#31. The Flower-Selling Woman
“Annoying.”
Tarahan flung the handful of hair he had been gripping. Mierne, who had been screaming, slammed into the hallway wall and collapsed on the floor.
Her shoulder felt as though it were being torn out of its socket. Barely able to cover herself, Mierne curled up desperately. With wide, wet eyes, she looked at him as though unable to comprehend what was happening.
“…Your Grace, why… why…?”
“Summon the Marquis.”
Ignoring her trembling voice, Tarahan ordered one of the servants.
One sharp-witted servant darted off toward the end of the hallway, while the rest froze in place, unable to act.
“In the middle of the night, what on earth…”
Before long, Marquis Billian appeared with a servant. He looked as though he had just been dragged from bed, irritation poorly concealed—until his eyes fell on Mierne crouched in the corridor. Then he blanched.
“W-What is the meaning of this?!”
Tarahan laughed at the old man’s horrified outburst. Where to begin? After a moment of thought, he spoke lightly, as though telling an amusing tale.
“This girl came begging to carry my seed. Quite a predicament.”
Tarahan’s sly, smiling eyes made the Marquis almost faint. Flushing scarlet, the old man burst out angrily.
“So you threw out a half-clothed woman into the hallway? My poor niece… what a dreadful sight, a lady trembling out here like this! And what of her dignity as a woman? How will you take responsibility for that?!”
On the surface, the Marquis’s protest seemed like the defense of a loving uncle. But to Tarahan, it looked like nothing more than a rigged game.
“She wanted to steal a barbarian’s seed—how could I simply allow that? Ah, but I misspoke. With your refined tastes, it must have been His Majesty’s bloodline she was after, not mine.”
The Marquis’s face went rigid. To steal royal seed outside of the imperial wives was a crime.
Not only to prevent the royal line from multiplying unchecked, but also to ensure no complications would arise with succession.
“Mierne merely held affection for Your Grace. She would never dare try to steal the blood of royalty.”
“Hah. You still call her your niece.”
The blatant sneer made the Marquis fall silent. A dreadful feeling came over him. He needed to get the girl out of here before the Archduke said more.
“I cannot leave the poor child like this.”
Just as the Marquis shifted toward Mierne, Tarahan’s words cut through.
“She confessed smoothly enough. Said she desperately wanted to bear my child.”
The Marquis ground his teeth, unable to endure further.
What exactly had she said, sneaking into the Archduke’s chamber? How was he supposed to find an escape now? And yet—this was only the beginning.
“Worse, she admitted she isn’t even a noble. A common street woman, disguised as nobility, trying to steal royal seed. Tell me, Marquis—what did you intend to use her for?”
A sigh of despair rippled through the servants. The Marquis looked to Mierne, pleading with his eyes for her to deny it. But she turned her burning-red face away.
The Marquis was near breaking. Clinging to his last thread of composure, he forced out a reply.
“…I cannot imagine what you mean, Your Grace. Such words are best left unsaid.”
“You truly are a fool. No wonder you squandered good soldiers as if feeding scraps to dogs.”
With those words, the Archduke shattered the Marquis’s attempt to salvage the situation. He knew all too well where the Marquis was weakest.
“They told me she wasn’t your niece at all, but some flower-seller from the streets. Said I could take her without worry. Ah, I nearly fell for it. They even claimed she’d been trained well in the arts of the night. A shame, really.”
Tarahan’s eyes, filled with feigned regret, fell on Mierne. She could not lift her head. Her once-beautiful green eyes were clouded with tears.
I’ve been deceived.
She had fallen completely for his sweet words. But regret now was useless.
I don’t like noblewomen. Courtesans are better, and better still are those even baser, even easier to take… that’s my taste.
That was what Tarahan had told her when she crept into his chamber. And Mierne, her eyes wet, had begun stripping off her clothes.
Your Grace understands women so well. Compared to those, I’m far better. I can prove it to you right now.
She had been completely drawn into his trap. Naked, she climbed onto his bed, touching his leg with her toes.
She had to prove herself right then and there—that she was far more useful than a paper-doll Archduchess.
You act just like a street whore. I do enjoy that… but how would a noble lady know such things?
Tarahan had murmured lazily, propping his chin in his hand. Just as now, he had watched indifferently no matter what she did. Mierne had mistaken his cold detachment for proof that she was truly noble in his eyes.
If only she became honest—she could capture him for herself.
So, Mierne spread her knees before him.
I am of that background. See? Here’s the honey you like so much, Your Grace.
Leaning against the headboard, Tarahan had still shown no intention of moving.
Should she debase herself further? How depraved were his tastes? She had experience in every manner of indulgence—she could do anything.
Just as she thought this feverishly, he stirred.
Then say it properly.
As Tarahan leaned forward, his shadow fell heavily over her. Mierne swallowed hard.
He was no lofty central noble. He was a wild beast, utterly unlike the men she had serviced on the streets.
Squirming, she whispered through heavy breaths:
Haah… yes. I am not the Marquis’s niece. I am of the very background you prefer. So please—kyaaah!
That was when Tarahan seized her by the hair. Rising without hesitation, he dragged her out like a sack of grain and flung her into the corridor.
The servants rushed in. The Marquis was summoned. With no more excuses left, the old man could only move his lips soundlessly.
He wanted to strike the peasant girl’s cheek on the spot. But even killing her would solve nothing.
“I do owe you, Marquis. If not for your blunders, His Majesty would never have sought me out.”
Tarahan’s low voice came honey-sweet as he stepped closer. Then his crimson eyes fixed upon the old man.
“Leave my lands before I make you regret it.”
He smiled like a devil shedding his human mask.
Unlike the Marquis, who had secured command with pretty words, Tarahan had stood at the vanguard and cut down countless enemies with his own blade.
Blood and dead souls left unseen marks. Madness burned in his eyes.
“You know well enough—a lowborn man’s patience does not last long. Take your girl with you, too. If she’s so skilled with her body, at least the long road won’t be dull.”
His twisted smile was like a blade against the Marquis’s throat. Total defeat. Pale as chalk, the old man turned and staggered away. His servants lifted Mierne and followed after him.
“……”
Silence fell over the hall. Tarahan turned his gaze from where they had vanished to the opposite end of the corridor.
He strode toward the darkness. The closer he came, the clearer a faint, ragged breath teased his ears.
At the corner of the hall, he stopped. Resting a hand against the wall, he spoke.
“So, you like to hide and listen?”
The great shadow swallowed up Ninia. Her wide eyes trembled violently as she covered her mouth.
She knew it was too late to run. Still, her body moved instinctively. She tried to retreat but her legs gave out, dropping her to the floor.
“Ah…!”
Her hand sought the wall for support. A sharp sting made her flinch. When she jerked her hand back, a thorn came free, leaving a line of blood across her palm.
It was more a cut than a puncture. Blood streamed steadily, dripping onto her dress. But her mind had frozen; she didn’t even think to wipe it away.
“Damn.”
After a brief silence, a low curse sounded above her bowed head.
“What the hell are you doing?”
At his next words, Ninia shrank reflexively. Finally, Tarahan sighed, extended his hand, and pulled her to her feet.
