“I’ve been laying the groundwork beneath the surface—to tie a great knot.”

“…That’s too difficult, Your Grace. Did you study that way of speaking somewhere?”

A soft chuckle escaped him.

“You’ll understand in time.”

“Will I? When?”

She had assumed they were heading to the bedchamber.

However, Aiden instead guided her into a corridor that branched off in the opposite direction.

“Perhaps next spring.”

“Spring?”

He gave a small nod.

In an excited voice, Sveta responded, standing on tiptoe so that the hem of her skirt fluttered gently.

“I’m really looking forward to it.”

It was not a lie.

By spring, she would be free of his exquisitely crafted cage.

***

They passed through a dimly lit hallway and entered a narrow corridor.

The smooth stone floor soon gave way to dark wooden planks.

Their footsteps sounded heavy on the polished surface as they arrived at a gallery lined with portraits of Strilland’s former leaders.

Amid the faint scents of aged canvas and varnish, Aiden caught the subtle fragrance of his companion.

Sveta stopped before one of the portraits. Her full lips parted slightly in silent admiration. He spoke to her quietly.

“My mother.”

“You resemble her. The color of your eyes—and your lips.”

Aiden gave a slow nod.

His birth mother was depicted wearing a golden gown symbolizing Strilland. A tiara woven from large pearls rested on her head. There was a trace of sorrow in her expression.

Removing his glove, Aiden gently ran his hand through Sveta’s dark hair. She accepted his touch without protest.

“It would suit you well.”

“…What would?”

“That tiara.”

How would it look perched on hair as black as ebony? Or draped over skin as pale as milk?

It would suit her — without question.

He imagined a portrait of this woman, with no trace of sorrow on her face, hanging in this gallery in surprising detail. It would be deeply satisfying.

A faint smile curved his lips.

“Do you come here often?”

“Not particularly.”

“…I see.”

“Anyone may enter. If you wish, you may come and look whenever you like.”

Blinking her guileless eyes, she asked.

“Why don’t you come more often, Your Grace?”

“Who would visit a place that holds the portraits of the dead?”

This was one of those places.

The gallery of ancestral portraits was nothing more than a magnificent mausoleum. People might visit once, out of duty or idle curiosity, but rarely more than that.

Unless they belonged to the bloodline itself, the faces staring back at visitors from the frames would be quickly forgotten.

Ultimately, the subjects of the portraits became little more than fading silhouettes in the memories of others — dim and distant, like the last light of twilight. This was where the lives of the departed came to rest.

It made no difference whether the portraits were displayed in Sweenia’s treasury, the library at Prisada Baiton Castle, or any other grand hall dedicated to former generations. The result was always the same.

And yet, if, one day, after enough time had passed, his own portrait were to hang in this silent mausoleum…

‘At the very least, would it not be better for Sveta’s portrait to hang beside mine rather than Alyona Matwood’s?’

The thought struck him sharply.

His heart pounded hard against his ribs. His throat moved as he swallowed.

“If it were me, I think I would come every day to a place where my family’s portraits are kept.”

“…Why?”

“Because I would want to see them.”

She emphasized the word “family.”

Her eyes, faintly sorrowful, remained fixed on the painting.

***

Lately, Dalia found no joy in life.

“Ah…”

She let out a long sigh, leaned close to the mirror and carefully applied bright red lipstick.

Life had become so difficult that even her beautiful, flower-like features appeared to be fading. Her mouth felt dry, and the skin around her eyes seemed brittle.

Then she noticed it — a deepening crease along her neck.

“Ah! It’s gotten worse…! This is all that damned Jace Gould’s fault.”

She scooped up a generous amount of cream and rubbed it harshly into her neck, grinding her teeth as though trying to suppress something boiling inside her.

Dalia had once been the only daughter of a poor baron in Prisada. Aside from her modest beauty, she had nothing of worth.

The only thing fortune had ever smiled upon her with was her childhood friendship with Elise Strilland.

Thanks to Elise’s help, Dalia secured a position as a wet nurse to the newborn princess of Prisada.

That was the extent of her blessing.

Dalia was determined not to relinquish the fragile thread of luck she had seized. If she devoted herself to caring for the princess, she intended to secure a permanent position as a lady-in-waiting. She would climb the social ladder, no matter how carefully she had to do it.

On the day that would later become known as ‘Bloody Saturday’—

— if Jace Gould had not torn the infant from her arms, her life might have unfolded brilliantly.

‘If not for that wretched Jace Gould…!’

With trembling hands, Dalia lifted a necklace to her throat.

“No… this won’t do. It’s not enough.”

The small sapphire pendant did little to hide the deepening lines on her neck.

Letting out another heavy sigh, she put on a ring set with a large, teardrop-shaped diamond, then stood up.

Her lifeless footsteps echoed down the deserted corridor until she reached Lady Noma’s bedroom.

“Ha…”

Pressing a hand to her forehead, Dalia exhaled weakly.

