‘It’s him!’

A man with a voice more sinister than a corpse thrust his sword forward once again.

Shartiel avoided the sword, slowly rising to her feet while stretching her hand behind her.

“You die first!”

“Uagh!”

Shartiel swung the candlestick toward the assassin’s face.

As the hot wax splattered all over his face, the assassin screamed.

“Guards! Fred!”

Taking advantage of the moment, Shartiel ran toward the door, loudly calling for the knights.

Surely the knights guarding her would be waiting outside the door.

“Where do you think you’re going!”

“Ugh!”

But soon, the assassin grabbed her by the hair.

With one hand clutching her pink hair, the assassin yanked Shartiel toward him.

“Let go of me! Before I gouge out your eyes!”

“What! A noble lady dares—!”

As Shartiel resisted with the candlestick in hand, the assassin twisted her wrist.

“Ahhh!”

Unable to endure the pain, Shartiel dropped the candlestick, which clattered across the floor.

“My lady, duck!”

Once more, a gust of wind blew.

As the dark figure burst through the chapel door, all the candles flickering in the room went out.

Shartiel instinctively bent at the waist.

With a thud, the assassin holding her wrist staggered back, releasing her.

“D＊mn it.”

The assassin cursed under his breath as he pulled a dagger lodged in his shoulder.

‘An angel?’

When Shartiel looked at the dark man standing at the door, she saw black wings behind his back.

While she blinked in disbelief, he suddenly closed the distance and drew Shartiel into his arms.

“D＊mn it!”

As the injured assassin escaped through the window, Shartiel gently pushed against the man’s chest to put some distance between them.

“Reveal your identity.”

Shartiel lifted her chin all the way up.

The man was so tall that, at such close range, she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes.

‘Who is he? One of those assassins from yesterday?’

He wore a mask, and she could only see that his eyes were blue.

‘I must confirm his face.’

Shartiel raised her hand, trying to remove his mask.

“My lady! Lady Shartiel!”

“My lady! Are you all right?”

Fred’s voice called out as he rushed toward her. Along with it came the voices of other knights and maids.

“Fiancée.”

“What!”

At the man’s sudden, absurd remark, Shartiel flared up, ready to demand an explanation, but in the next moment, he disappeared through the window.

***

“I am sorry, my lady. It is my fault.”

Facing Shartiel, Fred bowed his head, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

For him, Daniel Nion was both savior and father.

When he had lost his fisherman parents and became an orphan at the age of ten, it was Daniel who had taken him into the count’s household as a page for the knights.

It was also Daniel who, recognizing only his ability, gave the rootless commoner the position of captain of the knightly order.

And yet, he had let Daniel’s daughter face death’s door twice. Everything was his fault.

“No, Fred. I know you’ve been doing everything in my stead. Today, the fault was mine.”

Shartiel gently held Fred’s arm.

Even the butler and head maid had been killed.

In this devastating situation, perhaps Fred was the only one who could still keep his wits.

‘In this life too… I cannot even pray properly for my parents’ repose.’

The candles she had lit for her parents and the members of the count’s household lay scattered on the floor, their wax hardened.

Shartiel brushed aside her aching heart and put on a calm expression.

Unaware that her composure only deepened the sorrow in those who watched her.

“From now on, I will personally guard you, my lady. Please allow it.”

Fred dropped to one knee and carefully took Shartiel’s right hand.

She was his lady—the one who had once placed her hand, smaller than a morning glory, into the hand of a grief-stricken ten-year-old boy.

“Yes. My uncle and aunt will arrive soon. Until then, you may personally take charge of my protection.”

Shartiel gave a small nod, granting Fred’s request.

That assassin with the sinister voice might target her again.

She could not let this second chance at life be snatched away by an assassin’s hand.

‘Fortunately, they said the knights guarding me today only suffered minor injuries.’

For now, Shartiel let out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful that no one else had died.

***

“Father! How can you tell me to marry Viscount Felita? That scoundrel is a debauchee!”

In a townhouse where the wealthy nobles of the capital resided.

Cordelia Nion stormed into her father Clark Nion’s office, protesting fiercely.

“Honey, with our Cordelia’s beauty, she can find a much better match!”

Her mother, Judith Nion, had followed her, glaring at Clark with arms crossed.

Clark, seated at his desk, irritably stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray and stood up.

With her glossy brown hair, characteristic of the Nion family, and emerald-green eyes, twenty-one-year-old Cordelia had grown into a woman of undeniable beauty.

Even Clark regretted having to sell her off like this.

“Viscount Felita has offered to clear my debts in exchange for your marriage. Wouldn’t it be better to become a viscountess than to wed some noble heir who cannot even inherit a title?”

Habitually holding another cigar in his hand, Clark tried to calm his nerves and coax her with gentle words.

Clark Nion was a noble in name only, with neither title nor territory.

‘At the very least, I had wanted to leave some inheritance to Cordelia, who had no strong brothers to support her.’

But only a few days ago, a ship carrying goods from the merchant guild was wrecked in a typhoon, leaving him with nothing but debt instead.

No matter how beautiful and intelligent she was, it would be difficult to find a noble heir willing to marry her and take on such massive debt.

“Father! Please delay the decision for just a few days. I’ll find another man myself!”

Cordelia bit at her thumbnail in agitation.

Viscount Felita was notorious for laying hands on pretty maids.

Not only coveting their bodies, but with filthy, shameless habits as well.

‘Why must I suffer such humiliation! I am still a daughter of House Nion!’

Cordelia was utterly indignant.

