Chapter 103
A dream.
As summer approached, the frequency of nightmares increased. Oddly enough, the nightmares’ setting was always a cold winter.
‘It’s starting again.’
Helene opened her eyes.
The way her vision floated in midair, her fading sense of time, and the disappearance of pain told her this was a dream.
Although the sun hadn’t risen, the surroundings were white. A heavy snowstorm had fallen the night before, blanketing everything in white.
On that snowy path, Helene and Mikhail were walking together.
“Are you okay? Should I carry you?”
“…It’s fine. We’ll arrive soon enough.”
It was early dawn. The two of them trudged through the snow toward the annex.
With every step, the snow crunched loudly beneath their feet.
The path connecting the castle to the annex should have been cleared right away after snowfall, but with so many unfortunate incidents happening recently at the estate, the servants hadn’t gotten around to it.
‘At the time, I thought the servants were just lazy…’
Now she realized the real reason: they had been afraid.
They didn’t want to face the annex. If the path was cleared, then the dreaded mansion of the “Demon Duke” would be laid bare.
Helene, now older, understood just how much the servants feared the annex.
“We’re here.”
Mikhail opened the main gate of the annex and led Helene inside.
They brushed off the snow and entered.
The annex was silent.
Luxurious carpets, countless artworks, glittering chandeliers—it looked more like an art museum than a residence. And yet, an inexplicable, chilling atmosphere smothered everything.
“Hello? Anyone here—”
Only when Mikhail raised his voice did a butler come running from somewhere.
With a pale, haggard face befitting the mood, the butler glanced at Helene before bowing deeply.
Despite the abrupt arrival, his manners were perfectly polite.
“Welcome back, young master.”
“It’s been a while. Ah, and this is Helene—my fiancée, as I mentioned before.”
“Congratulations on your engagement. And welcome, Princess of the Sun, to the house of Duke Leighton.”
“…Yes. Thank you for the welcome.”
His tone was so lifeless that Helene wondered if he truly meant it, but the words themselves left nothing to criticize. She accepted them with an awkward expression.
“Now then, young master, the reason you’ve come to the annex today is…”
“Ah, right. Father ordered it. He said as soon as I brought my bride, I was to bring her straight to him.”
“I–I see. But surely Her Highness must be tired and in need of rest…”
“No. That won’t do. You know it too, butler. Father commanded it.”
At that word—commanded—the butler’s shoulders twitched.
It had been less than half a day since they’d arrived at Leighton Castle. Helene and Mikhail hadn’t even had proper rest before being summoned here.
All because of Duke Leighton’s orders.
‘If only he’d been stubborn then.’
If only Mikhail had insisted they rest, or delayed until the snow was cleared… would things have turned out differently?
She knew the answer was no, and yet she still regretted how quickly she had agreed to hurry, just for Mikhail’s sake.
The butler, resigned, pale-faced, led them upstairs.
“Understood. Please follow me.”
“Shouldn’t you announce us first?”
“There’s no need. The master has likely already sensed your arrival.”
Sensed.
The word was more suited for describing a monster than a man. Yet Mikhail only gave a bitter smile and didn’t point it out.
“Don’t worry, butler. Perhaps my beautiful bride will soften Father’s heart.”
“…Yes, perhaps.”
An empty affirmation, spoken only to console himself. Still, the butler’s expression eased a little.
“Then, young master, I shall wait outside.”
“Yes, until later.”
They reached the duke’s bedchamber.
Creak—The un-oiled hinges groaned ominously as the door opened.
“You’ve come.”
As though he had been waiting, a deep voice rumbled. Thick and oppressive, it felt like invisible chains tightening around the body. Helene instinctively stepped back.
“It’s alright. Don’t worry.”
Mikhail stroked her shoulder. His bright, fearless face eased her fear just a little.
‘I’ll protect you—didn’t you say that…’
Back at the imperial palace, Mikhail had warned her again and again of his father’s power. Yet he always followed it with the same promise:
‘Helene, you needn’t worry about a thing. I’ll protect you.’
It was sincere, but hearing it only made her realize something else.
‘So you think of your father as an enemy…’
Mikhail had been telling her, in his own way, that Duke Leighton was a monster who would harm them.
They stepped inside.
The duke sat before the fireplace, wrapped in thick blankets, staring blankly at the flames while a kettle boiled. He looked like nothing more than an old man.
Yet the oppressive, feral aura around him remained.
‘That’s the ruler of the West. The monster consumed by the curse.’
Helene recalled the emperor’s warnings and bowed.
“It is an honor to meet you, Duke Nikolai Philip Leighton. I am Helene Peon—”
“The princess, is it. Hah. So the emperor sends me such a precious hostage.”
“…”
The duke turned his head, his eyes raking over her like a jeweler appraising a gem.
“That hair, those eyes… The blood flows thick. Hah—so the emperor’s daughter inherits it. That must sting him.”
“His Majesty sent me for peace between your house and the empire—”
“But I see only twisted resentment in your eyes. Do the snowy plains not satisfy you?”
“No. I chose to marry Mikhail out of love. This has nothing to do with succession disputes.”
“Lies. Such a thin mask.”
The duke chuckled like a kindly old man—then his face hardened.
“Your golden-blooded kind has always been like this. Always scorning the blood of our fae. You think sending me a daughter will quell my rage?”
