“About the heretics?”
“Yeah. But it looked strangely familiar.”
“Then you should draw it before you forget.”
Zaka pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his coat.
“You carry things like that around?”
“To serve someone properly, you need to be prepared for anything.”
“As expected from someone who used to be a palace attendant, huh?”
I laughed and laid the paper on the shaky carriage seat, trying to draw the symbol.
Zaka leaned closer to watch—and frowned immediately.
“…What are you even drawing?”
“The symbol.”
“Even a newborn baby could draw better than that.”
“I’m doing my best here!”
In the end, Zaka snatched the paper back from me.
He said it’d be faster if I described it and he drew it instead—and he was right.
“Yes! That’s exactly it! And here, make this part thinner—yeah, perfect!”
When he handed the paper back, the drawing looked exactly like the symbol I’d seen.
He even asked about small details I’d missed and filled them in.
“You’re actually pretty good at drawing, aren’t you?”
“Drawing?”
Zaka shrugged like it was nothing.
“You should learn it properly. What do you think?”
“Ah, no thanks. Sounds like a hassle.”
“Learn it so you can draw me.”
“…You, Baroness?”
“Draw Julie too! And other people!”
“That’s too much work. I’ll pass.”
After pestering him a few more times, I gave up.
“Aw, that’s too bad. My family’s so poor, the only portrait we have in the whole mansion is of my great-grandfather. I thought the poor Baroness Roxan family might finally have a day in the sun.”
I didn’t mean it seriously, but it was kind of true.
I could barely remember my father’s face, and as for my mother—I knew absolutely nothing.
That’s what happens when you grow up alone in a lifeless mansion with not a single portrait on the wall.
While I was thinking that, Zaka was scribbling something else on the paper. Then he held it up for me to see.
“Have you ever seen this?”
“It’s a necklace.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Where did you see that?”
“Why? Does it look familiar?”
“It’s not that it looks familiar—it is familiar. I know that necklace.”
“…You know it?”
“Yeah. I even know where it is.”
I held the paper up to the light streaming through the window and said casually,
“It should be in my room, in the second drawer of the innermost cabinet.”
“…”
Zaka stared at me, silent, as if he hadn’t expected that answer.
“What’s wrong? Didn’t you draw it on purpose?”
Now that I thought about it, ever since Zaka came here, I’d never once worn that necklace again.
“No, I just… It’s weird. I drew it randomly, and it actually exists.”
“Maybe you saw it once while cleaning my room, and it just stuck in your memory?”
Now that I said it, that did sound possible.
“You really have talent, you know. Great observation skills.”
“Talent in what?”
“Drawing!”
“There you go again.”
Zaka gave a tired sigh, rolled up the drawing, and tucked it away.
The necklace he had drawn—it was old-fashioned, with a beautiful jade-green gem at its center. Not expensive, but elegant.
There was no mistake.
That necklace was the only keepsake my mother had ever left me.
Boom!
Thunder roared as if to prove that summer’s rainy season had arrived.
Because of the endless downpour, I’d been stuck at the mansion for days.
My injuries had almost completely healed, so I’d been lazily enjoying the calm when I noticed something outside the window.
Through the rain, a messenger boy was running across the front yard.
At first, I didn’t think much of it—until I saw Julie greeting him at the door.
The messenger bowed several times, and then Julie untied her coin purse and handed him… gold coins.
I shot up from the sofa immediately.
Julie handing over that much money? Something was definitely wrong!
I hurried out into the hall. A cleaner who’d been dozing off with a duster in her hand nearly jumped out of her skin as I ran past.
By the time I reached the entrance, the messenger was already gone, and Julie stood there with a troubled expression.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s about the medicine you’ve been taking for your wound, Lady Anastasia.”
“Yeah?”
“I happened to learn the market price recently, and it turns out we’ve been buying it way too cheaply.”
Julie sighed, rubbing her forehead.
“So I thought there might be something suspicious about it and decided to start buying from another supplier instead…”
“And then?”
