As if he had expected it, Frederick let out a hearty laugh. No matter how beautiful the woman, Johannes Moore could not be swayed. He was a man who attracted everyone’s attention, but nothing in his own eyes.

Their brief conversation ended on a sour note and Johannes walked away as if his business was done. Frederick, who had also lost interest, turned to leave the castle to look around. But before he turned completely away, he caught a glimpse of Johannes’ retreating figure.

Perhaps it was his upright posture or his tall, well-built frame, but even the cloak that hung from his shoulders carried an air of dignity. The cloak, embroidered with gold thread at the edges, was undoubtedly the same as the one now draped over Frederick’s shoulders, but for some inexplicable reason it seemed far more refined on Johannes.

‘What a waste of such a handsome face.’

Perhaps it was his cold, unfeeling nature. Ever since Johannes had joined as a young recruit, unpolished and inexperienced, the distance Frederick felt between them had never diminished – not even by an inch.

Their group, made up of exceptional individuals, was naturally filled with people who had their own eccentricities, but even among them, Johannes was the one who stood out the most.

Aside from his obscure origins, which seemed shrouded in mystery, there was something undeniably peculiar about him. He never showed strong emotions, nor did he seem to have any deep desires or ambitions. If you watched him long enough, you might even wonder, Is he really human?

‘People like him, when they stumble, they fall hard.’

Frederick clicked his tongue inwardly and looked away, his thoughts lingering on the unpredictability of Johannes.

***

As he made his way back to his quarters, a figure caught his eye. Lifting his head, he saw a tall, broad-shouldered man standing by the window. His pale blue-grey eyes shifted to the woman standing hunched beside Vincent Delmart, and at that moment he came to a complete stop.

It was a stark contrast – just moments ago she had stood tall and composed before him, but now, even from a distance, her hesitation and unease were unmistakable. Something had changed and it was clear that she was no longer the same confident figure he had seen before.

It was an unfamiliar expression. In his memory, Rosalyn Delmart had always been a woman who never showed any sign of weakness, regardless of the situation.

“If you really feel sorry for me, will you dance with me?” 

As the memory of that moment suddenly surfaced, Rosalyn, who had kept her gaze lowered all this time, abruptly lifted her eyes to meet his.

When her violet eyes met Johannes’, they were filled with deep confusion. But Johannes himself showed no sign of surprise.

Instead of a greeting or even a nod, he held her gaze for only a brief moment. Without a word, he turned away, their eye contact lasting no more than an instant – a fleeting moment, barely enough to make an impression before it vanished.

As Johannes walked on, he banished not only the lingering image of the woman from his sight, but also her presence from his mind. 

Nothing would change. 

By the time the roses bloomed again in this castle – perhaps sooner – the Delmart bloodline would be but a memory. That was the purpose that had brought him to this land, the duty that he could not afford to forget, not even for a moment.

The feeling that lodged in his heart like a shard of broken glass was nothing more than a fleeting emotion – one that would inevitably fade. He knew exactly what to call it, yet he dismissed it without hesitation. 

Once this was over, even the past he occasionally revisited would disappear, leaving no trace behind. 

The air in Delmart was cold, the early winter chill seeping into his bones. Yet beneath the desolation lingered the faint scent of decaying roses, like a land holding its breath, silently waiting for its last bloom to wither and fade into nothingness.

***

Rosalyn stared blankly at Johannes’ retreating figure. Their brief eye contact had caught her attention for a moment, but in that brief span Vincent had stumbled across the room and collapsed on her bed. 

She shifted her gaze back to him, her voice steady but tinged with desperation. 

“What happened to what I told you before?”

Vincent crossed his legs with an air of arrogance, tapping the tip of his shoe as he spoke. His voice was calm, unconcerned – so maddeningly unconcerned that the anger Rosalyn had been suppressing flared up in an instant. 

She forced herself to swallow it, to push the rage back into the depths of her chest. Without a word, she handed him the letter she had been holding. 

She didn’t offer any explanations. There was no point. Whatever she said would be a waste of breath. It was better for him to read it for himself – to see the truth with his own eyes and finally come to his senses.

As expected, Vincent’s face flickered with satisfaction as he accepted the letter, his arrogance barely concealed. But as his eyes scanned the lines, his expression began to change. The smug confidence drained from his face, replaced by a rigid, uneasy tension. 

