Chapter 35
“…Damn it.”
That name had always held immense value to Benedict. Until now, he had never once doubted it.
But what did mere bloodline matter?
‘Am I… not even worthy of going to save Lucien?’
Tears streamed down his face as his body trembled. He was terrified—terrified that he might lose Lucien while standing here uselessly, doing nothing.
Who knew how much time had passed. A shadow flickered along the side of the building.
Benedict stopped shouting and stared intently in that direction.
Jun was holding someone in his arms.
It had to be Lucien. But her limp body made it impossible to tell if she was still alive. Only then did Alphy’s grip finally loosen.
“Lucien!”
Benedict stumbled forward as if he might collapse, running toward Jun who was coming closer.
Lucien’s head rested heavily against Jun’s shoulder, her eyes shut and her body unmoving.
“She—she’s alive, right? She’s not hurt?”
Benedict reached out a trembling hand toward Lucien, desperate to know if she was okay—he was nearly losing his mind.
But before his hand could reach her, Jun pulled Lucien tighter into his arms and turned his body away completely.
“Don’t touch her!”
Jun didn’t even try to hide his outright rage.
“Ah…”
Benedict froze, unable to say another word.
With Lucien still in his arms, Jun climbed down the hill from the forest.
Just then, the fire brigade—having been dispatched after a report—arrived. Benedict could do nothing but stand there and watch the terrible blaze be completely extinguished.
Feeling as though he had shrunk into nothing.
Blackwood was soon captured near the cabin.
Upon hearing that Lucien had survived, he wore a resigned expression and confessed everything.
He had used a traveling troupe to conceal his identity and sneak through the city gates. To avoid recognition, he had even disguised himself as a woman.
He didn’t know Lucien was originally from the troupe. His plan was to enter the village and sneak out at the right time—but then Lucien showed up at the troupe on her own, which surprised him greatly.
He had convinced himself that his father must have sent Lucien to help him get revenge.
As someone trained as a knight, knocking out a small girl and transporting her wasn’t difficult. Everything had gone smoothly.
But he adamantly denied the most serious charge. According to him, he didn’t set the fire—Lucien did.
When a knight scoffed and asked how a girl tied hand and foot could have started a fire, Blackwood shouted:
“She’s a witch! My father died because he was ensnared by a witch’s tricks!”
Anyone who heard that statement thought Blackwood had clearly gone mad.
After all, why would a kidnapping victim set a fire?
And the ignition point had clearly been inside the building. No one but Blackwood could have started it.
The knight who apprehended him shared Benedict’s conclusion. Especially considering Blackwood had a matchbox among his possessions—he clearly intended to kill Lucien by burning her.
“But it’s strange.”
Duchess Emma, Benedict’s grandmother, reviewed the report and raised an objection.
“If he was going to tell such a ridiculous lie, then he wouldn’t have confessed to harboring murderous intent in the first place. He’d have hidden everything to reduce his sentence.”
“Let’s not worry too much. The man’s clearly insane, Grandmother,” Benedict said.
“But still—”
Emma was about to explain further, but Benedict replied stiffly.
“I think the knight is right, Grandmother. And since he already admitted to the abduction and intent to kill, there’s no obstacle to sentencing him.”
“Calm down. Let’s take a more measured look at the situation.”
Emma tried to soothe him gently, but Benedict didn’t want to waste any more time.
“No.”
He shook his head firmly.
At the scene, he’d been nothing but a powerless fool, shouting like an idiot—because of his position as a Duke.
But now was different.
Now was the time to use his title and power for Lucien’s sake.
He wanted to sentence Blackwood as harshly and as quickly as possible—so Lucien could feel safe again.
And so, Blackwood was sentenced to imprisonment in the infamous northern prison—a place so dreadful, they said no one ever came out once they were put in.
Had Lucien died, he would have received the death penalty. But since she survived, he narrowly escaped it.
With that, the official procedures of the Blackwood case came to a close.
However, even after some time had passed, Benedict couldn’t get the case out of his head. He went over it again and again.
