Chapter 97
Inside the tent, shrouded in pitch-black night.
“No.”
One of the knights, who had been lying down after even extinguishing the lantern, suddenly raised his voice out of nowhere and bolted upright.
“Shooting down that massive wild boar with a single arrow and then smiling like that—doesn’t it seem a bit off?”
The others in the tent weren’t sleeping either; they seemed lost in similar thoughts, as no one reprimanded him for the abrupt outburst.
The knight who had spoken scratched his head vigorously with rough gestures. Still, the image of Angela running to Count Florence, proudly showing off the wild boar she had caught with a beaming face, refused to leave his mind.
‘Pretty decent, huh?’
Moreover, what she was so proud of wasn’t the size of the prey, which could hold its own anywhere. It was the situation itself, proving that she wasn’t an unnecessary presence on this journey.
That short question, which made them realize it, left the knights from other houses frozen in place, wondering if Angela had overheard their private conversations.
Her hand still held the bow that had pierced the boar’s armor-like hide. And there were enough arrows left to silence all of them.
In the midst of that, Count Florence glanced briefly at the arrow lodged right in the center of the beast’s head, then immediately glared at his own house’s knight. His eyes accused him of taking Angela into the woods without permission while he was busy with other matters.
None of the knights who had witnessed the hunt end in an instant could understand the reason behind his worried expression. But the knight from House Florence, having seen the same scene, bowed deeply with a remorseful face and apologized.
‘She wanted to go so badly that I couldn’t help myself… I’m sorry, Your Excellency.’
‘Didn’t you ask for a chance to make amends? I told you to protect her from danger, yet you exposed her to it instead?’
Count Florence rebuked him harshly. But once again, the knights from other houses couldn’t comprehend those words.
Seeing her smile so brightly had caused a momentary confusion, but if she were to set down that formidable bow, who knows—right now, in this place, the most dangerous person was undoubtedly Angela.
And then she did it again.
‘There’s no need to scold Sir Jamie. You heard it, didn’t you? I wanted to go. Why not scold me instead?’
With a face full of determination, she firmly stepped in front of the knight who was being reprimanded because of her. It was the kind of expression knights usually wore when protecting something behind them.
“You all saw it during dinner too, right?”
Even though it was her own catch, Angela casually ate the meat soup that the knights had roughly thrown together without batting an eye.
It couldn’t have tasted all that great, yet she didn’t utter a single light complaint. The image they had imagined—of her spitting out the food and demanding to know if this was what they expected her to eat—vanished futilely, existing only in their fantasies.
Angela finished her meal with such elegant poise that it made one think, ‘Ah, that’s the daughter of a ducal house,’ eliciting admiration. There wasn’t even a sound of chewing. The ladies they served in their own houses had an entirely different aura.
The only moment she uttered sharp words was when she discovered that Yvonne, now a duchess but once her nursemaid, hadn’t touched a single spoonful of soup while tending to her.
‘If you’re going to keep acting like this, go back right now.’
At her stern tone, Yvonne hurriedly began eating her share. Angela watched her like a hawk, arms crossed, until the bowl was completely empty.
She was utterly unpredictable, this young lady. One moment she evoked the image of someone gripping a whip tightly, and the next, she’d flash a bright smile that covered everything.
Was that why Count Florence couldn’t take his eyes off her? Throughout the meal, he never once diverted his gaze from the woman who stood out so incongruously in the landscape.
“So that’s why our jealous young lady was making such a fuss.”
The knight, who had been lost in thoughts about Angela as if enchanted, scratched his head vigorously once more and muttered.
‘What’s the point of being pretty? Her temper is awful. All those rumors, but in reality, she’s nothing special.’
The sleepless knights keenly realized that the words spoken by Lady Matterson, the young lady of their house, were nothing more than mere jealousy, and they agreed in silence.
* * *
“Your Highness, it’s reported that Phaelon’s advance has begun.”
One of Rasill’s retainers reported. It was as expected. Rasill was already moving troops to the border region. A armed clash would soon be unavoidable.
Fortunately, the nobles whose minds had been tampered with by Grace no longer cowered like cowards. Without a single dissenting voice, they clamored that they must crush the Kingdom of Taran before being crushed themselves.
Rasill found this scene both welcome, as it was what he desired, and absurd. How flimsy must their minds be for not a single one to escape Grace’s clutches?
Rasill had seen Grace throw a fit, complaining that she couldn’t even set foot in the dreams of that young count from Phaelon. The retainers before him all seemed pathetic, and he clicked his tongue.
Misinterpreting that, one noble opened his mouth and asserted strongly.
“We must seize the central area of the ceded territory before Phaelon’s forces reach the disputed zone and finish reorganizing.”
Voices of agreement echoed from several places. Rasill wanted to sew shut every mouth that said, ‘That’s right.’
He had suspected it from the moment they spouted nonsense about peace, stability, and harmony, but they truly were fools who didn’t know the first thing about war.
If it were possible, he would have done it long ago.
Phaelon’s full-scale advance had only just begun, but the number of sentries stationed in the ceded territory was not insignificant. Their own preparations weren’t fully in place either, so charging in recklessly would likely lead to them being the ones taken down.
Rasill found his situation—having to explain this—ridiculous and let out a scoff. He doubted whether the troops led by such masters would be of any use on the battlefield.
