Chapter 99
It was late spring, when the fresh seedlings still stood stiffly upright. Hannibal, having received a report from the village chief, was walking down a quiet path to inspect the fields himself.
“What are you doing, you coward!”
Oliver, walking beside him, grumbled discontentedly.
“If you’re curious, just go and ask her directly! You haven’t been home for days, and even today you’ll be back late at night, won’t you?”
“You go on ahead.”
“What kind of guard leaves his lord behind and goes home alone? If Lady Victoria tears my hair out later, you won’t take responsibility anyway.”
Regardless of his muttering, Hannibal trudged along with a complicated look on his face, gazing at the bright greenery.
The problem wasn’t Anne. The problem was himself.
It wasn’t that Anne Perot’s entanglement with Gray Benton upset him. What tormented him was that he hadn’t been able to hold on to Anne properly and had no confidence in their relationship.
Even though they were engaged, Anne hadn’t settled down with him or given him her trust.
“Of course. If it were you, would you easily have affection for someone who dragged you into a relationship just to cover his own back?”
At Hannibal’s lament, Oliver muttered sympathetically, pitying his friend who was hopeless at romance. Though he himself had botched his own love life, at least this time he was saying something sensible.
“Would it work if I just told her honestly?”
If he offered Anne his true feelings, would she look at him? Would she stay, not run, not betray him, not belittle him as just another lord bound to the witch’s cursed land? Would she love him?
“Of course. If you can’t trust your fiancé’s words, who else would you trust?”
Oliver smacked his back confidently, but Hannibal’s mood didn’t improve.
The image of the witch’s forest burning was still vivid in his mind. The woman who had laughed at his confession as she set fire and fled, the ring of Assad thrown away like trash.
The 14-year-old boy, left in despair, watched his first confession of love burn away into ashes.
Because of that memory, Hannibal hesitated and faltered. He knew it was pitiful, but… he simply had no confidence. Confidence to be loved.
That day too, Hannibal didn’t return home early. He wandered through the nearby lands, stopped by an inn, and had a drink. Then he had to endure Oliver’s endless chatter for a while longer.
By the time he finally climbed into his carriage, it was already deep into the night. Anne must have gone to bed by now, he thought.
He smirked bitterly—he had been avoiding her all this time, and yet he wanted to see her again.
“My lord, you’ve returned.”
As soon as he stepped out of the carriage, the butler greeted him. Hannibal nodded, but before he could pass, someone darted out from behind Patrick.
It was Anne.
Startled, Hannibal asked, “Anne, you haven’t gone to bed yet?”
“I have something to say.”
She wasn’t dressed in a nightgown or chemise, which meant she hadn’t prepared to sleep but had been waiting for him. Hannibal had no choice but to lead her to the drawing room.
Soon, refreshments were set on the table. Steam rose from the teacups, but the two sat in silence for a long while.
“You’ve been busy lately, haven’t you?”
“…A little. I haven’t seen you in some time. Have you been well?”
“Yes, thanks to you.”
Awkward smiles passed between them, then silence returned.
“…Hannibal.”
Anne’s lips changed their shape, almost calling him “My lord,” but instead saying his name. Hannibal’s face relaxed in relief.
“Yes.”
The warmth in his gentle violet eyes gave Anne a flicker of courage.
“Don’t you have something you want to ask me?”
If they didn’t talk about the reason they’d been avoiding each other these past ten days, Hannibal would surely keep it buried forever.
“Is it true you met the duke in the greenhouse? …Of course, he must have sought you out.”
She was grateful for his effort to believe in her. Still—he could have asked her earlier. It was a waste of days avoiding each other, so Anne hurried to explain.
“It’s true. Before coming west, Jamie gave me a magic-stone necklace. But in fact, it was Gray who had given it to him.”
“Ah.”
Hannibal knew that necklace well—it was one she had often worn since her maid days.
At that moment, he recalled something Miss Mighty had once said:
“It’s not certain yet. But that necklace seems made solely for one function. Otherwise, why use such a low-grade stone?”
So it had been that necklace all along. Which meant Gray had been tracking Anne’s location the whole time.
As the misunderstanding cleared, Hannibal’s expression softened, and Anne gave a wry laugh.
“Have you cleared up the misunderstanding now?”
