Chapter 02
Lyrette dreamed of the past after a long time.
When was it?
So distant that it felt like a faded fragment of memory.
Perhaps it was when her father, the head of the Marquis Bléwit household, looked at her gently under warm sunlight. Or when her mother called her name in a soft, soothing voice.
How old had she been then?
She couldn’t remember exactly—but it was long before adulthood.
Before her debutante, before her coming-of-age ceremony—an age of naive innocence, yet not without a touch of cunning.
“….”
Lyrette slowly opened her eyes.
An unfamiliar ceiling painted in oil tones greeted her.
She swallowed painfully, barely able to move her throat, and squeezed her eyes shut before opening them again. Her forehead was damp with sweat.
As she lifted a hand, something felt wrong.
Her hand was strange.
Even when she tried to force her fingers apart, they remained stiff, as though fused together.
“Ugh…”
Supporting herself on trembling arms, she pushed herself up from the bed and looked around in a dazed state.
Where was she?
An unfamiliar place.
Had Dailen, in one of his unpredictable whims while she was weak, completely remodeled the interior?
But this place lacked the usual chaotic atmosphere he preferred. Instead, it was filled with heavy yet strangely composed furnishings.
Her unfocused gaze soon stopped.
“…!”
Her pink eyes—dimmed as though partially stained—widened in disbelief.
What caught her attention was a large tapestry hanging on the wall.
She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. It didn’t change.
On a dark brown background, painted in red dye, was the crest of the House of Duke Eustutia.
“Duke Eustutia…? Why am I here…?”
Before she could calmly analyze the situation, she shot up from the bed.
“Ugh!”
She barely managed a single step before collapsing.
As if something had been wrong with her from birth, her legs were just as stiff as her fingers.
Lyrette forced herself upright with sheer will. She bit her lip hard enough that it split, a faint metallic taste spreading across her tongue.
Still, she managed to reach the door and pull it open.
A long corridor stretched out beyond.
She descended the stairs carefully.
This isn’t the imperial palace.
She confirmed it after only a few steps.
This was not the place she had endured like a living hell. But if this was indeed tied to the Duke Eustutia household—the same place indicated by the tapestry—then it would be no different from Dailen’s palace.
She didn’t know how she had ended up here.
Only one thing was certain.
She could not stay.
The corridor was empty—no servants, no guards. Not a single person.
That allowed Lyrette to slip out of the building without obstruction.
Like a mouse, cautious yet quick, she finally reached the outside.
And froze.
“…What is this…”
A mansion that resembled a castle.
Its sheer scale and grandeur crushed the breath out of her.
Stone walls rose like a fortress, crowned with sharp spires. Cold. Lofty. As though looking down upon the world with arrogance.
Snow rested atop the blue-gray towers, amplifying its oppressive majesty.
But there was no time to linger.
A cold wind snapped her back to reality. She hurried forward, scanning the perimeter before spotting a dense forest behind the estate.
Without hesitation, she ran toward it.
“Ghk!”
Unlike the well-maintained mansion paths, the forest edge was untouched by human care. Snow clung thickly to the ground, biting into her bare feet.
Despite its soft appearance, it was mercilessly cold.
“Haa… haa…”
Before long, she was forced to stop, grabbing a tree for support.
Running in her condition was unbearable. Her lungs tightened, her vision flickered between blur and clarity.
Still, she could not stop.
I can’t stay here.
Gritting her teeth, she pushed forward again.
“Ah—!”
And immediately fell.
Her foot caught on hidden roots beneath the snow.
Her fragile body collapsed into the frozen ground.
Coldness seeped into her bones.
She tried to rise again, but her will began to crumble with her body.
Through the snow, sunlight filtered down.
It was the same sunlight she had once longed for during her suffering under Dailen.
Maybe it would be better to die here.
She had once resolved never to die near Dailen.
If her end ever came, she would not leave even her corpse beside him.
A life abandoned by family, left alone in this world, had survived only on that stubborn will.
Even now, it kept her fingers twitching.
But what could she do in this frozen wasteland?
Her vision blurred again.
There was no reason to endure.
Slowly, she closed her eyes.
Bang—!
A gunshot tore through the still forest.
“Woof! Woof!”
A hunting dog barked excitedly as it sprinted across the snowfield.
Valderion flexed his hand unconsciously, still unused to the sensation.
“Tch.”
A cold wind slashed his cheek.
His normally meticulously styled black hair was loose today, flowing freely in the wind.
As he brushed it back, he noticed his hunting dog—Camon—sniffing the ground intensely.
He dismounted and approached.
“…Hm?”
A sound of confusion escaped him.
Camon wagged its tail as if asking for praise.
Valderion patted its head and crouched down.
He gestured toward something in the snow.
A signal for his hidden attendants, who had been following silently to avoid disrupting the hunt.
Then someone stepped forward.
Valderion tapped the woman’s head lying in the snow with the butt of his rifle.
“Why is this here?”
He tilted his head.
He had come out here precisely because his mind was already in disarray.
The woman who had been peacefully asleep in the manor’s annex bedroom—why was she lying here as if she were a corpse?
Still, he knew what had to be done.
“Bring her.”
The knight Tylin obeyed immediately.
He brushed the snow off her and lifted her into his arms.
Camon circled them, barking loudly.
As they began to move, Tylin spoke.
“Your Grace, her body temperature is extremely low.”
Valderion clicked his tongue and looked at her.
Whatever path had led her here, her condition was clearly severe.
With an irritated expression, he gestured.
“Give her to me.”
The woman, cold as ice, was transferred into his arms.
There was a belief that the so-called “Name” was a kind of illness—and that contact could cure it.
He decided to test whether that was true.
Walking toward his horse, he looked down at her.
Her face, pale as though she might die at any moment, slowly began to regain color in his arms.
Step by step.
Within only a dozen paces to the horse, the change was already noticeable.
“…Ha.”
A dry laugh escaped him.
On the ride back, he noticed she wasn’t wearing shoes.
Judging by the distance from the annex to the forest, the situation was absurdly reckless.
And if that was the case, then his future was likely going to be far more troublesome than he expected.
Snow began falling again.
Later
Was that a nasty dream?
That was Lyrette’s first thought upon waking.
Otherwise, how could the same oil-painted ceiling appear again the moment she opened her eyes?
Why?
Hadn’t she escaped and collapsed in the snow, waiting for death?
She wanted to believe she had died.
But everything she sensed was too real.
The room was unchanged.
The square table, the curved vase, the unlit golden candle stand.
Even the tapestry confirming this was the House of Duke Eustutia.
As she steadied her breathing, she tried to get out of bed—but something pulled at her ankle.
Clank.
A metallic sound rang out.
She quickly pulled the blanket away.
