‘Found it!’

Entering the storage room, Shartiel discovered the books hidden behind the sacks of grain.

Whether the maids had really intended to sell them or not, the books were mostly intact, with only a few creased or dented parts.

Well, since they were such expensive hardcovers, the covers wouldn’t have torn from ordinary shocks.

Grunting, Shartiel carried the books to the door.

“If I go back and forth about three times, I should be able to move them all, right?”

Her joy at the books being unharmed quickly faded, as her back already ached at the thought of carrying the thick and heavy volumes.

Shaking her head, Shartiel dragged over the one-wheeled cart sitting in a corner of the grain storage and loaded the books onto it.

“Ugh!”

When the cart didn’t budge, she removed about half the books.

“Ha… I really will have to go back and forth three times. I’ll be up all night!”

Well, it couldn’t be helped. She would just have to focus on carrying as many books as possible each trip.

Shartiel carefully opened the door.

Fortunately, no one was outside.

She bent down to wedge a brick under the door so it wouldn’t close, when—

“They say there are no thieves on Blue Stella Island. That was a lie, wasn’t it?”

A sword appeared from behind and tapped Shartiel on the shoulder, before setting its edge against the right side of her neck.

Shartiel slowly raised both hands to shoulder height, stood up, and turned around.

A man with gleaming gray eyes and gray hair was grinning at her.

“Lady Shartiel.”

“Commander Felita.”

“Out so late at night, and acting in such a suspicious manner.”

The scent of the fine whiskey her father loved to drink clung to Viscount Felita.

It was a rare liquor, twelve bottles a year, sent by the Imperial Family only to the heads of the ten great houses.

Still aiming his sword at Shartiel’s neck, Viscount Felita lifted her chin with his other hand and brushed his fingers against the bare skin of her neck.

“At this hour, your behavior is rather discourteous.”

Shartiel jerked her head sharply to the left to avoid the sword and slapped his hand away.

“How arrogant. Do you still think you’re a count’s daughter?”

Felita let out a short, mocking laugh, and the smell of liquor on him grew even stronger.

He threw his sword to the ground and grabbed Shartiel tightly.

“What are you—!”

As Shartiel struggled to escape, he clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her back into the storage.

‘This bastard! I’ll kill him!’

Shartiel clung desperately to the door with both hands.

But soon, overwhelmed by Felita’s strength, she lost her grip.

‘The books!’

She managed to seize one of the thick hardcovers from the cart.

“They say your mother was a great beauty. Word of it even reached the capital.”

Pushing her down onto the grain sacks, Viscount Felita covered her mouth with one hand while hurriedly trying to strip off his coat.

Struggling to undress with just one hand, he grew irritated and tore his shirt.

His eyes, clouded with drink and l*st, swept over the bare skin of Shartiel’s neck.

“I’ll make you a real woman tonight.”

As Shartiel’s eyes trembled violently, he chuckled with satisfaction and unfastened his belt.

Shartiel, as if giving up, relaxed her body.

Smirking, Viscount Felita released the hand covering her mouth.

“That’s right. If you accept it quietly, it won’t hurt as much.”

A sticky, ragged breath spread across Shartiel’s throat.

She tightened her grip on the book in her hand.

“I’ll make you a real eunuch tonight.”

“What?”

Before Viscount Felita, who had been inhaling deeply against her chest, could even lift his head in confusion—

“Ugh!”

Shartiel kneed him in the groin.

“Die, you bastard!”

Then she swung the heavy hardcover in her hand and struck the left side of his head.

‘Who is that?’

As Felita’s head slumped against her body, Shartiel met eyes with a dark figure standing behind him, sword aimed at his back.

***

At that very moment, Clark and Cordelia were reviewing the estate’s account books in Daniel Nion’s office.

They first examined the largest holdings: the ruby mine and the production of castor oil.

Since the ruby mine had only been mined in small quantities, a considerable amount of rubies must still remain.

“Father, rubies are important, but I think we can also increase the production of castor oil.”

Cordelia set down the papers and stretched her arms upward in a circle.

Clark also put his documents aside and picked up a cigarette.

“Let’s look into increasing castor oil production a little more carefully. The seeds are highly poisonous, and it could end up ruining the island’s farming.”

When Cordelia narrowed her eyes and glared sharply, Clark chuckled and set the cigarette back down.

‘That’s enough. Now that I’ve become a count, Cordelia will inherit the title after me. She’ll become the finest bride, the kind that scoundrels like that Viscount Felita won’t even dare to covet.’

Smiling faintly at Clark’s behavior, Cordelia stood and went behind him.

When she began to massage his shoulders, Clark straightened his back.

“All right. Rather than increasing castor oil production, sending people to the mines owned by Her Highness the Empress Consort’s family will be more profitable.”

At Cordelia’s obedient answer, Clark tapped her hands a couple of times in approval.

“Sir Fred seems to have feelings for Shartiel. I was thinking of marrying her off to him. Their ages are about right.”

Clark, whose heart had softened somewhat, considered finding a husband for Shartiel as well.