The Nion Count family was one of the Ten Great Houses that had existed since the founding of the Empire.

They owned a top-grade ruby mine and held from the Imperial Family the rights to produce and distribute castor oil.

Yet, despite such prestige, Shartiel’s father, Daniel Nion, had withdrawn from the capital after that incident twenty years ago, living only on Blue Stella Island.

Naturally, their standing could not remain what it once had been. Even more so now, when the Emperor and Empress brazenly sought bribes.

‘Shartiel! Someone far beneath me becomes a countess, while I am to become the wife of that wastrel!’

Cordelia’s resentment toward Daniel Nion naturally turned into jealousy of Shartiel.

She believed she was superior to Shartiel in every way.

In beauty, in learning, in grace.

But in the marriage market, none of that mattered.

That reckless Shartiel, armed with the title of countess, would secure a far better husband than she ever could.

‘I will never be sold off to Viscount Felita!’

Cordelia furrowed her brows as she paced restlessly in the office.

Knock, knock—after two knocks, the butler entered carrying a silver letter tray upon which lay a yellow envelope.

“Master, a telegram has arrived from the main house in Blue Stella.”

“How strange. My brother never spared me even a glance when I asked to borrow money, and now he sends me a telegram.”

Telegrams sent by carrier pigeon were always reported to the Imperial authorities. High-ranking nobles avoided them unless the matter was extremely urgent.

“Father, could it be…?”

As Clark picked up the yellow envelope, both Cordelia and Judith stared intently at it.

Clark’s birth mother was Daniel Nion’s stepmother.

And when Daniel had insisted on marrying a commoner woman from the island, she had fiercely opposed it.

Naturally, the relationship between the two brothers had been strained ever since.

‘Could it be that my brother has had a change of heart and is offering to lend me money?’

It was possible.

Even if their relationship was poor, Shartiel would hardly be pleased to see her cousin sold off to a scoundrel.

Holding on to a sliver of hope, Clark opened the envelope.

“My brother and sister-in-law are dead.”

After reading through the telegram, Clark folded it carefully and placed it back inside the envelope.

“I will prepare the luggage at once, Father.”

Father and daughter—so alike in both looks and nature—shared a sly smile with crooked lips.

***

“Clark Nion wishes to see me?”

Seated before her vanity, Victoria, while being adorned by her attendants, met the gaze of her head lady-in-waiting in the mirror.

“Yes, Your Highness the Empress Consort.”

“How amusing. If his elder brother has died, shouldn’t he have rushed to the funeral instead of seeking me out?”

Victoria let out a soft chuckle as she rose from her chair.

Despite being in her early forties, she boasted a firm figure and flawless skin.

Her golden hair, like that of a fairy from a storybook, and her blue eyes made every man who caught even a fleeting glimpse of her alluring smile lose themselves in it.

“Ten percent of the ruby mine’s output for three years.”

That was the first thing Clark said as soon as he greeted Victoria in the Empress Consort’s receiving room the following morning.

Seated at the head of the table, Victoria lifted her teacup and savored the aroma.

‘To bring his daughter into such a meeting.’

Her name was Cordelia, wasn’t it? Victoria thought she recalled glimpsing her at a banquet.

As Victoria set her cup down, her eyes flicked briefly toward Cordelia, seated beside Clark.

The girl, pretending to sit with composure, looked far less nervous than her father.

“Clark, that much could be obtained by granting a wealthy commoner a barony. Do you seek a barony?”

At Victoria’s gesture—her raised right hand and beckoning finger—the head lady-in-waiting dropped half a spoon of sugar into her cup.

All the other maids had been dismissed; only the head lady-in-waiting remained.

For such dealings, the fewer people present, the better.

“Twenty percent for five years. Grant me the Nion County.”

Feigning hesitation, Clark spoke again before his tea had even cooled.

The clear yellow surface of the lemon tea reflected Victoria’s lips faintly as she pressed them together.

“Not bad. But Daniel Nion had a daughter, did he not? What was her name again?”

“Shartiel.”

“Ah, yes. Shartiel. There was said to be some meaning in that name.”

Feigning ignorance, Victoria arched an eyebrow.

By Imperial law, the legitimate eldest son or daughter who had come of age was required to inherit the title.

Unfortunately, Daniel Nion had died just as Shartiel came of age, which meant the title rightly belonged to her.

All the more so, since the Nion family was one of the Ten Great Houses of the Empire.

Overturning such law would require a convincing justification.

“It is the name of a morning glory that blooms only on Blue Stella Island. Her mother, a commoner from the island, gave it to her.”

“A commoner from the island, was she? Then surely the islanders dote on her.”

“That is why she is said to be ignorant of etiquette and reckless in nature.”

‘Tsk, foolish Clark. Even with such hints, he still cannot see!’

Victoria lowered her eyelids, concealing her disdainful gaze.

“You see, Clark, the girl is already one with the island. Do you truly believe you could drive her out and claim it for yourself?”

“Then…”

Clark swallowed hard, revealing his unease.

‘So it cannot be solved with mere bribes to Victoria!’

It seemed she had no wish to see the matter escalate noisily.

As Clark faltered, unable to offer a ready answer, Victoria grew weary of the meeting.

There were countless others besides Clark ready to pay her bribes.

“Head lady-in-waiting.”

Having lost interest, Victoria called for her head lady-in-waiting to dismiss Clark and Cordelia.

“Your Highness.”

Cordelia, who had been sitting demurely beside her father with bowed head and folded hands, slowly lifted her face.