“The old supplier sent a messenger today.”
“What did he say?”
“They said they’ll lower the price even more if we keep buying from them.”
“They didn’t say why?”
“No. Isn’t that strange?”
“It is.”
After thinking for a moment, I grabbed a piece of parchment and wrote a short letter.
[Your Grace, Duke Gladinare,
Thanks to you, I’ve been recovering well.
How should I pay for the medicine?]
What if I was wrong about this?
Then it’d just be a little embarrassing, that’s all.
If the medicine really had been dangerous, I’d probably be losing my mind right now. So that wasn’t it.
If someone was secretly helping me, there weren’t many possible suspects.
Especially since the Duke had seemed concerned when I was injured during the hunting festival.
That afternoon, when the rain finally slowed, I sent the letter.
As always, the afternoon dragged on quietly.
The Duke’s aide sat at his desk, watching his superior with a complicated look.
Outside, the sun was already sinking behind the rain clouds, darkening the sky.
Duke Ishtan Gladinare sat there, looking exactly the same as he had that morning.
His name, without any middle title, was as concise as he was.
He was calm, flawless, and impossible to read—so much that it sometimes felt unnatural.
But after spending years fighting alongside him in countless battles, the aide had learned one truth.
Behind the title of “Duke,” Ishtan was, at his core, wild, rebellious, and untamed—someone who didn’t truly fit among the nobility.
He had no real interest in power or politics.
He didn’t like people.
The rumors about his cold, chilling aura probably came from that very truth.
Yet despite that inner nature, for years he’d shown the opposite on the outside—
self-control, politeness, composure, and the kind of manners that bordered on rigid.
He was focused, calculated, endlessly disciplined.
But for what purpose?
Sometimes the aide thought he looked like a puppet moving inside a perfectly planned show.
Still, the aide had stayed by his side—for one reason.
The Duke had saved his life.
If not for him, the aide would’ve died on the battlefield three years ago, body unrecovered.
That’s why this situation bothered him even more.
The Duke, who usually hated dealing with people, was suddenly interested in that woman.
Even now—look at him.
The aide’s eyes dropped to the Duke’s hands.
For several minutes—no, almost an hour now—Ishtan had been staring at the same half-written letter.
A man who could sign military orders without blinking was now stuck on a short reply.
All because she had figured it out.
The aide still couldn’t understand why the Duke had ordered him to secretly pay for the Baroness’s medicine.
Secretly? Secret from whom?
The Emperor? The other Dukes who were always scheming behind the scenes?
Or the rising young nobles competing for power?
No.
It was meant to be kept secret from her—that bright, smiling woman.
The aide had even had to quietly send people to handle it so the Baroness wouldn’t notice.
What would it matter if she got a bit annoyed?
Now, watching the Duke hesitate over the letter, the aide felt nothing but frustration.
“You missed me.”
“So much.”
“All this time.”
Those words—so warm, so out of character—had all been spoken to her.
The Duke, missing someone? Impossible.
Even if it had been love at first sight—could someone like him really fall for anyone that way?
What had gotten into him?
Finally, the Duke finished the sentence he’d been stuck on.
[Baroness, may I visit and explain in person?]
The aide glanced at the line and clenched his jaw.
Sure, from a logical point of view, the Baroness might be annoyed that things had been handled behind her back.
But was it really something the Duke needed to rush over and explain?
After all, it was he who’d paid several times the usual price just to make sure she got the best-quality medicine.
He hadn’t done it secretly to deceive her—but because he was too careful, too considerate of her feelings.
Then, suddenly, the Duke tossed the letter into the fireplace.
The parchment curled and burned to ash.
He picked up a fresh sheet and wrote a much shorter reply instead.
[Don’t worry about the cost.]
He didn’t need to go and explain anymore—but the aide couldn’t feel relieved.
He frowned slightly, uneasy.
There was no way the Duke of Gladinare—the man feared on every battlefield—was that afraid of explaining himself to a woman he liked.