Now that she had no title to inherit and no connections in the capital’s social circle, it would be difficult for Shartiel to marry into a noble family.

If she married while still young, she might at least find a decent commoner.

‘Captain Fred?’

Cordelia’s hand, which had been massaging Clark’s shoulder, noticeably slowed.

She knew Fred well.

Fred, with the characteristic light brown hair and brown eyes of the Blue Stella people, was twenty-five this year—four years older than she.

With his neat appearance and courteous manners, he had long been popular among the island’s young women.

Back in her adolescence, even she had once felt her heart flutter just looking at him.

He must have been quite competent too, for by the age of twenty he was already captain in the Nion Count’s knight order.

Although a commoner, and thus ineligible to become an imperial knight, he could still enter another noble household’s order of knights.

Perhaps even the Holy Knights.

“Father, that knight is a commoner. No matter if Shartiel was born of a dishonorable mother, she still bears the name of Nion. She must marry a noble.”

“A noble?”

Clark raised his eyes blankly to his daughter’s face at her soft-spoken tone.

One reason he had considered marrying Shartiel to a commoner was his unease—what if she married a noble and later tried to lay claim to the countship again?

“Father, don’t you need to settle the debts?”

“Cordelia, I am the Count of Nion now. You needn’t worry about money. Once the funeral is over, I can repay it immediately.”

“Father, why settle debts with money? Viscount Felita made a request.”

“Cordelia.”

Clark turned his chair to face her directly, leaned deep against the backrest, and nodded for her to continue.

“Wouldn’t it be far better for Shartiel to become a viscountess than the wife of some lowly common knight? It would uphold our family’s dignity as well. Viscount Felita will soon be a count. He won’t care whether his wife has a title to inherit or not.”

“Hahaha! Cordelia, the countship of Nion suits you far better than that child!”

It was a perfect answer.

She would safeguard their wealth, uphold their honor, and erase the very seed of worry that Shartiel might reclaim the countship!

Laughing heartily, Clark rose to his feet.

Cordelia’s green eyes shimmered faintly with a fresh, radiant smile.

***

“Let me move him.”

Covering his face with a mask, Carleon sheathed his sword and reached out to remove Viscount Felita’s body, which lay on top of Shartiel.

“It’s fine. I can do it myself.”

At Shartiel’s voice, taut with wariness, Carleon drew his hand back.

“Get off me!”

She tried to push Felita’s body away, but her arms lacked strength.

‘I should have eaten properly. Now that I’ve suddenly exerted myself, my body feels completely drained.’

Come to think of it, since her parents’ deaths she hadn’t had a proper meal.

She had forced down thin soup just to survive.

Because she was the lady of Blue Stella Island.

Because she bore the responsibility to protect the islanders and take vengeance.

‘I endured all that, and yet now I have nothing left.’

A surge of grief tightened her nose.

“Help me.”

Though it wounded her pride, she asked for help from an assassin who might have come to kill her.

“As you wish.”

Carleon brushed Felita’s body aside with one hand.

The viscount collapsed heavily to the side, his head bouncing once against the floor.

“Is he dead?”

Sitting up, Shartiel nudged Felita’s body with her foot.

‘I told him to die, but if he really is dead, that’s a problem.’

If the commander of the Imperial Knight Order died here, the imperial family would surely launch a massive investigation.

Not only would she be dragged into it, but the islanders themselves could be endangered.

“Only unconscious.”

Carleon bent down, checked Felita’s breathing with his fingers, and then straightened.

“A pity, but fortunate. If he were dead, this island would already be in flames.”

Shartiel exhaled in relief, then lifted her head to confirm the assassin’s identity.

From all that had happened, he was unlikely to have come to kill her.

Moonlight poured through the open warehouse door, illuminating Carleon’s figure.

“Angel?”

It must be him.

Those blue eyes in which she once thought she had glimpsed wings.

“Fiancé.”

“Ah……”

At his answer, Shartiel dusted off her clothes, picked up the headscarf that had fallen to the floor, and tied it back on.

‘Madman. If you’re going to be crazy, at least be crazy properly. Who says something so outrageous as to ruin a girl’s marriage prospects?’

She muttered inwardly as she secured the scarf.

“Well then.”

Seeing she was unharmed, Carleon turned to leave the warehouse.

In truth, coming here tonight had not been part of his plan.

‘It won’t do either of us much good to keep running into each other like this.’

He had only acted out of guilt toward the Count of Nion.

Just a little concern that Shartiel might again fall prey to assassins.

“Angel, you can’t just leave. You’re my fiancé in name, so you must help me.”

As he turned away, Shartiel grabbed his hand firmly.

Carleon looked down at her small, pale hand holding his.

‘Did she hear about the engagement?’

Perhaps Daniel Nion had told her.

He raised his eyes and met her crimson gaze.

‘Shartiel, the scarlet morning-glory that blooms only on Blue Stella Island.’

Looking into her eyes, so like that flower’s vivid hue, he thought fleetingly, ‘The countess named her well.’

“Carry him.”

Breaking through his thoughts, Shartiel lifted her chin proudly and gestured toward the cart by the door.