‘Not that I can completely ignore him…’

Click.

As the simple tea time came to an end, Calles entered the room. Noticing the shift in atmosphere, Stella quickly led Komri out.

Calles spoke with a smile.
“You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

“Children are lovely.”

“Children, plural?”

“…Why?”

“So I’m not included in that category, then?”

At his shameless question, Tilda barely managed to keep her expression from twisting in annoyance.

“I don’t think you even understand what ‘lovely’ means.”

She shot back coldly. Calles burst into hearty laughter, clearly unfazed.

She might have gotten a little used to his indecent method of ‘healing’ through kisses, but his sly, insufferable demeanor was something she could never grow accustomed to.

“Do you enjoy teasing me that much?”

“I just enjoy talking with you.”

He said it with a straight face, tossing out flirtatious lines as if they meant nothing.

She caught herself wondering how many women he’d seduced with lines like that, then quickly dismissed the thought. It was pointless.

Turning her gaze to Calles, Tilda said,
“I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Can you change my appearance too?”

“It’s possible.”

After a brief pause, she spoke more directly.
“Then change my hair and eye color.”

He tilted his head, that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes.
“I’ll do it, if you tell me why.”

Of course. He never did anything without expecting something in return. She was a guest, yes, but also a prisoner. She was watched and confined, and her every move was monitored. Even on nights when he came home late, he would always stop by her room before going to bed, as if he couldn’t sleep unless he’d made sure she was still there.

‘We agreed to help each other, but we don’t trust each other at all.’

Still, she didn’t feel like arguing today. Suppressing her annoyance, she gave her reason.

“I want to visit the Belmont ducal estate.”

“The ducal estate?”

“It’s a place I won’t be able to return to.”

Once she stepped inside the Holy See, there would be no turning back. There would be no more visits to places associated with her past or lingering farewells.

The Belmont estate was filled with memories, both painful and precious. To be honest, she also couldn’t bear to go near Aklaire again.

That place would soon become the home of Windsor and Aklaire.

The mere thought of them laughing there, living comfortably in a house that used to belong to her, was enough to make Tilda feel sick.

was enough to make Tilda feel sick. She didn’t even want to look in its direction.

And yet, the estate still held echoes of her birth mother. Faint, half-forgotten memories clung to its halls — memories untouched by Windsor’s presence.

Before it became completely tainted by him and he turned it into something else, she wanted to see it one last time — to say goodbye and properly bury the past.

The dizzy spells that had once darkened her vision had mostly faded. A few hours outside would be manageable.

“I won’t go inside, just seeing it from the outside will be enough.”

Calles gave a small nod. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, her appearance began to shift.

The silver strands of her hair melted into soft, curly blonde, and her striking blue eyes dulled into a warm, forgettable hazel.

She now wore a face so plain and unremarkable, she could walk past strangers without a second glance.

“You really do suit silver hair and blue eyes best.”

Calles muttered, stroking his chin with mild dissatisfaction.

Tilda didn’t reply. Instead, she opened the wardrobe and pulled out a simple cloak. Just as she reached for the door, Calles added.
“You’re not fully healed yet, so don’t stay out too long.”

Tilda paused in the doorway and looked back at Calles.

He was leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed, but the guarded look in his eyes betrayed him.

There was a subtle wariness about him, as if he wasn’t entirely sure whether she could be trusted.

‘Is he worried I’ll run away without holding up my end of the agreement?’

Calles’s voice cut through her thoughts, low and edged with warning.

“If you’re late, I’ll come get you.”

***

Tilda sat quietly in the carriage that Calles had arranged, watching the manor slowly disappear behind her.

From a distance, the secluded mansion and its carefully hidden secrets, not to mention its staff, who were all from Turin, looked just like any other peaceful noble estate. Calm. Untouched. A façade.

After about an hour, the edges of the capital city began to appear on the horizon, its sprawl gradually coming into sharper focus.

‘Come to think of it, I never did ask exactly where his residence was.’

Though the High Priest held a rank equivalent to that of a duke, he didn’t possess a fief. Instead, he had been granted an official residence. Calles’s estate was said to be among the grandest in the empire. A reflection of his status. A symbol of his influence.

As the carriage drew closer to the city and the streets filled with people, Tilda instinctively lowered her hood.

