The opening ceremony lasted over an hour, an ordeal that was difficult for delicate ladies to endure. To escape the scorching sun and change her attire, Harold slipped away midway.
Once she had changed into a new dress, three maids swarmed around her to touch up her makeup and restyle her hair.
"My goodness, Princess. You look absolutely stunning!"
The maid who offered the praise held up a mirror for Harold. Harold stared intently at the woman reflected in the glass. Her golden hair, cascading in soft waves, shimmered as if it were molten honey, and her sapphire-like eyes were so enchanting that anyone who caught a glimpse would be instantly captivated.
"Perhaps not so beautiful to some."
She muttered the insincere words because of a detestable man who had crossed her mind. A detestable man who wouldn't even blink, no matter how close she got to him.
"Who on earth could ever reject you, Princess? Everything good in this world should belong to you."
Her nanny, who had been watching the princess with a satisfied expression, gently patted her shoulder. Leaning her head against the nanny's hand, Harold asked with a spoiled, petulant tone.
"What should I do, Nanny? I’ve found something I truly want, but it just won't come into my hands."
"Could it be..."
Though she spoke of him as if he were an object, they had been together long enough to understand each other perfectly. At the direct question, Harold dismissed the maid and lifted her head.
"That 'could it be' is correct. The Margrave."
There were several counts, but there was only one man in this country who held the title of "Margrave." At the low reply, the nanny furrowed her brows and spoke cautiously.
"...I have heard that man’s reputation is not good. They say he is a savage, impious, and vicious man who lacks even a shred of chivalry."
"That isn't entirely wrong. But having seen him in person, he is quite..."
Harold trailed off, mentally recalling his detestable yet handsome features one by one. Eyebrows that tilted slightly upward, silver-gray eyes. A bridge of the nose that ran straight and sharp without a single flaw, and lips pressed together in stubborn silence. The black hair, which everyone used to whisper was the color of the devil, suited him terrifyingly well. The problem was the words that came out of that mouth.
"Does the Princess have no pride?"
The fact that he ignored her while possessing a face that was perfectly to her taste made Harold feel indignant and angry. Such a thing should not be possible. Any man in the Royal Castle would have gladly knelt and begged for her love after a few flirtatious gestures. Curtis Russell should have been the same.
"Quite what?"
"I want to have him."
Harold muttered, biting down on her fingernails. Did she have no pride? The pride that had been wounded earlier was still stinging. She intended to pay him back for what he had done—or perhaps even more—but in the end, she had to have that man. It was a thirst that could only be quenched that way.
"So that is why you sent a telegram to Viscount Derek."
"Nanny."
The nanny disliked her brother, Derek. In truth, there were few in the Royal Castle who liked Derek Otis, the King’s first illegitimate child and a notorious rake. Outwardly, because of His Majesty, they treated him with respect and courtesy despite his low rank, but the moment eyes were turned away, everything changed.
"I know. I know how depraved Derek’s behavior is. My former maid was even driven away after he got her pregnant."
"That is not the end of it. He impregnated a young lady of noble blood and took no responsibility. They say that poor girl was cast out by her own family and died while giving birth to a fatherless child in a convent."
"Is that... so?"
It was a more horrific story than she had imagined. Harold placed a hand over her left breast and lowered her eyes.
"Don't worry, Nanny. Derek is just a tool. A tool to make my wish come true. As soon as the work is finished, I will send him straight back to his territory."
"If you ask me, Princess."
The nanny, clutching Harold’s hand tightly, continued earnestly.
"It seems the Margrave already has a woman in his heart. They say the woman who sat beside him at the opening ceremony is his mistress."
"..."
"Perhaps you should give up..."
"Nanny!"
Cutting off the nanny’s words with a shrill voice, the princess stood up irritably.
"You don't need to worry about that woman. My maid told me. They share a bed, but looking at the bedding the next morning, it seems they do not actually sleep together."
"This is the Royal Castle, is it not? You cannot judge based on a mere two days."
"He hates her. He only uses her as a tool. If he didn't, he wouldn't look at her with such murderous intent."
