Ten days earlier…

Damian shot a sharp glance at the flustered servants, who were moving around unnecessarily. All their fussing would only make things more difficult for her.

“Compared to being struck by a sword, this is nothing.”

It was true.

Compared to the hail of arrows that had once rained down on the battlefield, not to mention the countless clashes of steel, the burn on the back of his hand from spilt tea was barely worthy of the name ‘pain’.

He had dismissed his own injury without a second thought, intent only on reassuring her — until Eric’s words stopped him in his tracks.

For a moment, his dark, unreadable gaze rested on Bel. Then he turned away and left her behind as he made his way to the study.

Stepping through the door that Eric held open, he took his seat without hesitation. With a slight lift of his chin, he signaled for Eric to speak.

“The matter I entrusted to you.”

“It is here.”

As if he had been waiting for the question, Eric handed over the documents.

Damian took them, his hand wrapped in white bandages. With each page he turned, his eyes grew colder.

“Bartgen Varta was an unlicensed physician from a slum called Sodem. He had been carrying a forged license and was recently exposed. He is currently wanted.”

“……”

“And as for Baron Logan…”

Eric’s voice trailed off. What he was about to say concerned the Grand Duchess’s biological father.

And perhaps—perhaps the Grand Duchess herself was involved as well.

“She entered into the contract knowing he was a quack.”

“Yes.”

Before Eric had finished speaking, Damian interrupted him. His eyes were already scanning the contract signed by the Baron and Bartgen — the very matter that Eric had been about to report on.

The moment Eric discovered that Bartgen was an unlicensed physician, he began investigating him thoroughly. Despite Damian’s offer of suitable accommodation, Bartgen had stubbornly refused and chosen to live far from the Grand Ducal Estate.

When Bartgen slipped out one day, Eric seized the opportunity to search his house. As he combed through the rooms, looking for anything suspicious, he discovered a locked safe.

Inside were thirty gold coins and a contract.

After a long silence, Damian finally spoke.

“This matter…”

“……”

“Do you think Isabel did not know?”

Did Isabel really not know that Bartgen was unlicensed?

After all, she had travelled to the Baron’s estate to meet him in person. She had insisted that all examinations be conducted in private, with no one else present.

Damian did not need Eric’s answer. His instincts — sharp and unerring — told him that she must have known.

He had already reached that conclusion. Yet this brought him no clarity or relief, only deeper uncertainty.

Why had she deceived him? What did she hope to gain?

The fact that she had lied and brought a fraudulent physician onto his estate did not enrage him as much as it should have. If she had been tricked by Bartgen, he would have burned with fury on her behalf. But if they had conspired together, then—strangely—it was almost a relief. At least it meant that she had not been misled by cruel deception. At least she had not clung to the false hope that her sight might return, only to be crushed by disappointment.

He was not angry.

But that did not mean he understood.

He wanted to ask her why she had lied, yet at the same time he wanted to look away.

It felt wrong. It was as though a truth awaited him that he would not be able to bear.

His instincts were sharp, and this time he could not ignore them.

“Bartgen.”

“It appears he fled as soon as he realized the contract was missing. If you give the order, I will dispatch pursuit immediately.”

“Find him.”

“Yes.”

“Place men on the Baron as well. Once he learns Bartgen has vanished, he will move.”

What should he do about Isabel?

Leaning lazily against the back of his chair, Damian crossed one leg over the other and slowly took out a cigarette. Eric stepped forward to light it. Bitter smoke curled upwards.

Before even half of it had burned, Damian crushed the cigarette into the ashtray. His golden eyes were fixed on the crumpled remains, remaining eerily still.

He pressed a hand to the ridge of his brow as if he were weary, then asked.

“And the maid?”

“If you mean Emma, we are still investigating.”

“Still?”

Could they not have found a single maid who had merely been staying at the viscount’s estate? Damian’s displeasure was clear.

“She… her whereabouts are unclear. It has proven difficult to track her.”

Eric lowered his eyes. Even he had not expected it to take this long to find Emma. It grated at his pride.

“Unclear?”

“Gone. Simply vanished. As if she rose into the sky or sank into the earth. There was no trace of her. Not even a body.”

“Since when?”

“Since the day Her Grace was involved in the accident.”

Damian’s left eyebrow twitched.

“She was at the scene?”

“No. We confirmed that only Her Grace and the two coachmen were in the carriage that day.”

“Then where was she?”

“It appears she went out and never returned.”

Tap.

Damian touched the armrest of his chair with his fingertip.

The maid disappeared without trace on the very day that Isabel was injured. Anyone would find that suspicious. His conviction that Emma was connected to Isabel’s accident grew stronger by the moment.