Her tone carried reproach. Clearly, she’d been quite hurt. Nervously swallowing, Hannibal replied,
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you. I avoided you because I didn’t have the courage to ask.”
Anne could have scolded him for making excuses, but his straightforward apology, unable to hide his anxiety, melted her heart.
She thought, I shouldn’t forgive him this easily… but how can I resist when this tall man bows his head so low, apologizing?
Thinking again how weak she was to Hannibal, she replied helplessly, “I should’ve told you earlier to avoid misunderstandings. I wasn’t careful enough.”
“No, it’s not your fault. Who would have thought the duke would stoop to such tricks?”
He openly defended her. That alone lifted Anne’s mood.
At first, he had seemed harsh and cold. When had he turned into something like melted ice cream?
His silver hair, once sharp and chilling, now looked like soft snowflakes in the moonlight. His violet eyes, once cold and unfeeling, now glistened warmly like jewels.
Was it because he loved her? Or because she loved him?
Anne pressed her lips tightly, trying not to smile. But she wanted to laugh whenever she looked at him.
Just this evening she’d imagined the worst. Now, suddenly, she wanted to dream of the best. She thought herself fickle, greedy.
Despite all the rumors, Hannibal was still kind to her. But how long would that last?
Resolved, Anne leaned forward and lowered her voice.
“Tonight at midnight, I’m going to meet Gray Benton in the greenhouse.”
“What do you mean?”
Hannibal’s expression showed more confusion than anger—why would she tell him such a thing?
“Do you remember once asking if I was a witch’s blood contractor?”
“…?”
The sudden mention of that day long ago in the witch’s forest flustered him.
“Yes. But what does that have to do with meeting the duke?”
Though doubtful, Hannibal at least listened seriously.
But after I tell you everything… will you still look at me with such warm eyes?
Her vision blurred, and she bit her lip hard. Since Gray was determined to find her—even to ruin her reputation—she had no choice.
Once Hannibal knew the truth, the fragile illusion of her second life would shatter.
“Anne?”
“Hannibal.”
Slowly, as if she might never say his name again, she spoke.
She tried to explain the memories of her bitter, sorrowful life as dryly as she could. Past events that were no longer truly the past, and futures that would never come. She chose her words carefully, so he could understand.
Even if you condemn me for all of this, I will accept it.
Hannibal quietly listened.
“…So tonight I will meet Gray Benton, to confirm if he really is the witch’s contractor. Would you… come with me?”
Anne finished, waiting for him to show anger, disappointment—anything. But his pale face and stiff posture gave no clue what he was thinking.
“…Tonight at midnight. I understand.”
After a long silence, that was all he said.
“Did Anne really give this to me?”
At Anne’s request, Jamie had delivered a note, and Gray’s grin split his face wide.
“Yes, she asked me to give it to you.”
“Really? It’s her handwriting, no doubt. Hahaha. Jamie, good work. Go rest for the night.”
Even though Jamie had just come back from meeting Anne, Gray insisted he rest more and shooed him away.
Worry flickered across Jamie’s face, but he left silently. Alone, Gray stroked the note Anne had written, savoring it.
“So you’ve come to me first. Seems you’ve been cornered.”
He’d heard that, ever since the rumors, Hannibal had been avoiding Anne.
Count Arthur had urged him to push for a broken engagement, but Gray had stopped him. He wanted to give Anne more time—time to see who truly cared for her, who offered her more.
She was clever. She must know by now. So she must be secretly meeting him, hoping to persuade him before Hannibal abandoned her.
With a triumphant smile, Gray folded the note carefully and tucked it into his breast pocket. A keepsake and evidence both.
“Time is crawling.”
He eagerly awaited the night. Checking the clock over and over, he finally grew restless and began pacing.
At last, when the appointed hour was near, he left his room earlier than planned.
Crossing the dew-soaked garden, he arrived at the glass greenhouse. It had changed greatly. Once barren with only a bench among dry trees, now it was decorated with plants and pots, with a small tea table and chairs set in the center.
Unaware that Hannibal had been tending the greenhouse since his dinners with Anne, Gray simply admired the new scenery.
“Even the atmosphere is helping me tonight.”
Admiring the red blossoms, he strolled slowly through the greenhouse.
After circling several times, he finally heard the door open and turned with delight.
“Anne, you’re here…!”
But to his surprise, Anne Perot was not alone.
