exhausted and staggering, Charlotte left the palace—not for home, but for another destination.
“Because of you two, my life is over! I’m ruined!”
She burst through the door, screaming.
Inside were two people she had arranged to meet.
“I did exactly what you told me to—approached the Tower Master! But do you know what happened?”
“Sorry, but there’s no need for you to tell us.”
“What?”
One of them placed a hand on Charlotte’s head.
A sickening sound followed, as if her skull had twisted out of shape, and Charlotte went limp, collapsing like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
“No need to listen to your useless chatter when I can just look through your head myself.”
“Why…?”
“Because you’re useless now. You should’ve stayed quietly near the Tower Master as we told you to, instead of drawing attention… tsk, tsk.”
“You’re not even human… are you?”
“That’s right. We’re not human. Took you long enough to realize.”
Charlotte wanted to ask what they meant, but her body no longer obeyed her.
The woman who had touched her head closed her eyes for a long moment, then suddenly opened them, gleaming.
“It’s her. The girl’s in the Tower.”
The two recalled the fire scene they had witnessed some time ago—when they had seen Jaina.
It had been coincidence that they’d run into the blaze while out enjoying the festival.
—What a way to ruin a pleasant outing.
—Looks like the festival’s over for us.
As they examined the site, they found fragments of a peculiar urn on the ground.
—Something interesting happened here. There’s a dragon’s aura in these shards. Could it be a sacred relic?
—There aren’t any dragons in the capital besides us. Who used it?
—An unreported dragon using a sacred relic? Maybe someone destroyed it on purpose, knowing the clans need these relics.
Soon, they found a clue to the dragon’s identity.
—No casualties? In that burned-out building?
—They’re calling it a miracle.
The two exchanged glances.
It was obvious—a dragon had used a relic to heal the humans.
They discreetly cast a mind spell on one of the smiling survivors and reached out to touch them.
Thud.
—Huh? What’s wrong with this one?
Through the mind spell, they peered into the person’s memories.
The one who had saved the humans was a small, cute-looking child.
—She’s holding the relic.
They didn’t see it clearly, but judging from the hole in the ceiling, she had broken through and escaped.
—She used invisibility magic. Definitely a dragon.
—She cloaked herself in dark magic. That means she’s likely of the Nightshade Clan.
—Judging by the damage radius, she’s small… Could it be a child dragon?
They continued scanning the minds of those present, piecing the story together.
Finally, they discovered that the dragon who saved everyone was traveling with the royal grandson Logian—
and that her name was Jaina.
“But how did a dragon end up living in the Magic Tower?”
“It’s too early to assume the blue-eyed girl is a dragon. Her hair and eyes don’t match—she’s neither of the Nightshade nor Skyborne clans.”
“Still, she used a relic.”
“That’s what’s strange. Sacred relics can only be wielded by dragons…”
“Then maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe another dragon used it.”
They folded their arms, lost in thought.
After a while, the man spoke again.
“Come to think of it, wasn’t there an old rumor that the Tower Master once had a relationship with Bezritche of the Nightshade Clan?”
“What? Bezritche with a human male? Ridiculous.”
“Right, everyone thought so, and the rumor died quickly. But if it were true—then the child living in the Tower might indeed be a dragon.”
“You’re saying she’s the proof of the forbidden union?”
“Exactly. If she were the offspring of the Tower Master and Bezritche, her black hair and blue eyes would make perfect sense.”
“Good heavens…”
The woman’s eyes widened. In a low whisper, she said:
“Then she must be killed—for the honor of the dragonkind.”
“So they’ve moved faster than I expected…”
Jaina calmly practiced her harpsichord, lost in thought.
Yesterday, she had heard that her teacher Charlotte had resigned.
At the same time, she also received word that Diamid had summoned her after a long silence.
—He says he wants to hear you play tomorrow.
Charlotte had never taught her properly, but Jaina had been steadily practicing Bezritche’s Song preserved within her pendant.
She was far from a lazy student, despite what Charlotte said.
But learning on her own meant she simply lacked time.
‘I can’t even play half as well as Mother did.’
Plink—Jaina stopped playing and turned her head.
Izhren stood nearby, watching her with concern.
“The teacher was a bad person. But… are you sure you’re okay performing like this?”
“I’m fine. There’s a saying I know—‘A master craftsman never blames his tools.’ I won’t blame my teacher either.”
Their meeting place with Diamid was the Tower’s secret garden.
Jaina took out her harpsichord from her pouch and set it down at the center.
Roses were in full bloom all around—a place she had never been allowed to visit before.
Diamid had temporarily lifted the concealment spell that kept the garden hidden from others.
‘He must take this performance very seriously.’
Jaina turned.
There sat the Tower Master—draped in a black cloak, his eyes the only feature resembling hers.
Amid green and red and the lush colors of summer, he alone looked like a man out of winter.
What did it feel like, to have one’s emotions frozen?
What had Diamid felt when he fought the Demon King?
And who was Bezritche, the one who had once shaken him so deeply?
What was he hoping to find through this music she left behind?
“Begin.”
At his command, Jaina’s fingers glided fluidly across the keys.
Bezritche’s composition wasn’t technically difficult, but it carried deep emotion—
a melody that stirred different feelings in every listener.
—It’s such a sad piece. Is it about parting?
—It feels wistful, yet calm.
—All I hear is plink-plonk sounds. What’s everyone getting emotional about?
Since the harpsichord had no pedal, it was hard to express delicate nuances.
Worse, Charlotte’s endless assignments had left Jaina little time to practice the song properly.
And above all, her small hands—unlike the adult Bezritche’s—limited her range.
So her version resembled the original, yet sounded distinctly different.
“…I’m finished.”
Jaina lifted her hands from the keys and waited for Diamid’s response.
But time passed in silence.
When she looked up, she saw that his eyes were closed.
‘Will he be angry at my clumsy playing?’
He had gone to such lengths—providing her with a large room, an instrument, even servants.
He must have had high expectations.
Even if he hated her now, Bezritche had once meant the world to him.
‘He might even expel me from the Tower.’
He could use her failure as an excuse to confiscate her pendant and throw her out.
Still—no words came.
For a long while, silence hung heavy between them.
At last, Diamid slowly opened his eyes.
And when he finally spoke, his words were not at all what she had expected.
“What did that woman say to you?”
Jaina blinked. That woman?
Before she could ask, Diamid continued.
“I heard your harpsichord teacher failed to fulfill her duties.”
‘Is he blaming me for not telling him sooner?’
Jaina decided to admit her fault plainly.
