I pressed my finger firmly into Kael’s arm.
“My husband, of course.”
‘This Crown Prince — what’s happened to his conscience?’
I kept the thought to myself. One didn’t say such things to a Crown Prince.
Truthfully, he couldn’t hold a candle to Kael in the looks department. To put it in precise terms: Ian was handsome, Kael was devastating.
“Good heavens.”
Ian looked like a man who had just lost everything he owned. He seemed genuinely rattled — as though the verdict had actually wounded him.
“I agree. The Duke has an extraordinary face. The Crown Prince has a handsome face. That is the exact distinction.”
“Your Highness and I have very similar taste, it seems.”
At that, Ian proceeded to stop random passersby and ask them to judge between himself and Kael. He was considerably more ridiculous than the original novel had ever suggested.
“My lady.”
Ian’s eyebrows had gone triangular again. He appeared to have lost another round.
“My lady.”
“Yes? Me?”
“Who else here is my lady?”
The title still caught her off guard — she hadn’t even registered she was being addressed. ‘My lady.’ It made her feel strangely self-conscious.
“Are you tired?”
Kael drew the back of his hand along her cheek as he asked.
“Still fine.”
She made a small circle with her fingers.
Because she still had one thing she was curious about.
“Your Highness — that hairpin is lovely.”
She cast out the bait.
“Ahem!”
And Ian swallowed it whole.
“Oh, and Your Highness — what a wonderful tie pin!”
She drove the hook in.
“A-hem! ‘Hem!’ Is — is that so? ‘Hem!'”
“Ivelina! I am so embarrassed! Please stop—”
Reina pressed both hands over her blazing cheeks.
‘So they’re already together.’
Her curiosity was satisfied.
‘Please — unlike the original novel — have a perfectly ordinary, wholesome, untroubled romance, both of you.’
And so the reception drew toward its close.
* * *
“Right. The wedding night refusal. I’m nervous.”
She didn’t know all the details, but she’d heard that on a couple’s first night, the wife was expected to be bathed, perfumed, and made ready to receive her husband.
So she was in the bath.
Having the other maids assist her would risk disrupting their plan entirely, so Emily had stepped forward to help alone.
“My lady — is the water temperature all right?”
“Perfect. Thank you, Emily.”
The fatigue accumulated from the ceremony through the reception had been considerable.
Sinking into warm water like this felt like washing it all clean.
“My lady. I’ve been curious about something.”
“What is it?”
“You mentioned having recurring nightmares about the Hardeion estate. That you’d rather go through a divorce than stay.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“What were the dreams like, roughly? You never gave much detail, so I’ve been wondering.”
On that day, following Emily’s trail, she had seen a great deal.
Kayrin capturing insects with merciless efficiency. Carson stroking the carcass of a dead bird with a smile. Katherine asking for maids no older than eleven.
Every detail matched the original novel exactly.
But she couldn’t say all of that directly. She’d keep it vague — speak of it as dream.
“Well — in the dreams, the Duke killed people freely. And he killed me too.” ‘Not precisely me — it was the contracted lover in the original novel — but close enough.’ “It was genuinely brutal.”
“Goodness. What dreadful dreams.”
“Yes. And Kayrin collected insects and dissected animals for enjoyment. And Father-in-law had a fondness for taxidermy — he liked to stroke the carcasses of animals, ones soaked in blood…”
“And more? Is there anything else?”
“And Mother-in-law bathed in the blood of young maids. It was all just dream, of course, but… some of it did seem to line up with things I’d actually seen.”
“Did it.”
‘Hmm.’ Emily found herself at a quiet loss.
She understood well enough why recurring nightmares would weigh on her mistress — she herself had prophetic dreams and knew that feeling. But what she had witnessed herself had been something quite different.
* * *
Emily’s memory of that day unfolded as follows.
The first errand had been the gardener Brendan’s request for assistance.
“Young Lord Kayrin — do you need any help?”
“No. I was just talking with my animal friends.”
Kayrin rarely smiled, but in that moment there had been a faint softness at the corners of his mouth.
“I see. And what about this stag beetle?”
“I was collecting insects a little while ago. I’m writing up a field guide and then letting them go.”
“How thoughtful of you. Releasing them back — you’ll have much good fortune for that.”
After that, Emily had gone to repair the iron frame near the hunting ground.
On her way in, she had come across Carson.
“Master Carson — do you need any help?”
“Oh, Emily. No, I’m fine. It’s just… hmph.”
A single tear traced a slow path down his cheek.
He was crying.
“Has something unhappy happened?”
“Emily. Why is my son so ruthless? Doesn’t he feel anything for these poor little things?”
“You mean His Grace the Duke?”
“Yes. These young ones — what have they ever done? And yet he kills them like this.”
Carson touched the dead bird with a hand full of grief, gentle with sorrow. Beside him sat a small shovel.
“Are you going to bury them?”
“If I leave them like this, even their death is a miserable thing. This is the only thing I can do for them. So I must.”
Emily had thought: ‘what a kind man the former Duke is.’
After completing the repair work, Emily had been summoned by the head housekeeper. The task was an errand for the Dowager Duchess.
“Children from the almshouse?”
“Yes. Young ones, if possible.”
The Dowager Duchess’s request was to find suitable candidates among the almshouse children under the age of eleven who might serve as maids.
“Is there a particular reason you prefer younger children, my lady?”
“Well… it’s the sleeping arrangements, you see.”
“The sleeping arrangements?”
“Younger children have weaker constitutions, don’t they. But if they work here at the estate, at least they’ll have a warm room and warm meals.”
“I see.”
Emily had thought: ‘what a kind woman the Dowager Duchess is.’
And so Emily’s recollection came to an end.
‘But then — I could be wrong in my judgment.’
Her mistress had said so herself: that the dreams she had were unusually accurate. Emily, who had her own prophetic dreams, understood that feeling better than most. There were plenty of things in the world that couldn’t be explained by logic.
If she mentioned what she’d seen, it might only confuse Ivelina further.
‘Yes. There are times when saying nothing is the better choice.’
* * *
When she emerged from the bath, Emily covered her from head to toe in fragrant oil.
On the bed, neatly folded, lay a very thin slip.
She lifted it with her fingertips.
“Emily — look at this. It’s practically transparent. Everything would show through.”
“That’s what’s worn on a wedding night. Something that’s barely better than wearing nothing.”
“…That’s quite something.”
“It is, rather. Either it covers just the essential parts — or it deliberately exposes just the essential parts.”
“The second option is genuinely extraordinary. ‘Just’ the essential parts exposed.”
A vivid and unhelpful image passed through her mind before she could stop it. She shook her head briskly.
“There’s nothing I can do about the garment itself — you’ll have to wear the slip. But I can tie the knots so tight he’ll never get them undone.”
“Yes. Tie them as tight as you possibly can.”
Emily tied them with such force that she could barely breathe.
“And it might also help to simply not be visible at all.”
“How?”
Emily pointed one finger toward the space beneath the bed.
“Hide entirely.”
“Oh — that’s actually good.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it. Good luck until the very end, my lady.”
“Right!”
She waited until Emily had gone, then slid immediately under the bed.
Soon, the bedroom door opened. A large shadow fell across the threshold.
Kael’s footsteps drew steadily closer. Through the gap beneath the bed, she could see his legs.
“Where has she gone.”
She pressed both hands firmly over her mouth.
* * *