Suppressing his anger with great effort, Rasill finished the meeting with the nobles and considered seeking out Grace, but instead turned toward his bedroom. Lately, encounters with Grace often escalated into raised voices.
Grace wasn’t particularly disobeying Rasill’s orders. But she consistently adopted an irritated attitude, acting as if she were above him… and that was utterly detestable.
Even his patience in praising Grace highly was reaching its limit. She bared her teeth as if ready to bite his neck at any moment; for a dog that didn’t recognize its master, the only fate was slaughter.
Upon reaching his bedroom, Rasill dismissed all the attendants and guards to a distance and entered the room alone.
The bedroom, cleansed of all traces of King Canak, was far more luxurious than before. The canopy draping the bed on all sides was woven with gold threads.
How heavy it must be. Watching the attendants struggle to draw and lower it each time made him feel the reality of the position he had ascended to.
Rasill slowly walked, trailing his fingertips along the heavy canopy, and touched one of the many golden candlesticks placed on the shelf.
Shortly after, the wall moved on its own as if enchanted, revealing the door to a hidden passage. Rasill stepped inside familiarly.
Then, he pressed hard on one of the bricks inside. The door, which had gaped open, soon closed without a trace, as if nothing had happened.
In the empty bedroom, unseen footsteps continued striding deep within the walls.
* * *
No. That’s not it. That…
It wasn’t just Kalian who had been staring fixedly at one spot throughout the evening. Dominic, too, had never let Angela out of his sight. And the conclusion they finally reached was a cold denial.
That wasn’t his daughter.
His daughter was delicate, so fragile she needed protection. There was no way she could possess the ability to take down a ferocious beast in one fell swoop.
That sort of thing was something Grace would do. The secret chamber where monster flesh and bone fragments were scattered about came vividly to mind, as if he’d just seen it moments ago.
So, the one over there had to be a fake. The real one was the one Dominic met every night in a different place. Tearfully, heartbreakingly so.
Come to think of it, that fake resembled the woman who tormented his child there…
“Ah…”
No. That’s not right.
Seeing the golden hair fluttering in the wind brought it back clearly. It wasn’t just resemblance—it was that woman. The one who had locked his precious daughter in a closet, keeping her from even touching anything—Grace, that damned woman.
He’d wondered where she was hiding, and there she was. Right in front of him.
Dominic’s eyes crackled and blazed like the campfires dotted around the encampment. Soon, they began to waver like they’d encountered a fierce storm. Embedded in the center of his pupils was a precarious heat.
His gaze, fixed on the blonde hair for so long, only shifted elsewhere after she entered the tent where she was staying. It turned to the empty air.
Dominic stared blankly up at some spot among the dense trees, then after a while, he rose from his seat, brushing himself off. The knights of House Bilton started to rise as well, intending to follow. But Dominic’s command followed.
“That’s enough. Rest easy.”
With a firm voice and a concise gesture, Dominic restrained the knights’ movements and headed toward his own tent.
He wanted to sleep. To drift into floating consciousness and meet his precious daughter. And, holding her hands tightly, he wanted to ask what he should do now that that horrific woman had appeared before his eyes.
Should he cut her down in one stroke and end her life? That would be too easy a death, wouldn’t it? Right? Then, like what she did to you, should he lock her in a closet and wait for her to starve to death? Or burn her alive? Yeah, that doesn’t sound bad.
If he said that, his ever-gentle child might shake her head in fear. She would smile softly, saying that just having Dominic by her side made her happy. He recalled her fluffy embrace.
But the Angela he met that night was different from his expectations. When he asked her thoughts, she clung to Dominic with anxious eyes, pleading desperately for him to do just that.
Her small frame trembled as she burrowed into him. Her pleas of fear crossed his eardrums more than a hundred times.
It was clear that while he was away, that woman Grace had done something. Otherwise, this kind child wouldn’t react like this.
Dominic hugged her shaking shoulders tightly and patted her dry back.
“There’s nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing. Your father is here, isn’t he? I’ll protect you, so there’s nothing to fear. So, smile prettily for me, okay?”
“Will you really protect me?”
Her wide-open eyes met Dominic’s gaze precisely.
“You’re promising, right? That you’ll burn the woman who torments me alive?”
Facing those eyes that didn’t blink even for a moment, Dominic eventually nodded. Yes, he seemed to have replied.
But he couldn’t remember if he had actually answered. He only knew that when he opened his eyes, he was throwing a flaming log toward the tent where Grace was sleeping.
Bidding a final farewell to the devil who had ruined his life.
* * *
“Your Excellency! Your Excellency, you need to come out! Your Excellency!”
He’d thought the outside seemed noisy. The voice of a pale-faced knight spilled into the tent where Count Matterson was staying.
“Tch, what is this commotion?”
Count Matterson lifted the draped curtain, revealing a face twisted with irritation. He looked like sleep hadn’t fully left him.
But Count Matterson glanced sharply at the knight who had woken him, as if he didn’t even need to hear the response. It was because he had already taken in the scene unfolding before him. The drowsiness in his eyes vanished in an instant.
“A fire has broken out! The flames aren’t dying down easily. It seems you should evacuate over there before it reaches here.”
With a distorted expression, Count Matterson nodded stiffly and moved as the knight suggested.
Even as he walked, Count Matterson’s gaze kept drifting toward the roaring flames. Whether due to the blazing fire or not, his pupils were trembling.
