The Countess did not intend to kill her immediately. Then that meant she would not die from this smoke. That was enough.
Think of what comes next.
How long had it been since she entered this place? Had about twelve hours passed? Then it would be soon. She just had to endure a little longer. Just a little, just a little more….
The string of thoughts she had desperately held onto stretched long and thin. Then, feeling as though that string had snapped taut, she suddenly heard a voice as vivid as a scream.
‘Milady!! Stop, milady!! You mustn’t, please don’t look.’
‘Take milady away, quickly!’
Her heart pounded as if sinking regardless of her will. Thump, thump—the rough beating clamored in her ears, and the ground she stepped on seemed to collapse, her balance vanishing.
Grace shook her head and crouched, covering her eyes.
But even so, she could see everything.
That day, beneath the dark sky thick with clouds, there was a carriage burnt so black that not even a proper shape remained. From the carriage, thread-like gray smoke rose endlessly, and the acrid smell of burning permeated the vast grand garden of the Taylor ducal castle.
‘Your Excellency…! My lady….’
‘What will become of the House of Duke Taylor now?’
‘But Lady Grace is here.’
‘Can that young lady handle Taylor? She is still a poor child who has lost her mother and father.’
The servants’ gossip mixed with sympathy, someone’s heart-wrenching sobs tore through her chest like daggers. A groan like an animal’s whimper tried to escape her mouth. Grace clamped her hand tightly over her lips. Tears slid over the back of the hand covering her mouth.
Don’t make a sound. I can’t let them hear me crying.
The completely burned bodies of her parents were right before her eyes.
* * *
Autumn draped over the table prepared at one side of the grand garden of the Richmond ducal castle.
The table decorated with a centerpiece made from branches of a deciduous tree was beautiful, as if crafted with utmost care. Moreover, the teacups before the noble ladies were from the collection passed down through the generations of Duchesses. The Countess only brought out these teacups on particularly joyous days, so the ladies following the Countess were certain that her victory was near.
“Is it true that His Excellency has not eaten anything for two days already?”
“He does not seem to be eating or sleeping.”
When the Countess’s maid spoke quietly as if troubled, Flora’s face darkened.
“Indeed. To think that the person he believed to be his lover was in league with those who murdered his parents—how heartbroken he must be. If I were to go to His Excellency even now….”
“Wait, Flora.”
The Countess set down her teacup, gently cutting off Flora’s words. Then the maid standing beside the Countess chimed in.
“The maids were coming out of His Excellency’s room as if fleeing. I heard them murmuring amongst themselves that they were frightened. At a time like this, there is nothing good in going there deliberately.”
“Yes, Flora. Listen to the Countess.”
When even Countess Reuwen chimed in, Flora tilted her eyes and murmured in a sorrowful voice.
“I am simply so worried. I fear he will harm his health.”
“His Excellency is truly a fortunate man. Not only did the Count and Countess protect Richmond, but they even knew of that vulgar woman’s plans in advance and stopped them.”
“Is that all? Such a beautiful and kind-hearted Lady Flora is waiting for him.”
At the noble ladies’ fawning remarks, the Countess smiled, her eyes curving.
“Countess, but… has that woman not opened her mouth yet?”
At Flora’s cautious question, the Countess leaned back deeply against her chair.
Two days since Grace had been locked in the solitary cell. A day and a half since they had made her smell the incense sticks said to constantly revive the most terrible memories. By now, she would be wandering through hell.
She could not be in a normal state. She would open her eyes around noon tomorrow, but unable to come to her senses, she would babble nonsense, so a very amusing spectacle would unfold at the Grand Council.
When the Countess smiled deeply, a secret smile formed and vanished at Flora’s lips as well.
At the tea table, warm laughter bloomed endlessly.
The ladies’ tea party concluded when the sun overhead began to slowly tilt westward. As the ladies returned to their respective mansions, darkness rolled in transparently and enveloped the world.
The maids who had entered to light up the Duke’s room trembled at a chill that sent shivers down their spines. From the Duke seated on the sofa by the window flowed an aura difficult to express with words. They dared not even glance at his back, and could not muster the courage to light the candle placed right before him. They gathered the dishes and water glass the Duke had not touched and fled.
Walter opened his closed eyes as the maids’ presence faded away.
The castle was still in an uproar. It was probably because they could not find Jessie. There had still been no word from Joseph, but he would return without delay.
Moreover, the Count’s faction, having stepped deep into the trap without realizing it, had sent notice that they would hold the Grand Council tomorrow at noon, as if their preparations were complete. They intended to prove Grace’s guilt before all of Richmond’s vassals and bring the Duke’s authority crashing to the ground.
