Even as a princess, Annette had been a coward. Born as the king’s only daughter and youngest child, what could there be to fear? Yet even in Kingsburg’s splendid and comfortable palace, many things terrified her.

For instance, Annette was afraid of cats. She feared she’d see ghosts if she entered a dark room, and worried the gods would curse her if she did something wrong. 

She feared her father’s moods and her mother’s wrath, so whenever her father took a new mistress, she’d act even sweeter toward her mother.

That way, her mother wouldn’t take her irritation out on her. If anyone so much as raised their voice in front of her, Annette would grow anxious, her heart pounding wildly.

So the reason she now forced her eyes open with all her might was simply fear. If she looked away from that scene, she’d be slapped hard across the face. Annette feared the pain of physical punishment, and the humiliation that followed terrified her even more.

So she kept her eyes fixed on her husband lying on the bed and the young maid straddling him. 

Though this wasn’t the first time she’d witnessed a man and woman writhing together n*ked, it still disgusted her. 

Count Gallant Rothe, the master of this castle, was around her father’s age and had brought that maid to their wedding chamber from their very first night.

“You don’t need to do anything, my lady. Just sit there and watch. Do you understand?”

At the time, Annette hadn’t been in her right mind, consumed by fear and despair, so she hadn’t fully grasped her husband’s demand. 

The scene before her eyes was so frightening and revolting that she kept closing her eyes or turning her head away. For that, she’d been slapped across the face by the maid several times.

“You’ll get beaten for that. Can’t you understand something so simple?”

Count Rothe never laid a hand on his young wife himself. 

Not once—not even now, three months into their marriage—had he touched her body with so much as a fingertip. He merely summoned her to his bedroom from time to time and made her watch what he did.

Though Annette had never received bridal training in the palace, she knew that watching one’s husband copulate with a maid was not a wife’s role. No matter how much she thought about it, she couldn’t understand the intent behind this bizarre behavior.

Why? Why does he make me sit here and watch? For three months now, Annette had been anxiously biting her lip over this unresolved question.

“Oh dear. Again.”

Only when she heard the Count’s voice did she realize she’d gotten lost in thought and lowered her eyes for a moment.

“Ah…”

Reflexive terror blocked her throat. The maid who’d been sitting astride her husband quickly rose. 

Annette saw that strange and repulsive thing jutting out vertically from between the maid’s legs. She saw the maid’s bouncing br*asts and thick bush as she climbed off the bed without a care. 

Then, before she could brace herself—smack! Her head snapped to the side.

“My lady. It’s quite troublesome when you don’t listen.”

Pain flooded in along with that mocking voice. Her left cheek burned like it was on fire, and heat spread across her entire face. Shame and fury stole her breath.

Why?

She’d asked that question often at first. 

When the royal family fell and she became the enemy’s prisoner, when she was confined for half a year in the destroyed palace, she’d asked herself countless times. 

When she was dragged away from her family to an unfamiliar convent, and when she was dragged to this mansion two months later, Annette hadn’t stopped asking.

Why on earth did I fall into this h*ll?

It was closer to resentment or rage. Since she couldn’t dare direct her fury at the gods, she’d murmured it like a question. 

Why did you plunge me into this state? What did I do wrong to deserve this? Why won’t you even grant me the courage to die?

No matter how hoarsely she cried out, no answer came, and Annette had grown too exhausted to keep asking questions no one would answer.

“I forgot… I’m sorry…”

Mumbling a submissive excuse, she raised her eyes again. The maid’s n*ked body stood before her as she sat in the chair. 

Not wanting to look at that sight, Annette turned her eyes to her husband on the bed instead. 

She didn’t have the guts to glare at him, so she widened her eyes to show she’d watch more carefully from now on.

Oh, Annette Roanne. You’re truly shameful.

She cursed herself constantly in her mind. 

‘When I degrade myself, I feel like I become someone slightly better than myself.’

Like the real Annette is trapped inside her heart, and a fake Annette has despicably taken over her body, living against her will. Annette could only curse and blame herself.

“With your mouth.”

At the Count’s command, the maid crawled onto the bed without a word. Annette stared with tear-filled eyes wide open as that disgusting lump of flesh disappeared into the maid’s mouth. 

Perhaps she should thank the gods that she didn’t have to do that. Perhaps she should desperately hope she could avoid it forever.

‘If I have to do that, I’ll really kill myself then.’

