“Well, I think it’s irresponsible.”
“Irresponsible?”
Shilo’s voice rose at the end of his sentence, clearly taken aback by the unexpected reply.
“Why? Isn’t it romantic? That play is currently the most popular one in the entire country. Oh, I’m not criticizing it.”
“That is…”
Roxana chose her words carefully before calmly expressing her thoughts.
“I feel like they are turning their backs on everyone and running away under the guise of love. Of course, it might be desperate and poignant enough for them to throw away their lives, but… what about after that?”
“The people left behind?”
Surprised that he had read her thoughts, Roxana nodded.
“Yes. There are so many people around them who cherish and love them. Should they really protect that love even at the cost of ignoring and betraying all of them? I can’t help but wonder if there truly wasn’t a way to persuade them or reconcile, even if it took more time.”
Shilo, who had been listening intently to Roxana, suddenly offered his praise.
“That’s interesting!”
“Pardon?”
“I didn’t expect that kind of answer. I thought you would say it was truly romantic.”
His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it. Sensing an inexplicable tension, Roxana watched him quietly. Shilo, having turned his head away from her, was watching the play as it reached its conclusion.
“My lady, have you heard about Curtis’s past?”
“His past?”
“Yes. Have you ever heard it in detail?”
“…No.”
She knew that he had led a mercenary group and had been reinstated after clearing his family’s name through great achievements. In fact, it was a story everyone in this country knew. But she had never heard the details. Curtis rarely brought up his past, and she was the same. They both knew well that bringing it up would only serve as an invisible blade to stab one another.
However, she was secretly curious. That night when she had accidentally worn the white mask, when he had called her Tessa and buried his face in her lap like a young boy—she had wanted to know what kind of past he had lived through.
But.
“…Curtis is.”
“Lord Shilo.”
Before Shilo, who had lowered his voice, could continue, Roxana cut him off.
“When I want to hear it, I will hear it directly. From him.”
Otherwise, it would be meaningless. It was not right to hear about someone’s past through the mouth of another.
“He won’t tell you.”
“Even so, it doesn’t matter. But at the very least, I do not want to hear his story from someone else’s lips, rather than his own.”
“…I see. Understood.”
At her firm refusal, Shilo smiled, gave up, and brushed himself off as he stood up. Roxana’s gaze followed him as he rose.
“Why don’t you stay a little longer?”
“No. Curtis will be angry if he sees me.”
Shilo gestured toward the left. Roxana turned her head to look at Curtis, who was sitting next to the Princess. He was whispering something into the Princess’s ear, his palm cupped to her ear. Seeing how intimate they looked, Roxana instinctively placed a hand across her chest. Shilo, who had been observing her intently as she turned back, suddenly dropped a bombshell.
“You are in love with the Marquess.”
“…….”
This was the second time she had heard that. Roxana was grateful she was wearing a mask. At least she didn’t have to show her ruined expression to someone else again.
“Keep hiding it well, just as you are now, my lady.”
Shilo whispered dryly and added quietly.
“Someday, that heart will turn into poison and swallow both the Marquess and you. Because you are ‘Roxana Dalton’.”
Roxana Dalton.
“Well… though it seems you already know that.”
His words were like daggers, piercing deep into Roxana’s heart. Shilo, having taken one last look at Roxana, who sat as still as a stuffed doe, soon left the spot. A persistent gaze clung to Roxana’s back as she was left alone.
It was the moment Roxana turned her head, feeling the gaze.
“You were talking to someone. Who was it?”
Curtis, who had returned to his original seat from beside the Princess, asked. Roxana hesitated for a moment before making an excuse.
“Oh. Just a stranger. I think they mistook me for someone they knew.”
* * *
The gaze hidden behind Curtis’s back belonged to none other than Enoch. He stared intently at the red hair before turning his head to look at his cousin.
“A mistress.”
“I’m telling you, that’s what she is. Anyway, that bitch Melanie is nowhere to be seen.”
Derek, who had been ranting, appealed his grievance.
“That bitch seduced me. She called me out in the middle of the night. And yet, that damn bastard cut off my ear.”
As Derek’s words continued, Enoch’s eyes narrowed. Melanie. That person was that woman. He didn’t know why she had red hair, or if that was just a wig, but—
“Didn’t you say that woman was your cousin?”
“I did. It seems she went back abroad. I was going to cause a scene, too.”
Something was strange. He had a strong premonition that those two were hiding something very important. Melanie. Cousin. And now, a mistress?
