Casar checked the clock on his desk and lazily rose to his feet. There was plenty of pending work concerning the Lindkoem territory, and on top of that, he had to re-examine case records. Even a brief moment of concentration made time vanish instantly.
Had the woman woken up yet? She would probably be hungry after sleeping so long. Should he have food prepared for her?
She always seemed slender, but her wrists and waist looked as though they could be grasped in one hand. She likely had not eaten properly in prison. It was better to have light porridge or something similar prepared, because suddenly giving her heavy meat might upset her stomach.
At the Duke’s summons, Peron Mac Danaan, the steward overseeing affairs of the Lindkoem territory, came rushing in breathlessly.
“You called for me, Your Excellency!”
“…”
Casar gazed at him silently, causing Peron to blink wide-eyed in panic before correcting himself.
“Did you call for me, Your Excellency?”
He was quite unlike Tu’an, the calm and composed steward who primarily managed the Conwell and Baltimore estates and oversaw all Blachnatt family matters.
Since the Blachnatt family had received the Lindkoem territory five years ago, it meant Peron similarly lacked experience.
“I am so sorry.”
Peron kept bowing repeatedly, his face nearly on the verge of tears. Casar tilted his head, puzzled by his behavior, and asked.
“What exactly are you apologizing for?”
He had not even said a word yet, but Peron was already apologizing. Casar questioned him in a flat, emotionless tone. Panicking, Peron rolled his eyes wildly before dropping suddenly to his knees.
“I am sorry for being sorry! I heard you do not particularly like people making mistakes.”
Though phrased delicately as not particularly liking mistakes, the steward Peron had misunderstood, fearing he might be next after hearing how the Duke last night drew a gun instead of overlooking a guard’s minor indiscretion in the dungeon.
The Duke merely stared down at him with a completely expressionless face, as though finding the whole thing utterly ridiculous.
He had heard their lord never smiled, but now Peron truly felt like crying. It was not that he wanted special favor, but rather that even the slightest chuckle or casual remark left no room for leniency.
How could anyone not misinterpret that terrifying expression? Were noble officers always like this?
While he indulged in these futile thoughts, the elegant sound of the Duke’s polished shoes stepping onto the carpet halted right in front of Peron, who kept his head bowed.
“Prepare something easy to digest and bring it to the bedroom.”
Despite Peron’s earlier flustered behavior, the mansion appeared to be impeccably maintained. The bedroom door, unused for a long while, opened smoothly without a single squeak.
Casar had not paid attention to such trivial details before, but now that a woman was sleeping inside, they suddenly seemed quite significant.
Yet as soon as he opened the door, he realized there was no need for concern.
“You are already awake.”
The woman, sitting dazedly on the bed with her long hair cascading like gentle waves, turned her head to look at him.
“…”
“Have you eaten?”
The woman lightly shook her head. Perhaps it was because of her petite frame, but her slightest movements resembled a fluttering butterfly.
“Let us have a meal first.”
“I…”
Her voice, already pleasant before, now sounded even clearer, likely because she had just woken from a deep sleep. Her amber eyes stared at him again, unwavering.
He had felt it since the very first moment. Any man would likely misinterpret that fixed, earnest gaze.
Casar stood silently a few paces from the bed, listening. After a brief pause of hesitation, the woman finally asked.
“Am I going to be released now?”
“Well? What do you think?”
For a moment, the woman gazed at him with a somewhat blank expression. Then, without answering, she suddenly widened her large eyes even further, looking panicked, and began frantically groping between her collarbones.
“Looking for your necklace?”
“Ah, how did you…”
Finding her puzzled frown and tilted head amusing, Casar could not help but let out a short, exasperated laugh. She had apparently forgotten she mentioned it herself.
“I told you already, I would find it for you.”
“Did you find it?”
Her eyes showed worry, the corners lifted anxiously. Casar hesitated, feeling oddly reluctant to return it immediately, when Peron knocked softly at the door.
“Let us start with the meal.”
“The necklace…”
The woman slowly rose from the bed and carefully approached Casar. She showed no trace of wariness at all.
Did she have no awareness of her own situation? She wore nothing but a thin slip, her body contours clearly visible through the fabric, and every pale thigh marked with bruises, all of it drawing attention irresistibly.
Just then, Peron gave a soft knock and opened the door.
“I will come in, Your Excellency.”
Though Casar had instructed the meal be brought to the bedroom, implying Peron should enter without further prompting, Casar subtly shifted his stance to block Peron’s view of the woman, hiding his irritation.
“Place it on the table and leave.”
Peron, though a bit scatterbrained, was surprisingly perceptive when it came to matters between men and women.
From the bare leg glimpsed between their overlapping bodies and the Duke’s unyielding back view, he sensed the underlying tension clearly enough.
It was obvious the prisoner, whose beauty had been the talk of many since her imprisonment, had caught the Duke’s eye. That alone told him one thing clearly. The Duke was a ruthless beast, capable of taking as his mistress the very woman who had murdered his own father.
But unlike Peron’s assumption, Casar had absolutely no intention of making her his mistress or spending the night with her.
Not yet, at least.
“Will you give it back to me?”
Even in this moment, when the petite woman, barely reaching his shoulders, lifted her head pleadingly toward him,
“Sit down.”
His commanding tone, accompanied by a slight tilt of his head, made her amber eyes waver, yet she still refused to look away, which continued to intrigue him.
As if giving up, the woman passed by Casar’s side. She came so close that a wave of rose scent suddenly washed over him. Had the perfume not faded even after sleeping all day?
Still, she must have been hungry. She walked straight to the table, sat down, and immediately picked up her cutlery to eat, though it was nothing more than a few spoonfuls of porridge.