On the day of the opening ceremony, when she had briefly kept him by her side, the look in his eyes when he glanced at his mistress had been chilling. The moment a man sat near that woman, she had felt a killing intent radiating from behind his mask. They hadn't even been able to share a few words of conversation because he had stood up so quickly. It was something too twisted, dark, and murky to be mere jealousy. It was something closer to hatred.
"He probably took a mistress on purpose to delay his marriage."
At Harold’s words, the nanny’s expression darkened as she shook her head.
"Love does not come in only one form, Princess. Unless you have been inside that man’s heart and come back out, you cannot know."
A man does not love a woman solely through sweet and gentle affection. He also loves with a desire and hatred that threatens to burn everything to the ground. If the former is a flame that slowly ignites over time, the latter is... a fire that only settles after it has completely reduced both himself and his partner to ash. If that fire were to spread, one would be swept away in an instant, without any time to escape.
"That man is dangerous, Princess. Please, let go of your feelings. There must be a more suitable match for you. I beg you to listen to this old nanny..."
"Nanny."
The earnest plea could not continue. The princess shook off the nanny’s hand and stated clearly.
"I am the princess of this country. No one dares to reject me. I just need to tame that man."
"Princess!"
"But... Nanny’s words have some merit. If he truly cherishes that mistress deeply, she might become an obstacle for me."
It was an unexpected complication. What if, as the nanny said, that woman was not someone to be ignored? Her excitement having subsided, Harold’s face hardened coldly.
* * *
The gypsies' play came to an end amidst thunderous applause. Curtis, who had been watching the performance with his arms crossed in boredom, stood up. Roxana took the hand he offered and rose as well. Just then, Hans, who had been keeping watch from a distance, approached.
"My Lord. Regarding tomorrow’s jousting tournament, His Majesty has summoned all the participants."
"A jousting tournament?"
Roxana, reacting a step before Curtis, narrowed her brows.
"You are not in a physical condition to participate in a jousting tournament right now."
Fortunately, the wound she had sustained during the ambush was not fatal. However, it was not fully healed, either. It was not suitable to participate in a jousting tournament where even deaths could occur. Even if he were in peak condition, he would be lucky to avoid a serious injury.
It was dangerous. Her heart sinking, Roxana rose onto her tiptoes. Curtis lowered his head to accommodate her attempt to whisper.
"Make an excuse and refuse, Curtis."
"I have already given my word to the King. If I break it, I will be completely cast out of his favor."
"But if you get seriously hurt..."
"Isn't that a good thing for you? If I were to die, you would be free."
Even when he spoke, he managed to plunge a dagger straight into her heart. Roxana, left speechless, glared at him, but Curtis, having lifted his head again, gave an order to Hans.
"I have Shilo with me, so you stay by Roxana’s side."
"Understood."
Hans bowed respectfully and offered his hand to Roxana.
"There is a lounge for the ladies. I shall escort you there."
"You cannot participate in the jousting tournament."
As Curtis turned and walked away, Roxana desperately grabbed Hans to stop him.
"You have to stop him. If he keeps this up, he might really get seriously injured."
"It is fine."
"Sir Hans!"
She had thought him loyal, yet he was neglecting his master who was in danger. As a disappointed Roxana began to speak, Hans opened his mouth first.
"My Lord is not the type to be seriously injured in a jousting tournament by a wound of that nature."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I stood by his side during his mercenary days."
His mercenary days. To Roxana, it was a past of Curtis’s that she could not dare to imagine. The story of the time when Curtis, once a proud aristocrat, was climbing up from the very bottom of hell.
"My Lord fled with his blind sister with nothing but his bare hands and wandered the country, mixing with bands of gypsies. Then, he gathered and led the people who joined him one by one to create a mercenary organization that would strike fear into the hearts of many."
"..."
"That is why I trust my Lord. I hope you will trust him as well, my Lady."
His eyes were full of conviction. Roxana read in Hans’s face a trust and devotion that had hardened over the years.
Finally giving up on her attempt to persuade him, Roxana let out a faint sigh.
"...I see. I understand."
A brief silence flowed between the two. Feeling awkward, Hans smoothly changed the subject.
"That aside, I heard from your attendant that you only ate a little for breakfast. Are you not hungry?"
"A little."
"I heard there are some light refreshments in the lounge. Shall we go, so you may also wet your throat?"
Hans offered his hand once more. This time, Roxana did not refuse.
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