For him to react that violently even after swallowing such a potent pill—it meant the pain was severe. Alarmed by the harsh sound he made, I rushed closer and checked the chain biting into Zachary’s neck.
“Hold still a moment, it’s caught here. Relax your strength.”
His trembling body was pitiable enough, but the flesh pinched under the chain looked even more agonizing. My brows furrowed on their own as I managed to slip my hand into the gap and gently push.
“Just a moment. Be good.”
I tried to steady his quivering frame with force, but it wasn’t easy.
In the end, I cradled Zachary’s face against me and pressed my fingers in in earnest.
Ah, it was more stubborn than I thought. In that short time, sweat beaded across my forehead. I moved very slowly, painstakingly, never jerking suddenly. Instead I pressed the trapped skin with my fingertips, easing it out bit by bit. At first Zachary struggled, but at some point he stilled. Pressing and shifting carefully, I finally freed the flesh, though a fresh wound had formed—painful to see.
Ah… what do I do… that must hurt…
Would it scar? If I’d caused a scar by my own hands, even unintentionally, I would feel truly guilty.
His nape was flushed an angry red, the flesh caught in the chain swollen thickly. It was so pitiful that I sighed without thinking and carefully rubbed the spot—when from against my chest, Zachary’s lips parted.
“Th… there.”
Only then did I realize how awkward our posture was, and I flinched. In my haste I had practically embraced him head-on.
For someone who recoiled from touch, he couldn’t possibly like this. I let go and stumbled back. He sat with his head bowed, silent, then spoke softly.
“…Please be careful.”
“I’m sorry.”
The words left me at once.
Zachary’s face turned scarlet. He glanced at me, and when our eyes met he ducked down again, murmuring.
“A maiden lady… shouldn’t touch the body of an unrelated man like this.”
A maiden lady touching an unrelated man’s body?
I blinked, dumbfounded. What on earth was he talking about? He didn’t elaborate, leaving me speechless in turn.
Where was there a “lady” here… where…?
Wait. Surely not.
“…Me?”
Even as I asked, incredulity filled me.
My hair was short enough to cover my ears but cropped nonetheless. I hadn’t fully grown yet, but still—I was nothing close to a “lady.”
I thought it must be some mistake. But Zachary, as if agreeing, said nothing.
Normally I might have babbled on, but the urge to dispel this absurd misunderstanding made me blurt out denial.
“I’m not.”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘not’… but in our Holy Empire, until one comes of age, men and women must never touch like this…”
“When did I ever touch you?”
How could he say such things, even in this state? Was it the pain speaking, or the medicine taking effect already?
Most of all, how was I supposed to correct such a ridiculous misunderstanding?
I did know the Holy Empire was unusually strict about relations between men and women. Even in the original story, once Zachary met the heroine, he belatedly awakened to desire and spent nights in debauchery—likely a result of that rigid upbringing before adulthood.
But how could freeing the flesh caught in his chains be called “touching”? It was survival, nothing else. My protest came from sheer frustration, but Zachary looked at me, seemingly shocked, and stammered.
“…S-so this doesn’t even count as touching?”
What in the world had I done…
I knew this was no time for such talk, but the misunderstanding was so outrageous I wanted to argue.
Of course, there was no room for banter.
I hear something.
A faint sound—the creak of a door opening.
At the same instant, Zachary’s head whipped toward it. His reaction confirmed it wasn’t my imagination.
“He’s here.”
No subject was spoken, but both Zachary and I knew who.
We had no more time. It would take the Marquis a while to reach this far, but each moment counted.
“Today never happened.”
I hurriedly stoppered the flask and gathered my things. The repeated squeal and slam echoed closer and closer—the Marquis was opening the six doors, one after another.
If my presence were discovered here, it would be the end.
For me, and for Zachary.
If he learned I had helped Zachary, would the Marquis ever let me live?
Panic set my hands fumbling. Just then, I felt Zachary’s gaze.
His eyes were filled with desolation, as if tears might spill. He looked like he longed to say something, but, quick-witted as he was, he knew he could not stop me. He only watched, pitiful and silent.
If you’re going to look at me like that, you might as well speak.
How could such a gentle boy later fall into darkness and overturn the world? With a sigh, I dropped everything I was holding onto the floor.
“Listen carefully.”
I rushed to him. When I gripped his shoulders he flinched, but then his gaze fixed on my grave expression.
“You’ll never escape this place unless you pretend to be under the brainwashing sorcery.”
Those clear, unclouded eyes convinced me again—Zachary wasn’t the type the sorcery took hold of easily.
Exhaling, I summoned up the outrageous plan that had been floating in my head. It was a mess, unformed, something I meant to explain later—but now I had no choice.
“Ordinary people would have lost themselves by now. But you—you’re still lucid enough to talk to me. That means you’re not susceptible to sorcery.”
If my memory was right, in the original work he became a slave of House Serpentine for years.
The Marquis I had seen until now never risked even the smallest uncertain gamble. For such a man to have kept an imperial prince as his servant in the original meant he must have eventually succeeded in enslaving Zachary through sorcery.
“And if the Marquis realizes this strange resistance of yours, it’s over. He might already suspect. That’s why I’m telling you now—this is the last chance.”
Soon the Marquis would raise the intensity of torture and spells until Zachary broke. This moment was his only chance to act while still sane.
“I’ll help you get out of here.”
It meant I still had a chance to free him.
If he became truly bound by stronger sorcery, I could never free him alone. But if he played the part—if he feigned obedience—someday it might be possible.
For him, it could mean escaping before vengeance consumed him. For me, it meant survival. I couldn’t miss this chance.
“…H-how?”
His trembling voice questioned me.
“First, you must pretend to be under the brainwashing sorcery.”
Creak—the sound of the third door opening.
“Until now, you’ve resisted, never revealing imperial secrets or your own thoughts, right?”
Zachary gave a small nod.
There were many ways to test whether sorcery had taken hold. The most basic was to see how readily the victim spilled intimate truths, secrets they would never otherwise share.
“But from now on, you must tell the Marquis everything—as casually as remarking on the weather. Without hesitation.”
Could Zachary ever do such a performance? He was rigid, like an unbending bamboo stalk. That was why he was the protagonist.
As expected, suspicion darkened his face at once.
“I don’t mean you should babble like a fool. If he presses for information, don’t resist stubbornly—act empty-headed and give him scraps. Not the deepest secrets, just the surface. And if he commands something absurd, you must obey and endure.”
Thud—the third door closed.
“The truth is, ordinary people collapse long before this. So even if your act is clumsy, the Marquis will believe you’re finally succumbing. But you must keep playing the fool afterward. Every spell he casts, you must feign entrancement. Every torment, pretend it shatters you. It will never be easy—if he demands flesh, you must give it; if he tells you to pull out teeth, you must. You must endure, showing no pain, no sorrow, no emotion at all. If you can act that way…”
Just a little more cunning.
“You’ll seize your chance.”