Her father, the Marquess of Dalton, was a man who knew nothing of pride. He was greedy, selfish, and lacked even a fingernail’s worth of compassion or mercy.
"Do not even speak to the lowly, Roxana. If word gets out in high society that you’ve been conversing with commoners, your value—which is already negligible as you are merely a girl—will plummet even further."
"Harold. If they don't have the money, raise the rent! If they can't pay that, tell them to sell their daughters. There are plenty of brothels, aren't there? If they don't like that, they can rot as serfs!"
"They want me to lower the taxes because they’re starving to death? The commoners are nothing more than tools that exist solely for their lord! How dare they crawl out of their place? Catch the ringleaders and execute them publicly!"
With the lord’s permission, the people of the Marquess’s household committed all manner of atrocities. They captured starving commoners for public execution and forced parents to sell their daughters when they could no longer bear the crushing weight of labor and taxes. They treated the serfs like beasts of burden, denying them even the most basic human dignity.
Roxana had not simply stood by and watched her father’s cruelty. With Mary’s help, she had hidden her identity to secretly sponsor the poorhouse and reached out to pregnant women who had nowhere else to go and were on the verge of death. She had sought out maids who had been unjustly dismissed from the castle without pay, providing them with letters of recommendation and the wages they were owed for their families.
But that was fifteen days ago. Eventually, her nighttime excursions were discovered, and the furious Marquess of Dalton placed her under house arrest.
"You useless thing. After your mother died of illness two years ago, I thought you had become at least somewhat docile, but... stay confined until you are married off to your fiancé!"
In the end, Roxana was stripped of her freedom and imprisoned at the top of the main keep. All she had to eat each day was a single serving of oatmeal porridge and a piece of hard bread. Her strength was waning, and her health was failing from the constant shocks.
"No one is coming to save us."
"What do you mean by that...?"
"Think about it, Harold. Even if the royal authority isn't what it once was, do you really think an invasion like this could happen without the King's approval?"
Furthermore, the intruders who had breached the castle might have looked like commoners, but upon closer inspection, they were no less skilled than trained soldiers. Under the command of a man in a black helmet, they had surrounded the castle in perfect unison and subdued everyone inside. They were a thoroughly honed and disciplined army.
"This is all the price we have to pay for our sins. We must accept it."
As Roxana continued, Harold’s face gradually twisted. He seemed to be thinking for a moment, and then his expression shifted.
"Could it be... have you been colluding with those men?"
"What are you saying?"
"That’s it, isn't it? You held a grudge about being locked up, so you had someone open the gates. Otherwise, this castle wouldn't have fallen so quickly! It’s all your fault!"
Roxana did not answer. His eyes, bloodshot from burst capillaries, rolled wildly.
"I’ll kill you! You witch, selling out your own father!"
Harold lunged in an instant, his terrifying hands closing around her throat. Pain surged from his brutal grip. Even as Roxana’s face turned deathly pale, none of the armed men made a move to stop him. Feeling her consciousness fading, Roxana closed her eyes.
That was when it happened.
"Gaaah...!"
Something splattered across her face, followed by a harrowing, final scream.
As soon as Roxana opened her eyes, she saw Harold, now deathly pale, collapsed on the floor beside her. Before she could even process the situation, a low voice pierced her eardrums.
"Are the people of the House of Dalton always so hot-headed?"
She looked up and saw a man. An armed man, shaking the blood from his longsword, was looming over her.
"..."
The man in the black helmet. The leader who had commanded this army.
Roxana recoiled at the overwhelming pressure that crushed her breath. The man had broad shoulders and a striking physique that made one bow their head instinctively. He was a head taller than anyone else, with sharp features and an innate aura of intimidation. As he approached, those who had surrounded her took a few steps back.
"You’re all going to be hanged together anyway, so why the rush to kill each other first?"
As their eyes met, she drew a short, sharp breath. He was smiling, yet it felt as if she were being crushed by his bloodlust. The glint in his eyes from within the helmet made Roxana unable to move a muscle.
"I heard there was a daughter so embarrassing she couldn't even be presented to high society. Let’s see."
Her tongue felt frozen. While Roxana remained paralyzed, he leaned in to inspect her face.
His gaze felt as if it were scouring every inch of her, even beneath the hem of her dress. Roxana trembled as heat flared where he gripped her chin. For some reason, he didn't feel like a stranger. The moment she was overcome by a strange sense of dissonance, the man removed his gauntlet and reached out to her.