Damian was about to order that Emma be found, even if it meant turning the entire Empire upside down, when Eric held something out to him.

In his hand was a handkerchief, folded neatly into quarters. He unfolded it to reveal what lay inside: A ring.

Was he really proposing at a time like this? Damian regarded him wordlessly.

“It was found near the scene of the accident. I brought it in case it belongs to Her Grace.”

Damian picked up the ring and examined it.

It was a plain band set with a white gemstone. When it caught the light, the stone seemed to glint with a faint grey hue.

Where had he seen it before?

He searched his memory, but nothing came to mind. Deciding it wasn’t particularly important at that moment, he slipped it into his pocket.

“I will ask Isabel later. Is that all?”

“No. There is one more matter. A maid named Sarah. It appears she was originally the Baron’s maid.”

“The Baron’s maid?”

Damian thought back to the maid who had never left Bel’s side. This realization unsettled him.

According to the head maid’s report, Sarah had taken on most of Bel’s care herself, claiming that Bel was uneasy around other people. She was said to be particularly skilled at arranging dresses and styling hair. Although she had never been formally appointed as Bel’s personal attendant, her main responsibility at the Baron’s estate was to serve her.

And yet, it now seemed that she had not been devoted solely to Bel after all.

There was something about it that did not sit right.

“And…”

Eric hesitated.

Damian had never seen him falter when delivering a report before. He regarded him sharply.

Eric had gathered all the information he could on Ester Baron under Damian’s meticulous scrutiny. In the process, he discovered someone he hadn’t expected.

After a brief pause, Eric continued.

“The House of Ester had another daughter.”

Damian’s brow furrowed.

“Was Isabel not their only child?”

He clearly remembered being told she was an only daughter. He recalled her saying so herself.

“No. There was another. She reportedly died in a fire long ago.”

His dead daughter.

At that moment, a single figure flashed through his mind. Isabel, the woman who now lived on his estate.

His wife, who hid her face.

Why had she suddenly come to mind?

He did not know. But once the thought had taken root, it refused to fade.

Damian’s expression tightened slightly as he looked back at Eric and asked—

“What was the name of the daughter who died?”

“We do not know.”

Damian’s brow furrowed as he fixed Eric with a sharp stare. Not knowing her name meant that the investigation was incomplete.

“We confirmed that there was another daughter. But we could not find out her name, age or what she looks like. It was as though someone had deliberately erased her.”

A daughter long dead — forgotten in name and face alike.

It was intriguing. Yet beneath that intrigue, an inexplicable unease stirred.

“Would those who worked long at the Baron’s estate not know? Someone like Sarah.”

“There is a record showing that the Baron replaced a large number of servants a few years ago. We believe this occurred following the death of his other daughter. The remaining servants are now the Baron’s closest confidants. They would certainly have been warned not to speak of it.”

So no one at the estate would speak of the deceased daughter.

There were ways to loosen tongues, though. But they were not criminals. This was not a matter that warranted t*rture.

Damian fell into thought.

Why?

Why was Baron Logan hiding the fact that his daughter had died?

A fraudulent physician. A maid who disappeared on the day her mistress was injured. A hidden daughter whose name and face no one could remember, followed by the sudden departure of all the servants.

There were too many inexplicable threads surfacing at once. And yet, amidst the confusion, there was one common factor: Isabel.

Each thread, directly or indirectly, tied back to her.

Would asking her resolve things?

The thought flickered and was dismissed.

If she had truly lost her memory, questioning her would be pointless.

For now, at least.

“Can you locate the grave of the daughter who died?”

Bartgen and Emma were already under surveillance. If he could find out anything about the deceased daughter, perhaps the rest of the puzzle would start to fall into place. He was certain of it.

“I have already contacted the undertakers in Baron Logan’s territory. I will report as soon as I learn more.”

Eric was efficient. Within twenty-four hours, he returned with her identity—and the location of her grave.

Name: Bel Ester.
Death: 1713–1723 (Fire).

The report was concise to the point of starkness.

Bel. Bel. Bel.

Damian rolled the name around in his mouth.

He recalled Isabel saying that she only remembered the nickname ‘Bel’.

Why that name?

It could be a coincidence. Nothing more.

Yet the unease that had taken root when he first learned of the deceased daughter would not fade. It crept upwards from the soles of his feet.

“The body?”

“We are still searching. It was long ago. The undertaker does not seem to recall the precise location.”

“Have it found before I arrive.”

“Yes.”

Eric immediately sent a message by carrier pigeon.

Meanwhile, Damian put on his jacket and mounted his horse.

Dark clouds were gathering overhead.