“Have you completed the task His Majesty commanded?”

“Yes. It was carried out as planned. There was a slight… disturbance in the process, however.”

“Disturbance?”

“The son of Viscount Piastre has died. I hear it was the doing of a baron who held a grudge against their family.”

At those words, the Marquis of Sillion gestured with his knife, as if to say he had no interest in trivial matters, and asked instead,

“That’s irrelevant. So, has the disturbance been taken care of?”

“Of course. As Viscount Piastre desired, we dealt with the baron. We also agreed to carry on with our existing transactions as before. Oh, and naturally, the task you commanded was carried out flawlessly.”

“Good. You handled it cleanly.”

“Thank you.”

Catherine, noticing the way her brother’s lips twitched ever so slightly, lost even the faintest thought of eating.

She put down her fork and stared at her half-empty plate as their conversation continued to reach her ears.

“Remember this—engrave it in your mind. We must devote everything to His Majesty. For the glory and prosperity of our house, we must never go against him.”

“Yes, Father.”

While her brother obediently nodded, Catherine slowly lifted her head and gazed at the Marquis of Sillion.

‘So I didn’t mishear it.’

The fear in his voice when he mentioned the Emperor—it was reflected in his expression as well.

For the Marquis of Sillion, who acted so arrogantly, as if he feared nothing in the world, to be this terrified?

The Emperor?

Catherine tried to recall what she knew about him from the original story.

But she couldn’t find any particularly useful information.

All she could vaguely recall was his image as a resolute and firm ruler—one who had personally executed his own son, the Crown Prince, to protect the empire from his villainy.

Hmm. The Emperor, huh?

If he’s that decisive and powerful, wouldn’t he be able to eliminate the Marquis of Sillion with ease?

She tried to recall the face of the Emperor from the real Catherine’s memories.

Handsome, even with his age. He didn’t seem like someone who already had a son around my age.

A fine-looking treat is always more appetizing.

If she had to flatter someone, wouldn’t it be far better to ingratiate herself with a refined, striking middle-aged man rather than some greasy, potbellied noble?

‘I should gather some information about the Emperor.’

Winning over powerful people, flattering them, and bringing down others was something she had been exceptionally skilled at even before she possessed this body.

How many people had met their downfall because of her silver tongue?

Which is why Catherine felt confident.

Confident that she could worm her way into the Emperor’s favor, have the Marquis of Sillion hanged, and take his place herself.

After all, this world was just a sloppy mishmash of medieval and early modern settings.

How hard could it be to bring down a mere marquis?

Even the so-called male lead, a duke, had been too busy romancing the heroine to get anything done properly.

All she had to do was showcase the skills of a modern-day corporate worker in this primitive world.

As Catherine idly twirled the blindingly opulent gold fork in her hand, a thought suddenly occurred to her.

‘Should I use the Crown Prince as my excuse to approach the Emperor?’

‘After all, I needed to meet the Crown Prince at some point anyway.’

In the original story, the Emperor had executed him with his own hands. And from Catherine’s recollections, the Emperor was already openly keeping the Crown Prince in check.

‘If I dangle the Prince’s weaknesses in front of him as bait, I should be able to get close to the Emperor.’

The Crown Prince was supposed to be the final villain, the obstacle to the love between the male and female leads, but what did the original story matter to her?

Well, if she killed the final villain in advance, even Julia, the heroine, would be grateful to her. Perhaps she should even make Theron kneel before her and bow in gratitude.

Imagining a future where everything went exactly as she wanted, Catherine smiled faintly.

Only then did her appetite return slightly, and just as she was about to taste the main course, the Marquis of Sillion spoke.

“I hear that the Duke of Lucart has returned to the capital.”

Catherine, who had momentarily paused, resumed moving her fork, chewing and swallowing slowly before finally opening her mouth.

“Yes.”

Her response was so brief and indifferent that it could barely be considered an answer, causing the Marquis of Sillion to frown.

“It’s truly pathetic that I have to spell out even something like this.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than Catherine’s brother added,

“He means you should go greet your fiancé, who has returned to the capital after a long time. Invite him to the mansion since Father has something to discuss with him.”

The words “I refuse” rose to the tip of her tongue, but Catherine changed her mind.

If she was going to meet the male lead, she would need new dresses and jewelry again.

Selling those would give her the money to buy information about the Emperor.

If she could just meet the Emperor and somehow sweet-talk him, she wouldn’t have to scurry around trying to scrape money together.

