Chapter 7

“Hmm? Did something bite me?”

She must have left the window open—maybe a bug had gotten in. As Lanya scratched at the spot, something suddenly plopped down onto her leg. Startled, she turned and her eyes widened.

…His Highness?

The duke—who had been awake earlier, sword in hand—was now asleep. His arm had fallen across her leg. She gently nudged it, but he remained deeply asleep.

Lanya swallowed.

Up close, he really was… beautiful.

It felt strange to describe a man that way, but no other word fit. And the more she looked, the more familiar he seemed.

Had she seen him in the capital before?

She tilted her head, leaning in a little closer—when suddenly, his eyes snapped open.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His icy gaze made her flinch.

“N-nothing! I was just— Your Highness—”

But as she studied his face from this distance, the sense of familiarity only grew stronger. Yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t recall ever meeting him.

“Have we met before? You just… look somewhat familiar.”

“Get away.”

“Eep!”

A dagger—she had no idea where it had come from—was suddenly pressed against her throat. Lanya gasped and scrambled off the bed, sliding down to the floor.

“I-I’m getting away! See? I moved!”

She pouted, feeling strangely wronged. What had she done to deserve a weapon at her throat? If anything, he had been the one to come into her room. But she swallowed her frustration and remained silent.

The duke stepped down from the bed and asked, “Did I come looking for you again?”

“Yes. And you came through the window.”

His expression darkened, and Lanya instinctively fell quiet.

“It seems my time is nearly up.”

He muttered the words almost like self-reproach, then turned to look at her.

Lanya shrank under his gaze.

The Duke of Berkian said nothing more. He simply left the room.

Alone, Lanya stared at the closed door, dumbfounded.

She left her room and walked down the hallway. Suddenly, he stopped.

His gaze fell on his reflection in the window.

Three years ago, Litrich de Berkian had been spoken of as a potential heir to the throne—perfect in every way. He was skilled in both swordsmanship and leadership, admired more than the ailing emperor whose health was often frail.

Yet Litrich had never desired the throne. But perhaps that had never mattered.

…I killed Jack?

After drinking something given to him at the emperor’s birthday banquet, he had awakened to the stench of blood.

Turning his head, he saw Jack—the young knight who had admired him—lying dead, brutally slain.

They said Litrich had killed him.

It was impossible. Why would he do such a thing? He couldn’t remember anything.

And yet others insisted it was true.

My lord… you truly cannot recall last night?

No matter how hard he tried, the memories remained absent. But after that night, Katu Khan had been gravely injured. Then other subordinates followed.

Litrich eventually sought the temple’s help.

The priests discovered something strange.

This symbol… it is a curse, Your Highness!

A geometric black marking had appeared on his shoulder.

They cried out in shock.

Someone has cursed you!

The emperor’s rage was immediate.

“Silence! Who would dare curse my brother?”

“But this mark is unmistakably the sign of sorcery—”

A curse. The idea that he had been cursed.

Litrich refused to accept it. He needed proof.

“Very well. We shall test it. We will see whether you priests have run out of divine power and now speak lies—or whether I truly am cursed.”

That night, with priests, the emperor, and his knights watching, Litrich changed.

When morning came, he studied their expressions—and finally accepted the truth.

He was cursed.

After that, he could not remain in the capital near the emperor.

“I would only become a burden to His Majesty.”

He decided to leave for the northern fortress—land gifted to him years ago as a reward for victory.

“I will remain in the north until I find a way to break the curse.”

“You cannot! You are my only brother. Now that we know of the curse, we must find a way to lift it—”

“I cannot remember last night. And I… I killed someone I cared for deeply. I fear what I might do to you. Please… let me go.”

The memory of harming those he loved—of doing so without recollection—was more terrifying than the curse itself.

“I will return. I swear it. I will return to Your Majesty’s side and protect the empire as I always have. Until then, please remain well.”

Thus he went to the north, sealing the fortress’s gates.

For three years, Litrich searched for the one who had cursed him.

He summoned sorcerers from across the continent, but none could undo the spell.

They always said the same thing: only the caster could lift the curse.

A year passed. Then another.

Three long years.

Litrich nearly gave up.

Then one day, it happened.

“The bride is the answer! The bride can lift your curse!”

The emperor refused to abandon him.

He sent brides—hoping the priests’ words might be true.

But some of those women vanished, killed in nights Litrich could not remember.

The emperor begged him not to give up.

Yet Litrich could not bear it.

And then the girl arrived.

The only bride he had not killed.

Small and thin, with a face that seemed too large for her frame—yet her eyes burned with quiet determination.

Why… are you so obsessed with that girl? And why do you refuse to kill her?

Litrich stared at his reflection and asked the question of the man inside him.

Footsteps approached.

“Lord.”

It was Ruse.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Litrich turned.

“What is it?”

“Information about the girl has arrived.”

“…Let’s go.”

The information Ruse brought was clear.

Lanya had served as a maid from the age of ten until her early twenties, working under three different masters.

The first had been a slave trader.

The scar on her wrist was likely his doing.

The second was a southern noble—a depraved man with a taste for cruelty.

She had barely escaped his abuse.

And now, she had become a bride in place of the Roan Baron’s daughter.

Her luck had been terrible. Every master had been either a monster, a pervert, or a broken soul.

And they all seemed to take special pleasure in tormenting her.

Now she had been sent as a substitute bride.

“So it’s true,” Katu Khan murmured as he read the report.

She really had been the baron’s maid—and now a replacement bride.

Even a hardened man like him felt pity.

She had gone days without proper meals and lived a life of constant violence.