Chapter 15
Valderion did not avert her gaze. Only his hand moved quietly as he lit a cigar while maintaining eye contact. A spark from the tip of the match spread to the end of the tobacco. Moments later, a thin haze drifted and unfurled into the air.
Even so, the blade-like intensity in the man’s eyes did not waver. Thoughts as intricate as the transparency of his retina wrapped tightly around his mind.
The steward’s frequent visits—coming here at least once a day under the pretext of taking care of both him and her—were suspicious enough to raise questions.
Especially since this annex had gone unused for a very long time.
And yet, moving her elsewhere also made him uneasy, perhaps due to past experiences. He felt as though he could only keep his footing if he personally confirmed that this woman was still alive and breathing.
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a tense, mocking laugh.
“If you need money, I can give it to you.”
“No. I’ll earn it myself.”
“What meaning is there in choosing to suffer like that? Why insist on such stubbornness?”
“It means something to me.”
Valderion stared at her as if trying to dissect her intentions down to the bone. After scrutinizing her face—carefully masking something he found irritating—he murmured like a sigh.
“So it’s not money that’s your real goal.”
Lirette flinched slightly. But she suppressed the reaction before even becoming fully aware of it.
Those eyes, which showed no sign of avoidance today either.
Even with their pale color, they were firmly rooted, unyielding no matter how one tried to shake them.
Was she born that way?
Or had Dailen raised her into such a stubborn creature?
Now, he had begun to wonder about her past.
Not that it was a favorable line of thought.
“Hah.”
With a long exhale, a heavy scent of smoke lingered in the air.
Valderion’s irises, veiled in faint smoke, drifted over her slender neck, then her thin arms, and the parts of her legs hidden beneath her dress.
If he truly wished, he could threaten her, bind her neck, arms, and legs with chains and tie her to a bed so she could not move at all.
But those eyes—
If he did that, she would likely bite her tongue and kill herself the moment she was given even a brief chance to eat, just to force an end to her life.
Everything he had observed so far told him she was capable of it. More than capable.
In his memory, she still lay in the snow. That will to accept death willingly—both fearless and disturbingly resolute.
‘Why did I get entangled with something like this…’
A thought he had already repeated dozens of times today resurfaced again as Valderion rubbed his brow.
With every breath, uneasy thoughts spread like thick fog.
‘Indeed.’
Not everything she said was wrong.
It was difficult to use this annex as a prison sealed off from the world. The estate had too many eyes. There were always observers somewhere. Even he and the steward, who came and went frequently, could be discovered at any time.
And yet, accepting her unreasonable demand was also a problem.
Calling it a demand might be generous—it was hardly even a threat.
And that face… was it ordinary in any sense?
It was a beauty that drew attention far too easily.
But…
‘A maid.’
If she were disguised as a maid, there would be no need to worry so much about using the annex in this way. It would also reduce concerns about her identity being exposed.
The insignia in her eyes, unmistakably tied to the Blewit Marquess House, was somewhat bothersome—but that house had already fallen into the forgotten pages of history.
Enough time had passed since that incident.
A new history had been layered over the upheaval that once shook the Empire.
In particular, the Blewit Marquess House, implicated in treason at the time, was recorded as having every blood relative executed without exception—and that decree had been officially announced.
It had been carried out under the direction of the Justitia Ducal House.
It was judged that allowing the Crown Prince’s whim—sparing a woman involved in treason—would only damage the dignity of the Imperial Family. So they erased the inconvenient truth.
In any case, she had been reduced to a commoner, expected to remain in the Crown Prince Dailen’s palace until his interest faded—after which she would either die quietly or be cast out to wander and perish on the streets.
In other words, even if one noticed her unusual appearance, it would be difficult to immediately associate her with the Blewit Marquess House.
And even if suspicion arose, it would not easily solidify into certainty.
To do so would mean denying history itself—and by extension, the Imperial Family and the Justitia Ducal House.
So the situation was not entirely unfavorable. Acting first could even be advantageous.