Even though nausea churned inside her from fear and revulsion, Annette didn’t close her eyes. Even when the Count looked at her while gripping the maid’s hair, she didn’t look away. 

Those murky eyes, the hand gripping and shaking the maid’s head, the woman’s gagging sounds like she was suffocating to death. Annette couldn’t tell if where she was now was reality or h*ll.

“Ah…!”

Hearing the groan that signaled the end of h*ll, Annette thought: Let me die tonight. Let me hang a rope from the beam and strangle myself. Let me steel my resolve tonight, no matter what.

But today too, she would only tremble in that chair. After standing there for a while, she’d shakily climb back down. She’d cry herself to sleep while cursing and damning herself. 

Then when morning came, she’d feel secretly relieved and pretend to forget yesterday’s resolution.

Because Annette Roanne is a shameful coward.

“You may go now, my lady.”

Only after her husband’s permission did Annette rise from the chair. Gracefully bending her knee in courtesy was her last remaining pride and dignity. No, perhaps it was just flattery. 

Hoping her husband would pity this docile and good wife.

“I’ll take my leave. Sleep well.”

Cursing herself inwardly, Annette turned around. She heard the maid giggling and saying something behind her back, but pretended not to hear. 

She couldn’t understand what it meant anyway. Annette only knew Roanne’s common tongue, and in this place, Trisen, only nobles knew the common language.

Once she left the Count’s bedroom, her fear gradually subsided. The long, dim corridor was empty. From somewhere came the faint scent of flowers.

May. The season when peonies bloom. Her favorite month.

Annette recalled the royal palace garden in Kingsburg, full of blooming pink peonies. She missed her father, mother, and three older brothers. But they couldn’t do anything for her. No one would protect Annette anymore.

No one.

In her familiar despair, Annette didn’t cry. Gripping the handle of the cold silver candlestick tightly, she moved forward step by step, relying on that small light. 

When she returned to her room, she’d curse the Count and the Emperor again today. She’d beg the gods to strike them down with lightning. 

Then she’d take out the rope hidden in her clothes chest, hang it from the beam, and pray for the courage to hang herself tonight.

Weakly resolving this, Annette turned her head toward the window. Beyond the glass, a pale moon hung in the black sky. Judging by its sharp edges, tomorrow would be clear. 

Annette returned to her bedroom while thinking such thoughts, predicting tomorrow’s weather.

***

O Hervantes, God of Judgment.

I earnestly beseech you to punish the filthy usurper. Cast all oath-breaking traitors into hellfire. K*ll my husband Gallant and kill me too for cursing my husband. Please grant me the courage to do so.

O God, please hear this prayer.

***

Reingart liked June. 

He loved the scent of the air that still held spring’s freshness before entering full summer. He loved the gradually deepening green of the trees and the clear moon in the night sky. 

When he went out for night walks, Erich would lie sprawled on his bed and snort, giggling that “if you’re going to act like a girl, leave your d*ck behind”—that too was an inevitable part of June.

Though I’ll never hear it again.

Reingart rode his horse slowly with an expressionless face. His hometown in early June was exactly as he remembered. 

Cypress trees pointing sharply toward the sky. Massive oak and fig trees. Scarlet flowers hanging in clusters from a centuries-old pomegranate tree.

Beyond the fields, the lord’s castle was drawing near.

Rothe, a day’s journey west from the capital Isen, had originally been a viscounty. After Trisen’s great lord conquered the kingdom, it became a county. 

Would Count Rothe be satisfied? He’d lost one son in the war but gained a count’s title, so he’d probably consider it a profit. He still had two sons left and grandchildren too.

Gallant Rothe was a man who’d spent his life immersed in numbers and calculations. Reingart knew this well, and knew the Count wouldn’t blame him for returning alone after losing Erich.

Perhaps the Count might even be more pleased that Reingart was unharmed. 

Noble lords wanted to keep the finest knights under their command. Everyone, including the Count, acknowledged that his abilities far exceeded Erich’s.

“You’ll become Rothe’s greatest knight. You’ll be my most trusted vassal.”

The moment he thought that far, Erich’s pale face came to mind. His dead milk-brother seemed to smile bitterly at him. 

Right. You’re dead, and I’m still sitting here making these calculations. 

What an ungrateful b*stard. Reingart sneered at himself as he gripped the reins.

That’s when he spotted the woman.