Overlaying her dreary reality with a rosy future, Catherine answered meekly,

“I will do as you say.”

***

“My lady, you must rest.”

“Mm. Just one more hour.”

“One hour, you promise?”

“Yes.”

The maid reluctantly withdrew, though she kept stealing glances at Raylin’s pale complexion.

The young lady sitting motionless at Roir’s bedside looked just as pallid as the man lying still on the bed.

It was inevitable.

Ever since Roir had returned to the mansion covered in blood, Raylin had never left his side.

The maid was about to speak again when she saw Raylin slowly take Roir’s hand and press it to her cheek. Silently, she stepped back and left the room.

Now, only the sound of two breaths remained in the room.

Staring at Roir’s cheek, so pale that the blue veins beneath his skin were visible, Raylin clenched her teeth.

“You knew it was pointless.”

‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

“No. You never know. It might really be a remedy that helps you.”

Despite her blunt words, Roir had given her a beaming smile and added that he truly hoped so.

She should have stopped him more firmly.

He was already impossibly busy, barely able to spare a moment ever since news had spread that the greatest and largest trade ship in history had been completed.

He should never have left his post for an unverified rumor about a remedy related to her health.

And yet, he had gone to Viscount Piastre’s estate—and returned in this state.

“You fool.”

Raylin rubbed her cheek against Roir’s hand, which refused to warm up, repeatedly calling him an idiot, a fool.

“You’ve turned everything upside down, and now you’re just sleeping soundly.”

A few hours ago, the Greuga mansion had been thrown into utter chaos.

The previous night, Raylin had somehow ended up sharing a bed with Aiger, leaving her feeling restless and unable to focus on anything.

She had been wandering around the mansion when—

“—! Call the physician!”

“What’s going on?”

“Ah, my lady… that is…”

Pushing aside the flustered servant who was trying to block her view, Raylin blinked in shock.

Someone was sprawled lifelessly in the hall leading to the mansion’s front entrance.

Blood was slowly spreading beneath them.

Blood.

“Roir?”

The name slipped from her lips in a whisper, but the butler immediately shouted it in alarm.

“Lord Roir! You must stay conscious! Where is the physician?! Why hasn’t he arrived yet?!”

Sebastian, the head butler, was always composed, handling even the most urgent matters with calm efficiency.

Yet, even he was now shouting in desperation.

The sound of people murmuring, someone yelling—it all mixed together in her ears, making her head throb.

Raylin momentarily felt all strength drain from her, but she didn’t collapse or lose consciousness.

With trembling hands, she gripped the fabric of her dress and strode toward Roir.

“M-My lady…”

At the sound of someone calling her, Roir’s eyelids trembled faintly.

She glanced at Sebastian.

“He returned with the carriage just moments ago. The coachman, who must have been locked away somewhere, claims to know nothing. Also, Lord Roir refuses to let go of this dagger.”

Following Sebastian’s gaze, Raylin saw the dagger embedded in Roir’s side.

He was gripping the handle so tightly that the veins stood out on his pale hand, which had lost all color.

“It’s better not to pull it out. If we remove it, he’ll lose too much blood—it’ll be dangerous.”

“For now, yes. But for treatment, we must remove it.”

“Ah.”

She tightly grasped his blood-soaked hand, which was damp and stained with fresh and dried blood.

No one had told her, but somehow, she understood.

Raylin leaned close and whispered a welcome in his ear.

“Roir, welcome home.”

At that moment, as if it had been a lie that his body was stiff and unresponsive, Roir’s grip suddenly loosened, and his body slumped.

“Physician!”

“Here! I’m here!”

Having yielded her place to the doctor, Raylin had remained by Roir’s side ever since.

The Viscounty of Piastre, was it?

Raylin carefully recalled the information about Piastre registered in the imperial nobility directory and suppressed the tears welling up.

‘If it weren’t for me, Roir wouldn’t have accepted such a suspicious invitation. Had that been the case, he wouldn’t have ended up like this.’

Raylin, consumed by self-reproach and unable to even cry, pressed her forehead against the back of Roir’s hand.

“They’ve treated him just enough to keep him from dying. Fortunately—no, well, at least his life is not in danger, but he needs to rest until the wound heals. Most importantly, regaining consciousness is the top priority.”

Recalling the doctor’s words, she loosened her tight grip on his hand and wiped her heated eyes.

“I told you not to go, and yet you went anyway… Roir? Roir, are you awake?”