She had no time to dodge. His hand was large, with thick, prominent knuckles. The man wiped the dust, ash, and blood from Roxana’s cheek.
"Not an ugly one, are you?"
Humming as if satisfied with her clean face, the man ordered his subordinates to clear away Harold’s corpse.
"Now, shall we continue our conversation?"
Perhaps displeased that Roxana was watching the butler being dragged away, the man bent his knee to bring himself to her eye level. Then, he reached out again to brush back her disheveled hair.
Roxana froze at his sudden movement. His hand brushed against her earlobe and grazed her neck. The spot where his skin touched hers burned as if branded. Regaining her senses, Roxana swatted his hand away.
"To lay hands on a woman so carelessly. Do you have no sense of chivalry?"
"Chivalry?"
The man repeated her words and let out a low laugh. The knights around him began to mock her as well. Even as she flushed with humiliation, Roxana spoke her prepared words clearly.
"Please spare the soldiers and knights who have surrendered. And take the bound maids, servants, and the people of this territory as your own. Not as serfs, but as free citizens."
It was a bold demand. The man tilted his head and asked.
"Why should I?"
"If you promise to do so, I will hand over the Marquess’s seal with my own hands."
The man fell silent at Roxana’s condition. The seal. It was the token required to conquer and occupy a territory. No matter how much one trampled it with force, one could not be recognized as the new lord without the seal.
Amidst the chill that seeped into her very bones, Roxana steeled her neck.
"If you do not, you will never find the seal, no matter how thoroughly you search. I have hidden it well."
Instead of fleeing to save her own life, she had sent Mary away and spent her final moments ensuring this was done.
It was her duty as the lord’s daughter. Even if her father couldn't protect his people, she had to.
"How insolent!"
"Let’s torture her until she talks!"
At her demand, which was not just bold but brazen, several of the man’s knights spat out curses. Even in the face of such murderous intent, Roxana remained calm. Just as her lips were turning blue, a sudden burst of laughter shattered the lethal atmosphere.
"Haha!"
The man stood up and reached for his sword hilt. In the blink of an eye, a blade shimmering with a cold, blue edge sliced thinly across Roxana’s neck. With a stinging pain, her red hair, shorn like straw, fell in clumps.
"If you were trying to save your life by racking your brain, then you’ve succeeded. But what a pity—I have no intention of incorporating this place, which reeks of such stench, into my territory. So, I have no need for a seal. I can just turn it into a wasteland and be done with it."
The man trampled and insulted her efforts. He rejected even the courage she had mustered with all her might. While Roxana, her mind gone blank, was left speechless, the man slowly removed his helmet.
The first thing revealed was jet-black hair. At the sight of the familiar black hair, Roxana’s eyes began to tremble violently.
What she faced next were gray eyes with a mysterious light, like those of a wolf. Once a vibrant, mystical ash-gray, they were now so dark their depth could not be fathomed.
"Go on, beg, Roxana. Who knows? If you fawn over me well enough, I might just let you live."
He slowly scraped the sharp edge of his blade against her neck. Sitting in the mud, covered in blood, Roxana stared blankly at the stranger.
You... you were supposed to be dead.
My first love.
* * *
"I’m Curtis Russell. Thirteen years old."
"I will cherish you more than anyone else, Roxana. More than any jewel."
It was the boy from her dreams. Tears streamed down her deathly pale cheeks. Was she seeing things? But the sensations were far too vivid for that.
"I... I heard you were dead."
The culprit who had wiped out the House of Russell, the Marquesses of the border, was none other than her father, the Marquess of Dalton. He had used fabricated evidence and witnesses to frame the House of Russell for treason. He had burned the castle and burned everyone inside, from the elderly to the children. It was said the bodies of the Russell clan had been thrown to wild dogs, leaving not even a trace behind.
"I survived in hell. My servant died in my place."
"How could this be..."
At his dry response, Roxana hung her head. It felt as if a beast’s paw were crushing her windpipe. Shock, sorrow, joy, and devastation. Guilt.
The raindrops that had been falling in ones and twos grew heavier, pouring down upon them. In the driving rain, Roxana’s thin shoulders heaved without a sound.
Watching her silently, Curtis quietly called her name.
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