No one should recognize her, not with this face, not after being declared dead, and yet the unease stirred beneath her skin. Faint but persistent.

She inhaled deeply, willing her heart to steady. Then, gathering her courage, she lifted her head to face the world that believed she was already gone.

A storm had swept through her heart, leaving only ruin in its wake, and yet, the world outside moved on, undisturbed, untouched. So calm. So unaware.

‘If I were just an ordinary person… could I have lived as peacefully as they do?’

It was a useless thought, she knew that. But for a fleeting moment, she couldn’t help but resent the fate she’d been given.

Her tears had stayed stubbornly locked away for days, but now a slow burn rose behind her eyes, threatening to break through.

She blinked hard and forced the feeling back. She didn’t have time for sentiment.

“We’ve arrived.”

The carriage rolled to a stop just outside a small village, not far from the ducal estate. Tilda stepped down carefully, her eyes sweeping over the quiet surroundings.

The soft, familiar scent of grass greeted her, and with it, her racing heart began to settle.

‘Where should I go first?’

After a moment’s thought, she found herself walking towards the hill behind the estate. It was a place of endless swaying reeds — a silent, untouched sanctuary.

And there it was: The reed field. Still standing. Still beautiful. Just as she remembered it.

‘Mother and I used to play hide-and-seek there…’

She could still picture it—the way the setting sun would light the reeds on fire, casting them in vivid hues of red and orange, as if the entire field were glowing.

The memory was so clear it felt like it had happened only yesterday.

After lingering there for a while, wrapped in the warmth of the past, Tilda made her way down the hill toward the stream near the estate.

But the moment she approached, the sound of voices met her ears.

The stream was already busy—several maids from the duchy were gathered there, laughing softly as they scrubbed laundry in the water.

Startled, Tilda immediately ducked out of sight, pressing herself against a nearby tree as her pulse quickened.

She wasn’t ready to be seen. Not yet.

Just as Tilda was about to slip away, she heard the soft tug of fabric, followed by a voice.

“Hey… do you think Lady Tilda is really dead?”

Her heart stopped. They were talking about her.

“Who knows? Maybe she ran away out of shame after the divorce.”

“Yeah… honestly, maybe it’s for the best. The Empire’s going to be in chaos soon anyway, with all the secrets about the late Duke coming to light.”

‘The late Duke…?’

Tilda froze mid-step, her breath catching in her throat. The mention of her father hit her like a nail driven straight into her spine.

“They say he acted like the perfect gentleman in public, but behind closed doors, he used to beat Lady Aklaire.”

“What? How could he do that to the woman who saved his life? Poor Lady Aklaire…”

“Well, at least the truth’s coming out now. It must’ve taken her a lot of courage to finally speak up.”

Tilda stood paralyzed, her mind spinning.

‘Her father… abusing Aklaire?’

The accusation was so outrageous, so completely unfounded, that she could only stand there like a ghost, staring blankly at nothing.

“They say the one who helped her back then was Count Nokilla.”

“What? But Count Nokilla is Lady Tilda’s husband.”

“He and Lady Aklaire were lovers, originally. But she stepped aside, for the sake of House Vallinea. She let Tilda have him.”

“That’s so tragic… It sounds like something out of a novel.”

Tilda’s fingers clenched tightly around her cloak, but she couldn’t feel anything.

Her pulse roared in her ears. And still, she stood there, invisible, unacknowledged, listening to the twisted story of her own life being rewritten by strangers.

Tilda finally understood.
Aklaire had cast herself as the victim and tarnished her father’s name for a reason.
She was laying the groundwork—
carefully spinning her narrative before publicly announcing her remarriage to Windsor.

By portraying herself as a woman who had suffered, she could shield herself from the backlash that would surely follow such a disgraceful union. She wasn’t just rewriting the past—she was weaponizing it.

“Then what about Lady Celestia, the late Duke’s first wife? Do you think she was abused in secret too?”

“No, I heard they actually got along well.”

“What? How’s that possible?”

“Birds of a feather, I guess. Maybe Lady Celestia was just like the Duke, taking advantage of House Vallinea’s prestige.”

Tilda’s fists clenched until her knuckles turned white. Her entire body trembled with fury.

‘They were desecrating the dead.’
Dragging her family’s name through the mud. Turning love, loyalty, and sacrifice into pawns for their cheap story.