The House of Count Saxen, the de facto representative of the upstart noble faction, had originally been an unremarkable provincial house scarcely able to gain a foothold in the capital. Had the late Duke still been alive, Jack Saxen—no matter that he was a young count—would never have dared to even exchange words with Grace Taylor. However, now that it was backed by the standing of the Empress’s natal family, the House of Count Saxen had grown so formidable that even birds in flight were said to fall from the sky.
Inside the finest guest chamber of Duke Taylor’s castle, the maid Jessie lay prostrate on a floor littered with broken bottles and glasses. Jack Saxen crouched before her, grinning lecherously.
“Come on, what’s so hard about sitting next to me?”
His pronunciation was thoroughly slurred from drinking all day, and his squatting posture swayed precariously.
The retainers of House Saxen who attended the Young Count had discreetly withdrawn, and Young Duke Taylor, who had been sharing in the drinking, had been carried off to his chambers in a drunken stupor. Duke and Duchess Taylor, as well as Count and Countess Saxen, had likewise kept their distance; after all, neither side stood to gain from witnessing such an unsightly spectacle. In the end, all that remained were the powerless maids and servants of House Taylor.
An elderly servant knelt beside Jessie and pleaded.
“Young master, I beg your forgiveness. Please, quell your wrath…”
Before the servant could even finish, his cheek was struck with a violent slap. Yet one blow failed to sate Jack Saxen’s temper; he delivered another slap upward and shrieked,
“How dare a lowly servant address me without permission?!!!”
“I beg your forgiveness.”
The servant quickly bowed his head. Even so, the Young Count’s anger did not subside easily. Jack Saxen slowly exhaled, then picked up a glass lying haphazardly on the table. He tilted it over the bowed servant’s head.
Golden liquor trickled down the back of the servant’s head. At the humiliating sight, some clenched their fists and glared, while others turned their heads away, unable to bear watching.
Jessie, lying prostrate, clenched both fists tightly. Her eyes flickered fiercely when a voice dripping with mockery rang out from above.
“Lowly things like you are just like this glass. All you need to do is what your master tells you. Don’t you dare think for yourselves or speak out of turn.”
Jack Saxen grabbed the back of Jessie’s neck roughly and jerked her upright.
“Understood?”
It was then. Without warning, the firmly shut door burst open, and the Young Count—who had been dragging Jessie toward the sofa—flinched and raised his head toward it. There stood a woman in a pale green dress.
Grace caught her breath and swiftly surveyed the room. At her entrance, the expressions of House Taylor’s people brightened, only to darken again. A servant standing near the door glared fiercely at the maid who had brought Grace.
‘How could you bring my Lady to a place like this!’
Meanwhile, Grace glanced briefly at the prostrate servant and Jessie, then turned her gaze toward Jack Saxen.
“Young Count Saxen.”
At that low yet dignified voice, Jack felt as though his drunkenness had evaporated in an instant.
His blurred, intoxicated eyes raked over every corner of Grace’s modestly beautiful face. Even through his hazy, reeling world, he could tell that the woman who had suddenly appeared was a great beauty.
As if bewitched, Jack released the back of Jessie’s neck. The world still swayed, yet he stared intently at Grace’s face alone.
Grace Taylor was a beauty of a sensation quite unlike the capital’s women, with their long black hair draped seductively and lips painted red. Her rare blonde hair was lustrous, as though strands of the purest gold had been spun into thread, and the vividly set eyes in her pale face were a translucent pale green.
“Worth the money…?”
At the first words the Young Count uttered upon seeing Grace, Jessie bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, and the others’ expressions hardened as well. Only one person—Grace—remained serene.
“It has grown late. Please, retire for the night.”
Jack Saxen smirked.
Her voice was exactly to his taste. He had been inwardly furious at his arrogant bride who would not even show the tip of her nose despite her future husband’s arrival, etiquette be damned. Yet as if that anger had never existed, the Young Count smiled slyly.
“If my betrothed would but pour me a drink, I believe I could call it a night.”
“……”
Grace let out a short sigh, then looked around once more. After a quick glance at the gathered servants, she commanded in a low voice,
“Everyone, wait outside for a moment.”
At her order, the Young Count’s smile deepened, while the servants’ and maids’ eyes widened and they shook their heads.
“My Lady…!”
Jessie called to Grace in a barely audible voice, but Grace did not rescind her command. She merely stared fixedly at the servants and maids, her hands folded neatly before her.
Jack Saxen thrust his hands into his pockets and shouted at the hesitating group.
“What are you all doing?! Did not my Lady tell you to leave?!”
In the end, the servants had no choice but to exit the room, anxious though they were.
