CHAPTER 10:
“Didn’t You Say My Life Belongs to You?”
The one who barged into the council chamber was none other than Dietrich. Marquis Taylo was so startled that his lips trembled.
“S-Sir Dietrich, what brings you—?”
“Did I come somewhere I shouldn’t be?”
Dietrich tilted his head slightly, his face expressionless. His indifferent gaze brushed past the nobles, who avoided eye contact.
“Did I hear you call me Sir, Marquis?”
He stepped further into the room. Every time he walked, the sword at his hip caught the chandelier’s light, gleaming ominously.
Though sheathed, the weapon seemed ready to be drawn at any moment, capable of turning the room into a bloodbath.
“…D-Duke Calypso.”
Marquis Taylo finally conceded. Despite the nobles’ disdain, Dietrich’s title as a duke and his command of the imperial military gave him unmatched power.
Even if the title of Duke was a hollow one, gifted as a formality by the Three Grand Dukes, no one could deny that he was still the commander of the Imperial Knights.
“Surely you’re busy—what brings Your Grace to this council?”
Though they feared him, the nobles didn’t bother hiding their discomfort. To them, Dietrich was a dangerous threat to be eliminated as soon as possible.
Dietrich hated pointless formalities. He got straight to the point.
“I came to hear the council’s opinion on the woman who assassinated His Majesty.”
With practiced ease, Dietrich sat at the head of the table—the seat of highest authority in the room.
“How can such a woman still be allowed to live? This is nothing short of an insult to the crown!”
One of the nobles raised his voice. His statement was clearly aimed at blaming Dietrich for not executing Celia.
Dietrich turned his gaze toward the man.
“If there’s any deception happening here, it’s by you.”
His blunt words left the council speechless.
“W-What did you just say?”
“It was I who arranged the Emperor’s funeral. It was also I who imprisoned the woman who killed him.”
He paused and swept his eyes across the council.
To him, these were all snakes, eager to tear him apart.
Not a single one was trustworthy. If it hadn’t been for the protection of the Three Grand Dukes, he would have already killed them all for interfering with his plans.
And yet, these snakes had chosen their allies wisely.
With a detached expression, Dietrich spoke again.
“What exactly have you done?”
“!”
The nobles trembled with rage at the insult.
“You asked for our opinions—how can you speak to us this way?”
“Opinions?”
Dietrich scoffed, his eyes devoid of amusement, lips curling into a crooked smile.
“Since when are backstabbing attacks called ‘opinions’?”
Struck at the heart, the nobles desperately avoided his gaze.
Dietrich found them pathetic—so bold in his absence, yet silent as mice when faced with him.
“I’ve heard the voices calling to release the so-called Angel of Brillion. As a loyal servant of the Empire, I can’t just ignore such public outcry.”
“!”
The nobles’ eyes shook. He was clearly suggesting he wouldn’t kill Celia.
Marquis Taylo jumped to his feet.
“Are you saying you’ll just pardon the woman who murdered the Emperor?”
“Pardon?”
Dietrich looked down at the Marquis with a blank expression.
“If there’s guilt, it lies with those who are trying to profit off His Majesty’s death. Perhaps, as the rumors outside claim, someone within the palace used that woman to assassinate the Emperor.”
“Your Grace! Are you accusing me?!”
“I never said any names, Marquis.”
Dietrich rose from his seat. He saw the red-faced Marquis Taylo, seething with anger.
“If you’ll excuse me.”
Without hesitation, Dietrich left the chamber. The room quickly erupted with curses and complaints against him.
He hadn’t brought food to Celia for two days.
He had been tied up with the Emperor’s funeral and hadn’t even had time to sleep.
Even while working, Celia weighed on his mind. Two days of starvation wouldn’t kill her, but in the pitch-black underground prison, where time had no meaning, two days could feel like a week.
Dietrich had attended the council meeting immediately after the funeral to make it clear to everyone—he had no intention of killing her.