He read it again. And again. As if he could force the words to change by sheer will. But they didn’t. Reality pressed down on him, undeniably. 

His temper snapped. 

With a furious outburst, he threw the letter at Rosalyn – right in her face. 

But the paper was too light. Instead of hitting her, it fluttered uselessly in the air before falling to the floor, its impact as weightless as his desperate anger.

“Why are all your friends like this?”

As the paper fell, Rosalyn’s eyes slowly rose in response to the sharp command. Vincent wiped his face roughly and took a deep breath as if to calm himself.

Rosalyn stared at Vincent in silence before replying.

“How could people who wouldn’t feel the slightest pity if we were beheaded tomorrow possibly help?”

“That’s really… such disheartening nonsense.”

“That’s why you’re useless.”

The mocking remark followed, and a deep look of contempt settled on Rosalyn’s face.

“Please, stop. Do you really think they don’t know what we’ve been up to behind their backs?”

“Even if they do, so what?”

Vincent rose from the bed, both hands deep in his pockets as he walked towards her. Rosalyn jumped instinctively. Compared to his sturdy frame, which enjoyed jousting tournaments, Rosalyn was half his size.

As Vincent’s grim face drew closer, Rosalyn immediately lowered her gaze. The defiance that had been on her face quickly disappeared under the shadow that had been cast over her body. It was like an instinct she had been taught all her life.

“So you want to stay quiet and just let yourself be defeated? If you want to die, do it yourself. I won’t die like this.”

Vincent leaned forward and locked eyes with Rosalyn with his sharp, fierce gaze. An evil smile slowly spread across his face.

“I have heard that the redhead has already fallen in love with you. Since you have this opportunity, don’t waste it. Try to manipulate him well. Who knows, if you’re lucky enough to become pregnant with his child, things might change.”

“Vincent…!”

The harsh words, spoken without a filter, made Rosalyn’s face turn pale. Immediately, Vincent’s expression hardened and he grabbed her hair roughly. A small cry escaped her lips.

“Shut up, Rosalyn. Do you have any idea what kind of thoughts I have to endure every day? While you sleep soundly on a soft bed, do you have any idea what kind of humiliation I live with?”

‘You will never understand.’

Vincent muttered harshly, tightening his grip on her hair. The shock on Rosalyn’s face turned to pain.

‘Perfect Rosalyn. The most beautiful rose in the realm.’

As Vincent thought of the annoying nicknames, a rough laugh escaped him.

“Everyone calls you the only sane one in our family. Don’t you think that’s a pretty clueless thing to say?”

If they knew the truth, they wouldn’t be able to look at her with such admiration.

A woman who, even after being beaten, still trembles at the thought of being abandoned – yet somehow manages to smile. Those compliments about her grace and elegance? They’re nothing more than desperate attempts to win even the smallest scrap of affection from her father. 

“If we’re honest, you’re the real madman in the Delmart family.”

As Vincent whispered, a smirk played on his lips as Rosalyn’s jaw quivered slightly. He had no intention of letting her go easily – his grip on her hair only tightened before he pulled hard. 

Her vision wavered, blurred at the edges, but despite the dizziness, her violet eyes, fixed with tension, slowly traced the shape of her brother’s hand. 

‘Should I hit him?’

Rosalyn knew only too well the searing pain that would come when that large hand struck her cheek. The mere memory of it sent a violent tremor through her chest, and suddenly her heartbeat was pounding so loudly it felt like it was hammering against her eardrums. 

With each heavy thump of her pulse, familiar sensations crept back – the cold grip of fear, deeply etched into her mind over the years, resurfacing as if it had never left. 

Noticing the uneven rhythm of her breathing, Vincent’s lips curled into a sneer, his eyes gleaming with contempt.

“Why don’t you try gasping for breath in front of them, Rosalyn? You never know – some men might actually enjoy seeing a b*tch like you in that state.” 

The words stopped her in her tracks. 

Her breathing was ragged and uneven, and though she wanted to deny it, she couldn’t. She knew only too well – every word that fell from his lips was meant to break her, to humiliate her, to dig beneath her skin until she crumbled. 

Vincent looked down at her and for a fleeting moment something like disgust flickered across his face. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but a cold, empty mask.