Chapter 35
Eliza received the highest courtesy in a very long time. The flawless, flowing etiquette left nothing to criticize, and when she raised her head, the verdant eyes fixed on her seemed to hold wisdom—just as her ancestors once did.
They stared at each other in silence.
Then, Walter, who had remained wordless, seemed to sense something and moved toward the door. Outside stood Joseph.
“What is it?”
Joseph whispered with a stiff expression.
“The maids have left farewell letters and taken their own lives.”
The warmth in the air froze instantly. Lady Isaac stiffened at the creeping dread, and Eliza twitched her brows.
Grace took three deep breaths to steady her thoughts, then said to Eliza with a bright smile, as if nothing had happened:
“Even if you have no appetite, please eat. I’ll be going now.”
Eliza neither replied nor offered any greeting. Grace hadn’t expected an answer anyway, so she simply gave a light bow and walked toward the door.
Walter glanced at Eliza before following Grace out of the room.
The bright world seemed to dim, as though dusk had fallen. Only the clack of heels echoed across the hallway, when Jesse approached from the corridor’s corner to report:
“The Duke of Taylor has signed the document stripping the lady of her title. And Lyncor, the young marquis who represented the Richmond house at her wedding, is expected to arrive in about three days.”
Walter stopped in his tracks.
“Can you endure it?”
Grace, who had walked a step further, turned back and answered:
“Yes.”
Her gaze drifted to the window. Joseph, also peering out, said:
“The Marchioness’s maids are approaching.”
They wore grave expressions, like harbingers of death.
“Hunting is all about timing. Wait until they come closer. Now, they will doubt Your Excellency’s ability and rally Richmond’s nobles. Wait three days, and when the young Marquis Lyncor arrives, please prove my identity through him.”
“They’ll lock you in Richmond’s underground cells.”
“They will.”
“Most lose their minds within three days in that place.”
Black eyes and green eyes met, locking in silence.
“I can endure. But if, by chance, I cannot… then, as you said, abandon me.”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A heavy knock shook the side house’s front door.
“But that won’t happen. I’ll survive, and I’ll return to Taylor.”
A blade hidden in a beautiful sheath—
Walter looked down at the sword in his hand with dark eyes, then spoke coldly, as if forged of steel itself:
“Very well. Endure then, Grace Taylor.”
The woman, barely half his size, betrayed not a shred of fear. As if she had been waiting for this moment, Grace nodded firmly, and the two of them walked toward the door in unison.
In the underground where day and night vanished, candle flames flickered at regular intervals, swaying precariously in an unseen draft.
Thick stone pillars stood beneath the black dome ceiling, like gatekeepers of hell. They seemed even more ominous because Count Lewen and his Richmond knights leaned against them.
On the dais beneath the dome stood a massive black chair. It was where past dukes and duchesses had sat to judge criminals. Now, the Marchioness of Lyncor sat upon it.
She read through the maids’ farewell letters, then sighed deeply.
“Hah.”
Her white breath scattered in the damp, cold air.
“The Duke must have been blinded by beauty, to take a viper to his side.”
Her voice mingled with the chilling underground air. Countess Lewen flinched and whispered to her daughter beside her:
“You should return to your room. There’s no good in witnessing something so harsh.”
But Flora shook her head, glaring into the darkness. The pink diamond earrings gifted by the Marchioness swayed.
“When I become duchess, I too will have to interrogate criminals. I should see it now.”
Then, footsteps echoed down the stone stairs. The candles bent low, their flames wavering.
The Marchioness, still holding the letters, lifted only her eyes toward the stairs. The sound grew louder until, at last, Grace emerged from the pitch-black shadows.
The Marchioness’s brows arched high.
As expected, she was no ordinary girl. Most would tremble when dragged to such a place, guilty or not. Yet this one kept a composure so chilling it raised goosebumps.
But how long would that graceful mask hold?
The Marchioness waited until Grace stood at the foot of the dais before speaking gravely:
“Two maids left farewell letters and took their lives. And a witness has come forward—claiming they saw your maid secretly following them.”
“……”
“Insolent creature. You show no surprise? The deeds written in these letters are so vile they chill the blood! Do you think your false mask will last forever? Tell me—what is your real name?!”
Her sharp cry echoed wildly against the curved stone walls.
Grace felt the chill of air brush her cheek, carrying with it the metallic tang of iron.
Falsehood, she thought.
The best place to hide a lie is within truth itself. And half-spoken truths confuse enemies far better than elaborate fabrications.
“My name is Grace.”
“Ha.”
The Marchioness let out a derisive laugh.
“Let me make one thing clear. You may be hoping His Grace will save you again, but not this time. I’ll ask once more—why did you come to Richmond?”
“I came for the one I love.”
At this, Flora exploded.
“Murderer!! Do you think we don’t know you’re deceiving His Grace?!”
“Murderer? Deceiving His Grace? What are you—”
Slap!
Before she could finish, her body lurched to the side. Her vision dimmed. Before she could register the pain, another maid struck her opposite cheek, hard. She collapsed under the force, and the maid barked:
“How dare you raise your voice?!”
The shout sounded distant, her ear ringing. Her mouth filled with the taste of blood. Glaring, Grace bit down hard on her lip.
As she pushed herself halfway up, something fell before her hand with a dull thud—it was the farewell letter. Damp to the touch. She reached for it, but the maids pressed down on her shoulders harshly.
“Read it.”
She gave up trying to stand and began reading. The cramped, heavy strokes made her expression grow colder.
[…That woman’s maid came again. Though soldiers guard the door, voices sound from an empty room. This time she asked where the key to Richmond’s treasure chamber—the “Blue Room”—was hidden, and where the secret passage lay. She said if we didn’t tell, we’d die in agony…]
The Marchioness rose from her chair, tossing the letter to Grace. Disheveled, collapsed—that sight suited her.
“Flora’s maids were in their rooms under guard, yet still they were threatened. At that very hour, you were with His Grace in the Dowager’s chambers. But your maid was not seen, was she?”
“……”
“Where was your maid at that time?”
Grace lifted her eyes.
“Have you heard of the ‘Unseen Ones’?”
“……”
“They are the spawn of demons, hiding beyond the Wall of Death. They constantly send monsters to menace the Dekan Empire, longing to seize its fertile lands instead of their own barren, poisoned soil.”
The Marchioness crouched before her, grasping Grace’s chin harshly.
“The letter says your maid was missing, and that she demanded to know about the Blue Room’s key, the secret passage, and more.”
“It’s a frame-up. Surely you don’t mean to link me to the ‘Unseen Ones’?”
Slap!
The Marchioness’s hand cracked across her face.
“Mind your tongue. It is the dead girls’ letters that say so, not I. Where is your maid?”
“……”
“I doubted from the start. Strange, wasn’t it? That someone who arrived only yesterday would stir such trouble. And those maids—they had no reason to lie. Yet the truths they hid in fear now speak louder than anything else.”
Her bloodshot eyes gleamed as she stared down at Grace.