But there were too many variables.
A life drawn with surgical precision.
A blueprint meticulously planned since childhood.
Because of that personality, he detested variables.
Still, at present, what troubled him more than external variables was the possibility of what might happen if he forcibly confined this woman here.
Damn it.
Whether he liked it or not, Lirette’s threat had landed squarely.
“Honestly…”
Since when had things become this complicated?
The turning point was clear.
It had begun the moment he brought Lirette into the estate.
And yet, what was worse was that he could not even throw her out.
Valderion, masking internal turmoil with an expressionless face, took a long drag from his cigar before slowly exhaling. He could not tell whether the bitterness he felt came from the cigar itself or from the uncertainty he had chosen to accept.
“This might actually be interesting.”
After all, this was Justitia territory—his estate, filled with things he could control with a mere snap of his fingers.
If things went wrong, he could always use that as an excuse to confine her again.
“Where else would I get to see someone as stubborn as you serving me so obediently?”
Every word he spoke was infuriatingly sharp.
Was it possible for someone to speak like that?
It made one wonder if he had a serpent’s tongue sewn into his mouth.
Lirette forced her expression to remain unchanged in front of him. Showing even a hint of relief would only provoke him into canceling everything out of spite.
“However, there’s a condition.”
While she waited in silence, he extinguished the half-finished cigar in a crystal ashtray. The slow, deliberate motion felt almost calculated, as if he were drawing out the tension.
As if he knew she would react.
And as if he wanted that tension to linger.
Valderion did not want the outcome to be satisfying only for her. If he gave something, she should also give something in return.
A fair exchange required nothing less.
“A condition?”
Unable to endure the silence, Lirette asked sharply.
“Thirty minutes of my time, allotted to you.”
“…”
“And from now on, during that time, you will touch my name.”
At first glance, it sounded ambiguous. But between them, it required no explanation.
As proof, Lirette’s face slowly drained of color.
As though something had already brushed against her back. Her reaction was no different from when she had once been forcibly touched.
Valderion’s lips curved slightly. Seeing her expression twist sent a strange pleasure rising from deep within.
“Is this therapy… what you’re doing now might be enough…”
“No.”
“…”
“If you’re going to work as a maid and move outside the estate, you’ll need more thorough management, won’t you? Especially if we want to ensure your identity isn’t exposed, as you proposed.”
It had been expected that she would not be easy—but this was beyond expectation.
Lirette unconsciously crossed her arms, a defensive gesture reflecting discomfort rooted in past experiences.
The memory was still vivid.
No—it was more than memory. It had become bodily conditioning.
It had not even been actual physical contact.
He had only traced the engraved “name” beneath her clothing over a thin chemise.
And yet, at that moment, Lirette had felt an inexplicable surge of electricity rising from somewhere she could not even identify.
It was a sensation she had never experienced in her life.
And now she was being told she would have to endure it every night.
Worse, “touching her name” would no longer be hidden beneath clothing.
The one who hesitated had now changed.
First it had been Valderion. Now it was Lirette.
One stepped forward, the other stepped back. Then the reverse.
Yet the distance between them did not close.
And yet, paradoxically, their steps were falling into rhythm.
“And besides,” Valderion continued, “you’ll need to use your arms and legs more diligently from now on. It’s only natural that more effective treatment would be required.”
He watched her intently, clearly amused.
Half of it was mischief, half curiosity. But seeing her so visibly struggle made him realize just how serious her conditions were.
And also how much she despised any contact with him.
The deeper her lowered gaze became, the more it looked like silent resistance.
Valderion waited patiently.
And finally—
“…Understood.”
“….”
“Yes. I’ll do it.”
He had briefly hoped she might refuse altogether, but once again she disappointed him in a different way.
She was determined to endure even what she hated most, for the sake of whatever goal she was pursuing.
Valderion exhaled a sigh that was almost a laugh.
That was enough.
An agreement had been reached.
A kind of contract had been formed.