Outside the palace, countless men still adored her. Anyone who had seen Celia, or had ever courted her, was doing everything possible to save her.
Dietrich found that bizarre. How could they love that woman—called the Angel of Brillion—that much?
“Didn’t you know? That title was made up by a bunch of fools.”
But Celia herself seemed to despise those who loved her. A flicker of contempt had crossed her face.
Just as she said, those men looked utterly foolish in Dietrich’s eyes.
“Well, that works in my favor.”
Thanks to them, he might be able to get her out of prison soon.
In return, he planned to keep her close and use her supernatural powers whenever needed.
“She hasn’t eaten—she’ll be sensitive.”
So, he gathered a larger meal than usual: crispy bread, a rich meat-filled soup, fresh fruit, and clean water, and made his way to the underground prison.
“….”
The moment he entered the prison, an ominous feeling struck him.
Dietrich’s pace quickened. Starving prisoners reached toward the delicious smell.
“H-Hungry… W-Water…”
But as soon as they saw who held the food, they froze in place.
Ignoring them, Dietrich made his way deeper into the prison—to Celia’s cell.
As he entered the innermost part, he smelled not rot but a powerful scent of hyacinths—one he recognized.
“It’s her ability. But why would she use it while alone…?”
No reason. Someone had intruded while he was away for the funeral.
He started to run. Dread flooded his mind.
For two whole days, he hadn’t been to the prison. Even with tight control, some fool might’ve thought they could get away with something if they weren’t caught.
Fools always acted on curiosity.
When he reached the very back, the scent of hyacinths was overpowering—enough to make him dizzy. Mixed with it was the metallic smell of blood.
Clink.
Dietrich set the food down and searched for Celia.
His sharp gaze found a half-open cell door—and a man inside.
Recognizing the man, Dietrich’s breath caught.
The half-dressed man with vacant eyes was one of Dietrich’s own knights.
A subordinate. Doing the same thing the guard had tried. And in Dietrich’s absence.
Pure rage overtook him.
He grabbed the knight’s shoulder and hurled him from the cell. The knight collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.
Dietrich checked on Celia.
She was curled up in the corner, gasping for breath.
Blood stained the floor and her mouth—had she coughed it up?
Eyes closed, she clutched the oversized uniform tightly, trying to remain conscious. Dietrich knelt and moved toward her.
“Who’s there?”
Celia, defensive, released more of the hyacinth scent. It was so strong it nearly suffocated him. He winced.
Suddenly, she coughed violently, spraying blood on his collar.
Dietrich stared at her, his expression indescribable.
“…It’s me.”
At the sound of his voice, the hyacinth scent vanished. Celia forced her heavy eyelids open.
His handsome face filled her blurry vision.
Seeing his expression—was that pity?—made Celia laugh faintly.
Was she laughing at herself for feeling relieved? Or was the situation just too absurd?
With her power, she had paralyzed the knight’s senses. If she had strangled him, he wouldn’t have resisted and would’ve died.
But she chose not to. She wanted Dietrich to see it with his own eyes.
If she’d killed the knight, Dietrich might never have trusted her. He might’ve seen her as the aggressor, even though she was the victim.
So she had taken a gamble. Would he believe her—or his own knight?
Her vision began to fade. She had waited too long. She hadn’t eaten in days. And she resented him for that.
Still… he had come. He abandoned his knight and came to her.
Celia wasn’t naive. She knew Dietrich planned to use her.
So she decided—she would use him too. Pity, sympathy, whatever worked.
“This is self-defense,” she told herself.
Clutching his collar, Celia whispered through trembling lips:
“Didn’t… you say my life… belongs to you?”
“……”
“You… were late…”
Her grip was faint. Dietrich didn’t remove her hand. He simply looked at her.
Celia’s eyes slowly closed.
Her hand slipped from his clothes, falling limply to the ground.