‘Blackwood’s motive is clear. He confessed, and he had a matchbox in his possession.’
All the pieces fit.
Even if the sentence had been somewhat rushed, Benedict hadn’t overlooked anything important.
And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to close the case file. He kept going back to it.
Every evening, he found himself standing outside the guest room where Lucien used to stay.
But he never knocked on the door.
There was no need—because she wasn’t there.
Since the incident, Lucien had not returned to the Duke’s mansion.
9. A World of Their Own
A massive red tent rose in the village square, tall enough to reach the sky.
At the top flew a flag painted with a clown’s smile, announcing to the entire village that the troupe was preparing for a show.
Once the sun set, the members would paint their faces, don elaborate costumes, and march through the streets to the beat of drums and trumpets.
Anyone captivated by that dazzling parade would be unable to resist entering the red tent to witness the magical night inside.
Lucien awoke to the irregular sound of drums and trumpets.
Immediately, she understood—the parade is happening. And then she remembered what she had to do.
She was to quietly approach those mesmerized by the performers and hand them small flyers while asking politely, “Please come watch us.”
She’d learned that the key was to smile sweetly and kindly—but unfortunately, no one ever really noticed her smile.
Most people were too distracted by the flashy troupe and would absentmindedly accept the flyer with a muttered, “Uh, sure.”
Still, distributing those flyers with show times and enticing phrases was a very important job.
Lucien slowly got up. If she lazed around any longer, she’d get in serious trouble.
She tied the ribbon in her hair more tightly and put on an apron with a large pocket for the flyers.
Everything she did was familiar—automatic, even. But then she turned toward the mirror.
There, swaying amidst her hair, was a fine, luxurious ribbon. And seeing it, Lucien remembered what she had forgotten in the midst of routine:
She no longer belonged here.
A soft knock sounded just then. Before she could respond, the door opened, and Jun peeked inside.
When he saw Lucien standing, he rushed into the carriage and exclaimed,
“Lu! When did you get up?”
“Just now…”
“You should’ve called someone. Did you drink any water?”
When she shook her head, he gently pulled her back to sit on the bed, poured water into a wooden cup, and handed it to her.
Only then did Lucien realize how sore her throat was. She slowly drank.
“Why were you up? And even wearing your apron?”
“Well… hmm.”
Lucien couldn’t get her voice to come out properly.
“Sorry—don’t force yourself to speak. It’s from inhaling the smoke. The doctor said you’ll be fine after resting a few days.”
She nodded and took another sip.
“Lu, do you want to know what happened?”
It was exactly what she had been wondering.
“A new member of the troupe took you to the cabin in the mountains.”
She remembered that. The image of his back as he walked away after tying her up made her fingertips tremble.
But then Jun’s warm hand quietly covered hers.
He didn’t say a word, but Lucien felt a deep sense of relief.
It’s okay now.
She thought that to herself and looked at Jun again, urging him to continue.
“He set the fire, and you were in danger. But thankfully, the Duke found the place just in time.”
“Bene…dict?”
When she said his name, Jun’s expression briefly stiffened—for some reason. He quickly returned to his usual gentle smile, though.
“Yes, that’s right. So we were able to bring you back before it was too late. The doctor said you’d recover fully with rest. But he did say you need to apply ointment morning and evening if you don’t want scars on your wrists and ankles.”
Only now did Lucien clearly see the abrasions on her body. Her skin was badly scratched and bruised from struggling against the ropes.
“Speaking of which, should I apply the medicine now? There’s a performance tonight—we might forget later.”
Jun opened the ointment and held out his hand. Lucien instinctively gave him hers.
“If it hurts, tell me.”
He dabbed a wooden spatula into the white ointment and gently applied it to her wrist. It stung, but not unbearably, so she stayed silent.
He carefully covered the entire area, even blowing softly on it to ease the sting. Lucien giggled at the ticklish sensation.
“Hey, Lucien…”
Holding her other hand, Jun spoke in a slightly heavier voice.
“Would you… come back to the troupe?”