The knight guarding the entrance opened the door without a word. He must have been struck speechless by her pure, delicate appearance.

‘Men are all the same. They lose their senses at the mere sight of something beautiful.’

Dalia clicked her tongue softly, stepped inside and froze like a statue.

There was someone sitting beside Lady Noma’s bed.

The woman turned slowly.

It was Alyona Matwood.

Her sharp gaze raked up and down Dalia’s figure. The corners of her lips stretched into a chilling smile beneath her crimson dress.

“My, isn’t this Lady Luce?”

“…Pardon?”

Dalia had braced herself for harsh words because of Sveta.

The unexpectedly gentle tone took her by surprise.

Still sitting on the edge of the bed, Alyona gestured towards the chair she had just vacated.

“Come, sit here.”

“…Yes.”

The situation felt surreal.

Dalia hesitated before sitting down, her mouth falling open as she did so.

Alyona held up an enormous ruby necklace.

Judging by its size alone, it must have cost the price of an entire estate.

‘And that cut…’

The delicate craftsmanship, scattering light into countless facets, rivaled a masterpiece.

“I prepared this as a gift for Mother. But it’s such a pity, seeing her lying here like this.”

The radiant jewel was placed on the wrinkled neck of the unconscious Lady Noma.

In an instant, the deep lines disappeared beneath the blaze of red.

With heartfelt sincerity — albeit for a different reason — Dalia said.

“That truly is unfortunate.”

‘If only that necklace were around my neck instead…’

If that were so, perhaps she could reclaim the meaning her life had lost because of Jace Gould.

Alyona lifted the necklace and held it against Dalia’s throat.

“It suits you beautifully.”

“…I-it does, doesn’t it?”

“Did you know, Lady Luce? Ruby prices have been soaring lately.”

Dalia nodded vigorously, her eyes never leaving the necklace.

“They say the Tes War may have been fought over ruby mines.”

“Is that so?”

She must have overheard her father speaking. Alyona’s smug tone grated on her nerves, but Dalia forced a sweet smile.

“Red seems to suit you very well, Lady Luce.”

“I suppose… it does.”

She could not tear her gaze away.

Desire gnawed at her.

She wanted it.

Her stomach ached from wanting it so badly.

After studying Dalia for a long moment, Alyona laughed softly.

“If you wish, I could procure one for you.”

Gulp.

Dalia swallowed hard before finally forcing her eyes away from the ruby.

“Oh my… how would that be possible?”

“The Sweenian Minister of Foreign Affairs currently staying at the marchioness’s residence has ties to a ruby processing firm.”

Dalia murmured wistfully.

“But the price…”

She could not even afford a fingernail-sized sapphire, let alone a ruby. The thought stung unbearably.

‘In just a year and a half, I’ll inherit Baron Luce’s fortune…’

Now her stomach did more than ache—it felt as though her insides were twisting into knots.

“If you go through the right connections, you can obtain it for a third of the price.”

“R-Really?”

“Lady Luce. Why would I lie to you?”

“But… at the moment, that would be difficult for me…”

As Dalia trailed off, Alyona lifted one corner of her lips.

“Shall I lend it to you?”

“Pardon? L-Lend it?”

“We will be family soon enough. You may repay me slowly.”

“Family…”

Dalia repeated the word blankly, her voice trembling.

“Your adopted daughter is my husband’s mistress. That makes me the senior, does it not? We are practically family.”

“….”

“So? What do you think, Lady?”

“….”

As Dalia parted her lips soundlessly, Alyona closed the box, concealing the necklace inside.

Dalia lifted her gaze.

Their gazes met and Dalia saw Alyona’s ash-grey eyes.

The black pupils at the center of those grey irises felt strangely frightening.

She was young, yet so brazen.

It must be because she was wealthy and had bought the ruby necklace with her money. That was why she stood there so confidently.

‘If I had that necklace too…’

Instantly, her greed turned into an intense longing.

That jewel had become the sole purpose of her life.

A mere loan? In a year and a half, she would inherit Baron Luce’s fortune and could easily repay the loan.

‘And since it’s only a third of the price, if necessary, I could even sell it and keep the difference.’

Once she made up her mind, her voice burst out, bright with excitement.

“Very well, Lady Matwood.”

Alyona smiled again — that same chilling smile.

Was this a trap?

For a moment, she felt uneasy. But it vanished just as quickly when Alyona opened the box again and showed her the necklace.

“I’ll give you the money to hold on to. Keep it with you. I’ll send the necklace in two days. You can pay me then. Exchanging the money and the necklace on the spot would be rather impolite.”

“Oh, of course. We are not merchants, after all.”

“Exactly. And would it not preserve your dignity if you were the one to make the payment yourself?”

Dalia nodded vigorously.

“As for the money, you may send your daughter.”

“…My daughter?”

“Yes. Send Baron Luce’s daughter to the marchioness’s residence.”