“…!”
The duke’s fury lashed out at Helene.
Though his body seemed frail, his words were as sharp and cutting as a blizzard.
Helene tried to answer, but Mikhail stepped forward.
“Father, that is enough.”
Curse against curse—Mikhail’s aura gently pushed back against the duke’s malice.
“Helene chose me, and I chose her. Neither His Majesty nor you can interfere.”
“…”
The duke seemed pushed back. At the time, Helene thought so.
So even he has weakened with age. Even he cannot stand firm before his son.
It was only a dream-born illusion, and Helene’s dreaming self felt disgust rise at such foolish hope.
‘What a stupid fantasy.’
Then the duke raised his hand and called to a woman standing barefoot in the corner.
“You.”
“Y-Yes!”
The woman hurried to his side. Her movements were neither those of a servant nor of a noblewoman—just disordered, weary.
“I’d like some tea.”
“Of course. I’ll fetch the leaves.”
Step, step—the sound of bare feet striking the floor echoed through the chamber.
Much later, Helene would realize the truth: the duke forced her to go barefoot in winter, just to hear that sound.
The woman gathered tea leaves and sugar from a cupboard, setting them on a tray.
“Here—ah!”
Rushing nervously, she twisted her ankle.
The container of tea leaves fell, sugar spilled over her legs.
She scrambled with her bare hands to clean it up.
“Foolish.”
The duke cursed her, though his eyes watched with interest.
Helene noticed then—the woman’s ankle was swollen, bruised deep blue.
So even this clumsy stumble had been orchestrated by the duke.
After scooping up what she could salvage, the woman dumped the leaves and sugar into the boiling kettle all at once.
It was a barbaric method, nothing like proper tea brewing. Helene couldn’t help but frown.
The duke saw her expression, and a cruel smile tugged his lips.
“Your feet are dirty now. They must be cleaned.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Have the bride clean them for you.”
“…What?”
The woman—Helene’s mother-in-law, the duke’s wife—stared wide-eyed.
So did Helene.
“They say in the far north, children wash their parents’ feet as a rite of passage. I’d like to see such a loving bond between daughter- and mother-in-law.”
“I-I can wash them myself. Asking Her Highness to do such a thing—”
“She is not a princess.”
The duke’s dark eyes bore into Helene.
“She is a bride. What use is lineage in this house?”
“…”
His intent was obvious.
He would vent his hatred of the imperial family through her, and prove that here, he alone was king.
Helene’s face stiffened with shock, anger, and humiliation.
Never had she touched another’s feet. She was a princess, raised in dignity.
Mikhail scowled.
“Father, enough. If her feet need tending, we can call a maid. Besides, it’s because of you she was injured—”
“Very well. Enough.”
“…What?”
But then the duke pointed to the kettle.
“Then share a cup of tea with me, son. If not mother and bride, then father and son. Isn’t that right?”
Mikhail eyed him warily, but complied, lifting the kettle.
“Hold your cup. I’ll pour.”
“Thank you.”
“Now don’t lower it. Until I remove the kettle… you must hold it.”
At once, everyone felt it—the spreading curse.
The curse of dominion. Spoken words that bound and controlled.
It wrapped around Mikhail.
Why use such a curse on his own son? Confused, Helene could only stare—until the scene made her cry out.
“Mikhail!”
The kettle poured steaming liquid into the cup.
Even after it filled, the duke did not stop.
Boiling water spilled over, running down Mikhail’s hand.
“…!”
Ssshhh—Steam rose, his skin burning. Mikhail’s hand shook from pain, but he couldn’t pull away. The curse bound him fast.
The duke smiled, watching his son’s suffering, and tilted the kettle ever so slowly.
“What are you doing?! Stop this at once—!”
“It’s fine, Helene. Stay calm.”
“But—!”
Mikhail forced a strained smile, trying to reassure her.
The duke turned to her instead, speaking calmly.
“Yes, this is family affection. If you’d rather, you could take his place.”
Helene bit her lip, glaring at him.
The duke was deranged.
She had heard of the madness wrought by the curse, but never imagined a father could treat his son like this.
This was no longer a noble, no longer a parent.
He was a fiend, a demon, a monster from dark legends.
Half the kettle still remained.
At this rate, Mikhail’s hand would be scarred forever, no matter how skilled the healers.
Love and determination overcame her pride.
Softly, Helene spoke.
“…Mother, give me your foot.”
At once, the duke set down the kettle.
“Helene!”
Mikhail shouted, but he was still frozen in place.
The curse hadn’t lifted. Meaning—the duke demanded she continue.
“Oh my.”
As though waiting for this, her mother-in-law fetched a chair, sat down, and calmly extended her bare foot.
Callused, dirtied by sugar and tea leaves.
She stretched it forward without hesitation. I’m sorry for this— she murmured, but Helene shut her ears.
There was no way to endure this with a clear mind.
This is for Mikhail. There’s no choice.
She repeated it to herself, drawing out a handkerchief.
Her mother-in-law covered her mouth, whispering:
“Your Highness… you’re no different from me, after all.”
The daughter of a baron.
Sold for ten gold bars as the duke’s third wife—
She pressed her foot, without hesitation, upon the chest of the empire’s most radiant princess.
Thud.