The moment the door closed behind them, Jack Saxen lunged toward Grace like a jackal snapping at prey. He twined her hair around his fingers and whispered,
“So House Taylor has its uses after all.”
In truth, Jack Saxen had not been pleased with this marriage. As the Empress’s nephew, there was no woman he could not possess. Moreover, was not Grace Taylor a woman who had merely been holed up in her estate, never once appearing in the capital’s social scene? He had assumed she would be remarkably plain and countrified.
Yet her gorgeous blonde hair was so lustrous it needed no adornment, and her pale face was as pure as a lily. Pleased that his long-held preferences were shattered in an instant, Jack tried to stroke Grace’s hair.
Had a calm voice not reached him, he would have done so.
“You’re the one proving worth the money.”
“……What?”
He thought he had misheard at first. When Jack tilted his head and asked in bewilderment, Grace pulled her hair free from his grasp and stepped back. Her fluid, graceful movement was as flawless as if embodying the very essence of etiquette, and her expression was that of an elegant noblewoman incarnate.
The disconnect between her demeanor and her words made Jack momentarily think he was hearing things, but as if mocking that very thought, Grace opened her mouth again toward him.
“For all your status as the Empress’s nephew, I had wondered just how much of a scoundrel you must have been for House Saxen to refuse even a dowry and instead offer to pay off the Taylors’ enormous debt in full. Now I see—you are exactly that sort of man.”
The Young Count’s expression turned savage in an instant.
“Have you lost your mind…?!”
As was typical of drunkards, violence erupted without warning. Jack Saxen reached out to brutishly grab Grace by the hair, but Grace withdrew faster than he could strike.
As the Young Count flailed at empty air and tumbled down, overcome by drink, she selected the sturdiest, thickest wine bottle from among the many rolling across the table.
“Damn it…!”
A shadow suddenly fell over Jack Saxen’s head as he spewed curses.
“……?”
He squinted and slowly raised his head. In that instant, cold shivers crept up his spine.
“…W-what are you doing?”
Clutching a large wine bottle tightly in one hand, Grace Taylor stood tall and elegant, looking down at him.
“Surely you’re not thinking of hitting me with that?!”
It was absurd, but the coldness in her eyes, her tightly pressed lips, and the way she gripped the wine bottle as though ready to swing it made Jack’s gaze waver wildly.
“You did say you remember nothing the morning after drinking, did you not?”
“…N-no! I remember everything!”
What are you going to do?!
The terrified Young Count screamed desperately, but Grace merely smiled. Then she whispered to him in a gentle, elegant tone as his face turned ashen.
“If you scream, two hits.”
The hand holding the wine bottle rose high. There was something strangely noble even in that sight as she whispered quietly,
“Bite down. Hard. Or you’ll bite your tongue.”
* * *
Meanwhile, the servants and maids who knew nothing of the situation inside were stamping their feet in agitation.
“How could you bring my Lady here?!”
“But… no one else was there… *sob*…”
“Tomorrow she is to marry that man. What will become of our lady?”
As someone’s tear-laden voice shook the air of the dark corridor, impossibly, the door opened. The eyes of those anxiously pacing the hallway all flew toward it at once.
Grace Taylor emerged through the door and broke into a bright smile at the faces thick with worry.
“My Lady!”
Grace carefully closed the door and spoke to the eldest servant—the very one who had been slapped by Jack Saxen.
“The Young Count has fallen asleep. Call the Saxen household’s servants and have them tidy up.”
“Fallen asleep? So suddenly?”
“Yes. He suddenly collapsed and fell straight into a dead slumber.”
“…Eh? Ah, yes!”
The servant replied with a bewildered expression.
As Grace moved forward calmly, the servants all stepped aside in unison, and she walked along the path they yielded. The lamp hanging in the corridor flickered long and low.
Unable to hold back any longer, one maid watching the lady’s straight back as she grew distant finally opened her mouth.
“My Lady!”
Grace turned around.
“…Are you all right?”
Worry for her was etched in the eyes of many.
From the day she lost her parents in a single moment until now, the concern and anxiety dwelling in their eyes had protected and raised Grace. Even when John and Emma, who had seized the ducal house, treated her coldly, the servants had always kept her room warm, gently patted the girl’s back, and fed her soft food.
‘Our lady, say aah!’
‘Look at this flower, my Lady!’
Everyone in the Taylor duchy had been her parents, her siblings, and her family. Without them, the Grace Taylor of today would not exist.
Grace smiled brightly in the darkness.
“I’ve always been grateful.”
“…My Lady……”
“Wait just a little longer.”
Leaving behind those who blinked their eyes, unable to understand the meaning of her calm words, Grace turned and stepped toward the murky, boundless darkness.
Swallowing the unspoken words: ‘Until I return.’