“So, forgive me for calling you there yesterday. I didn’t know you would hate it so much… Enoch?”
Curtis, who had called over a guard waiting nearby, gave an order in a whisper. Derek, dumbfounded, placed a hand on his shoulder, but he soon recoiled at the cold look in Curtis’s eyes.
Only after finishing his instructions to the guard did Enoch turn his head to Derek and ask in a low voice.
“So, what was it you wanted to say?”
“Harold said she would marry that bastard.”
“Marry him.”
“I don’t know if it’s out of pride or if she’s truly head over heels, but still. She asked me to help her.”
The plan was simple. They just had to make their marriage a *fait accompli* during the Carnival.
Although the rule was to wear masks and mingle without knowing each other’s identities, royalty—especially a princess of marriageable age—was an exception.
The plan was to get Curtis drunk on the last night of the Carnival, make him ravish the Princess, and have the King witness the scene.
If that happened, Curtis would have no choice but to choose between death or marriage to the Princess.
“You said you would help her? Then you’d be related by marriage.”
“Ha, of course, that’s out of the question. I said I’d help, but—”
Derek laughed viciously and continued.
“Do you think that bastard would choose to marry the Princess against his will? He’d just beg for death. That’s the only thing I want.”
“Then why are you telling me this?”
Derek, suppressing his anger at the look of contempt, confessed.
“Find out where that bitch Melanie Taldon is hiding and let me know. I’ll make sure I see the heads of that mistress bitch and that bastard roll… *kuh!* …Enoch?”
He couldn’t finish his sentence. Derek, grabbed by the collar, blinked in confusion.
“Listen well, cousin.”
“…….”
“I don’t care what you do to the Margrave in collusion with the Princess. But if you touch the woman beside him—”
Murderous intent flowed through the blue eyes behind the mask. Derek, shrinking his shoulders instinctively, hiccuped.
“Keep it moderate. Don’t make a scene.”
The next moment, Enoch released Derek, brushed off his hands, and stood up.
“E-Enoch!”
Derek called out in panic from behind, but Enoch did not look back. As he moved away from the crowd, his aide, Baron Boden, followed him.
“You ordered me to look into the Margrave’s mistress.”
Enoch nodded instead of answering. The ankle he had gripped still felt vivid. The body trembling like a bird soaked in rain, and those delicate, long eyelashes.
“Was there something suspicious about her?”
“No. Is there anything else to report?”
Enoch, who had firmly dismissed the suspicious question, looked at Baron Boden with a sharp gaze. The Baron, lowering his eyes, said,
“Ah. Yes. Regarding the Marquess who recently inherited the title…”
Marquess.
A strange sense of déjà vu washed over him at the familiar word. Enoch spoke the name that had surfaced in his mind.
“Marquess of Dalton.”
“Pardon?”
The Baron tilted his head at the name buried in old memories.
“Why are you suddenly asking about the late Marquess of Dalton…”
“That dead…”
His former fiancée.
It was a name he rarely even spoke when she was alive, ironically. A woman to whom he had given no affection or interest, and whom he had completely erased from his mind when he heard she had died. Enoch, who had hesitated without realizing it, opened his mouth again in a low voice.
“What did that dead daughter look like?”
“Roxana Dalton… are you referring to her?”
“Yes.”
“Well… I only saw her once, myself.”
“Do you remember?”
The Baron, searching his memory, fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. It was when Enoch, turning his head at the continued silence, was about to walk away. The Baron, his face brightening as the memory surfaced, spoke quickly.
“Red hair. She had red hair.”
Time stopped. Enoch, frozen like a statue, confirmed it.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. Though that’s only about her hair color. But why are you…”
“Investigate Roxana Dalton. Bring everyone who knew her, everyone who saw her face in person. Especially those who worked at the Marquess’s manor.”
At the sudden order, the Baron’s jaw dropped. A small doubt was spiraling into a labyrinth. First, he was told to investigate a mistress, and now, a dead former fiancée? He could not understand the Duke’s mind at all.
“S-she would have been buried and turned to bones by now.”
“And who saw that with their own eyes?”
“Well, naturally, the one who led the troops at the time…”
“The Margrave.”
Enoch cut off the Baron’s words and muttered. Curtis Russell. The Margrave. The scattered pieces of the puzzle were falling into place one by one. Now he finally understood. Why, strangely, she hadn’t felt like a stranger when he first encountered her.
Enoch, gritting his teeth, commanded through his teeth.
“Find out immediately. Even if you have to dig up the grave!”
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