Casar took the seat directly opposite hers and quietly skimmed through documents while she finished her meal.
When he noticed she had finished eating, she sat quietly without initiating conversation again, still watching him intently, though with a hint of unease.
“Want more?”
She shook her head.
Casar set the documents down and leaned forward slightly, hoping the early hour and her attachment to the necklace would work to his advantage.
“There are a few things you need to answer.”
“…”
Casar interlaced his fingers and rested his hands on his thighs, locking eyes with her for a long moment.
According to the physician Loegal, she was merely a simple errand runner. But if she had truly met his father alone at the villa near the Lineva River,
only she knew what words had been exchanged or what had transpired.
Ironically, the moment he saw her face, something had become far more pressing than the murder suspicion itself.
“What was your relationship with my father?”
Late spring in Lindkoem was warm and dry, with clear skies prevailing most days, but that day, as if something ominous were about to happen, a sudden drizzle fell at noon.
“Oh dear, trouble always finds a way on rainy days, does it not?”
An old man gazed out the window with deep concern. Scathach, who had been wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm, followed his gaze toward the window without protest, merely smiling silently.
“Our sweet nurse miss should stay home on days like this and not go wandering about. Yes, that is exactly what you should do.”
“Yes, grandmother.”
Pleased by Scathach’s warm smile and gentle tone, the old man chuckled happily and slipped a hard candy into her apron pocket.
He especially adored Scathach because he said she resembled Princess Erwin.
Of course, he knew full well the princess had been beheaded long ago when the Ebern Kingdom fell, so this nurse could not possibly be the princess herself.
Many people lived in the Lindkoem territory.
The main reason was that the Blachnatt family, immensely wealthy from finance and arms manufacturing, imposed very light taxes.
Additionally, many former citizens of the Ebern Kingdom had settled here, drawn by the territory’s history as the former capital.
The hospital where Scathach worked was unusually busy for its size and location, not only because Loegal was a well-known physician and the Lindkoem population had grown, but especially since they had hired a kind and beautiful new nurse.
Loegal, who ran a small clinic near the Lindkoem forest, watched Scathach with pride as she prepared to leave for the day.
He had initially worried he had hired her merely out of fondness for his son’s friend, but her meticulous hands and cheerful personality had quickly won his full approval.
That was not all. She was also remarkably discreet, never carelessly repeating rumors or gossip, which was precisely why he had entrusted her with important errands to the ducal villa.
“Director, I will be heading home now!”
“Scathach, one last errand. Just deliver this to the villa and come back.”
Loegal handed her the villa key and a small vial.
“The last one?”
“Yes.” Distant sounds of thunder rolled softly outside.
With Emperor Pobgen now deceased, there would be no further need to prepare medications.
Though the Duke’s thorough nature required this final trip to collect even leftover supplies, just in case any evidence remained.
“Yes.”
Scathach tilted her head slightly. Why did every delivery have to be so secretive?
But knowing Loegal would never answer no matter how many times she asked, she decided not to press further.
“Good work!”
Loegal, thinking inwardly that she had contributed to the hopeful future of the Farsade Empire, sent Scathach off as usual, completely unaware of what awaited her.
The old man’s saying, that sudden rain on a clear day always brought trouble, seemed astonishingly true for Scathach.
When she arrived at the villa near the Lineva River, an eerie, unsettling atmosphere made her hesitate at the door. As a nurse, she could not possibly mistake that sharp smell pricking her nose.
The stench of blood.
What should she do? She needed to place the vial in the second drawer of the study.
But if that truly was blood, her duty as a nurse made it impossible to ignore.
Trembling with fear, she carefully unlocked the door. The fading sunset behind her spilled into the villa before she even stepped inside.
At the tip of her shadow, cast by the crimson evening light, someone lay collapsed on a carpet soaked in blood.
Uncommonly dark, raven-black hair. It was Duke Blachnatt himself, whom she had passed messages to and from but had never met face-to-face.
It was true that when shock was too great, even a scream would not come. Still, Scathach did her best as a nurse. She rushed to the fallen figure, quickly checking for consciousness and breathing.
The person was not a patient. He was a corpse, already cold.
Just as Scathach stood to report to the Security Force, several officers burst through the open door like an ambush.
Click clack.
The sound of multiple rifle bolts being chambered echoed in Scathach’s frozen ears as she stood paralyzed, unable to breathe.
“Hands up above your head!”
Feeling all blood drain from her body, Scathach slowly raised both hands as instructed, only then realizing her skirt was entirely soaked in blood from checking the Duke’s condition.
“I only came here to run an errand.”
Several officers rushed over, flipping Scathach’s shoulder bag and dumping its contents onto the floor. The scattered items spun dizzily in her vision:
A few pencils, books, a notebook, some cloth scraps, small rabbit plushies, and two small vials given by Director Loegal.
“I just checked if he was conscious because he was collapsed, but he was already gone.”
None of them paid any attention to her words.
The officers roughly dragged the unresisting Scathach straight to the underground dungeon beneath the Lindkoem estate.
Converted from the old Ebern Royal Palace into the Blachnatt family’s ducal residence, the dungeon was as cold and dark as its age suggested, chilling enough to make one’s jaw chatter.
Though the guards could not tear their eyes away from beautiful Scathach, they maintained a certain distance, though as the head guard’s interrogations and the torturer’s sessions wore her down, they began to taunt her with faint mockery.
After being deprived of sleep for three days straight, she desperately prayed inwardly, wishing she could just die right then and there.
If she had to stay alive, then at least let death come to her in a dream.