There was still no word from Eliza, but everything was proceeding according to plan. Yet as time passed, he felt as though he would go mad.
Grace was imprisoned in the underground solitary cell. They said that once locked in that room, one would forget even child and parent, begging for one’s life, and ultimately lose one’s mind.
‘If by any chance I cannot endure, then as you said, you may abandon me.’
Walter roughly rubbed his face. The dark eyes caught between his long fingers sank deeply. Conversely, his chest heaved roughly, as if a storm-tossed sea were contained within.
There was no reason for him to be in such turmoil.
Grace Taylor—that woman was someone who could endure and then some. But even if she could not endure and lost her mind, that too could become a card for Walter. Either way, he would not suffer a loss.
But as the darkness deepened, the sea nested in his chest churned ever more violently.
Round pupils resembling fresh green foliage, the warmth felt from overlapping bodies, the soft touch and smile that had curled within his palm rose one after another. He was simply dumbfounded as to why actions that held no more meaning than a single grain of wheat remained like scars that would not heal.
Then, he suddenly recalled that scene.
‘Do you know my name?’
To the foolish question that still seemed absurd upon reflection, she had nodded. Golden hair swayed along with the motion of her head.
The flow of time slowed, then stopped.
Walter gazed at that afterimage without even breathing. Then, the moment his eyes met those transparent pupils, he sprang up from his seat. He moved so swiftly that it put to shame how he had stayed rooted to the spot like the remains of a collapsed wall until then.
The Count had stationed soldiers before the door to confine him, but it was meaningless.
Count and Countess Rinko had been desperate to discover the secret passage of the ducal castle known only to the successive Dukes and Duchesses, but they ultimately failed. Because the only key to the secret passage, and the signet ring that could open every door of the ducal castle, was in Walter’s possession.
Walter went to the bathroom attached to the Duke’s room. On the bathroom wall was a design of an eagle rendered in mosaic.
He twisted open the lid of the signet ring on his middle finger, then turned the ring to fit the eagle’s eye. At the clicking sound, he pushed the wall with all his might. The gap in the wall, which had seemed solid, opened, revealing a pitch-black path. The sound of wind blowing from the other side of the path was like the cry of a beast.
When he closed the door, the lamp in his hand became the only light illuminating the world.
The path, black as pitch both ahead and behind, felt as though it had neither starting point nor destination. A path where no one could tell you how far you had come or how far you had to go, nor anyone to ask.
A cold and loneliness he could never get used to swept over him.
One step, two steps—his stride gradually grew wider. Then, before he knew it, he was running.
Passing through endlessly twisting corridors and descending stairs that felt like thousands, the bottom of the ducal castle, which felt like an abyss, revealed itself.
Walter extinguished the lamp in case of any eventuality. Then, perfect darkness and silence approached like tangible objects.
They said the solitary cell of the ducal castle was a place that needed no guard, and indeed it was true. The sound of his own breath drilled into his ears, and the drip of water drops felt like the entirety of this world.
After confirming there was no guard, Walter lit the lamp again. Then he approached the black door. But the closer he got, the more a fragrance that made people languid wafted forth. Those who had not smelled it before could only classify it as a ‘flower scent,’ but those who had once seen its true form could never forget the fragrance of that flower.
Growing only beyond walls of death—the fragrance of the Nightmare flower, which was in truth the root of all these events, vibrated in the air.
Walter quickly found the source of the fragrance. There had to be something emitting this scent, whether incense sticks or candles. It was then that he discovered pale ash in a crack between the stones near the door.
‘…Res….’
A faint wind brushed past his ear. Walter’s movements stopped. He waited for the sound that had brushed past his ear, even forgetting to breathe.
Had he misheard? Was it an illusion created by the flower scent? Or was it a dream that had faded into nothingness?
‘…Ares….’
No. The moment the voice, neither illusion nor faint wind nor dream, was heard again, he urgently opened the door. And approaching Grace, who lay curled up, he raised her. Grace was unconscious, and soaked in damp chill, her whole body was shockingly cold. Like this, she would die of hypothermia. Leaning his back against the wall, he pulled Grace into his embrace.
Her slender body trembled finely. The Nightmare fragrance constantly called forth the most terrible memories, so Grace would be wandering through hell even now. Her delicate brow was twisted, and she kept biting her lips. Then, like wind leaking through a crack, a soft voice flowed out.
‘…Ares….’
The word containing her soul flowed along the curve of his ear and settled in his heart.
He moved his lips slightly before he barely managed to reply.
‘…I’m here.’