Prologue

After spreading her slender legs, the man who had firmly settled himself between them began to caress Rochelle’s skin in earnest. His hands quickly swept up from her calves, and before long, he was gently teasing her sensitive bud.

“Hngh… there. Not there…”

Expressing her frustration at the faint sensations, Rochelle arched her back slightly. Then, reaching out, she subtly pressed the man’s head down lower. Yevgeny looked up at her quietly.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? Why are you in such a hurry today?”

“In a hurry? I’m not—! Not at all!”

Flustered by embarrassment, she snapped back, and the man chuckled, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Sure, pretend you’re not. Just relax your legs and stop insisting.”

“…Ah.”

Without realizing it, she had tightened her legs around his waist in anticipation. Yevgeny pulled the blushing Rochelle into a strong embrace, nuzzling his face against her cheek, then kissed her sweetly scented red lips. It was a kiss both tender and relentless.

At the same time, Rochelle felt his swollen lower body, about to burst, pressed hard against her thigh. The sensation was strange, and she glanced down. The bulge in the front pocket of his pants was unmistakably arousing.

“Pervert. Even after doing it every day, you still…”

She gave a small, teasing laugh at his arousal, and Yevgeny, as if he couldn’t stand it any longer, hastily stripped off his pants. The bed creaked loudly with every one of his movements.

“Who told you to be this pretty?”

“Liar.”

“As if I could lie about that.”

Saying things she wanted to hear, Yevgeny kissed Rochelle’s rounded forehead. As he bent over, his body naturally aligned with the parting of her thighs. Rochelle let out a soft, happy laugh and gently ran her fingers through his hair.

Yevgeny’s golden hair was so soft, it felt like silk. Savoring the sensation, she closed her eyes, and once more, the bed gave a creak. His body had begun to move slowly.

“Hngh…!”

She accepted him every time, but it was always overwhelming. Breathing hard, her breath catching, Rochelle grabbed his hair in frustration.

“Ah, it hurts, ngh, it hurts… hngh!”

“Rochelle!”

Yevgeny pulled Rochelle’s trembling shoulders tightly to him, and, his voice ragged and mixed with moans, whispered, “I love you.”

As his hips moved in a steady rhythm, she gave herself over to him, crying out that she loved him too—even though she knew full well there wasn’t a shred of sincerity in his words, spoken only for pleasure.

In response, Yevgeny buried his face in her hair. Like a man helplessly in love, he took a deep breath, savoring Rochelle’s scent, then brought his lips to her neck.

Even knowing that Rochelle Kotov’s sweet confession was just a shallow lie to escape this situation. Even knowing that a palm-sized pistol was hidden right by her pillow.

Looking down at the woman panting beneath him, he thrust into her without restraint. Harder, and faster.

All the while, wondering when that cold barrel would be aimed at his heart.

***

Chapter 1

Bill had delivered wine to the Kotov family a couple of times in the past, but he couldn’t easily connect the beggar-like woman sitting blankly in front of his house with their only daughter.

However, the very next day, as soon as he saw a flyer stating that the revolutionary army was looking for the Kotov family’s daughter who had escaped, he jumped up from his chair with a shout.

Stupid Bill, Bill whose brain is full of cobwebs!

How could he not have realized?

That beautiful woman who looked so forlorn, as if she had given up on life.

“Here, another glass of wine!”

One of the men in the noisy group by the window raised his glass and shouted. At the same time, a low voice whispered into Rochelle’s ear.

“Go pour it yourself. Who knows, if you act cute, they might leave you a hefty tip? Make me feel like it’s worth hiding you, will you?”

Then Bill, the tavern owner with a bulging belly, leaned back in his chair and stretched out his left leg. His filthy foot pressed firmly against Rochelle’s hip.

“At the very least, try to smile.”

“……”

“If you don’t, I might just run off tonight and tell those fine folks that a certain noble lady is hiding out here.”

“……”

“Go on!”

Bill, blinded by money, would never actually turn her in. Rochelle knew his words were just meant to scare her, but she stood up calmly.

She quietly straightened her clothes and took a step forward, the wooden floor creaking beneath her. At the same time, the drunkards turned their heads and gave her a lingering, suggestive once-over.

A nameless woman who had appeared one day.

Too elegant and beautiful to be just a penniless tavern girl sold off with nothing.

With her eyes lowered, the young woman quietly approached and refilled the glasses. Her thick, long eyelashes were straight and neat. The natural shadow beneath her eyes made one of the men let out a small groan.

…A woman to covet.

A subtle silence fell, and the men, puffing out their chests, tried to change the subject as if nothing was amiss—though in ways that let them show off their masculinity, sometimes a little violently.

“Did you hear? The date for their execution is coming up.”

“I heard it’s in two days. Everyone knows that the money Count Stevan secretly smuggled away is worth almost a whole harbor, right?”

“Well, we all knew those nobles were filthy.”

One man, his earlobes red, glanced at Rochelle and clenched his fist.

“If I’d met him in person, I could’ve knocked out a few of his teeth!”

Another, mocking his friend’s bravado, chimed in.

“Yeah, right. You don’t have the guts.”

“What did you say, you bastard?”

“Anyway, rumor has it they’ll skin the count alive, just like they did to Emperor Carto last month.”

“And his wife too?”

“Of course! Both sons, the daughters-in-law, the five-year-old grandson, and the two-year-old granddaughter—every last one. They’re all parasites who lived in luxury off the money that bastard stole.”

“Justice is alive after all.”

Justice.

At the men’s sneering words, Rochelle’s face went blank for a moment before she turned away, staggering slightly.

She caught a glimpse of Bill in the distance, scowling and shaking his fist, but she thought only of her parents’ final smiles.

Once, Rochelle had been happy too.

Life was peaceful, and the estate was so quiet that the word “war” felt like a distant concept.

The sunlight was warm, and the baby birds sang beautiful melodies just for her. Only the sound of her parents’ horses’ hooves broke the silence of peace.

As the sound drew closer, her lips curved into a pretty smile. “Father, Mother!” Her calls were as soft and sweet as cotton candy.

Soon, the heads of the Kotov family would step gracefully from the carriage and embrace her, beaming with joy.

Her parents’ arms were wide and strong—a fortress no one could breach.

It was only natural.

Everyone called the Kotov family the unbreakable fortress of the Brittany Empire.

That is, until so many relatives and acquaintances were captured by the rebels who called themselves the Revolutionary Army, and were massacred as parasites corrupting the nation.

They claimed it was God’s will, and the justice of the world.

Justice.

Could there truly be justice for those who skinned a child alive in front of her parents and
displayed the blood-soaked corpse in the square?

She didn’t know how many days had passed since that hellish day when she lost them. There was no point in keeping track of time in the dead past.

Rochelle Kotov, left alone, could only feel resentment for everything.

When she closed her eyes, it felt as if tomorrow would never come, and she often wished it wouldn’t, just to escape this pain.

It was an endless cycle of disillusionment.

Despite her calm appearance, a faint fever started to rise in her body. Her throat grew dry, a reflection of her resigned yet desperately clinging desire to live.

Returning to her seat, Rochelle quietly folded her hands on her lap.

Bill came storming over, pounding his chest in frustration and growling in a low voice.

“What the hell are you doing, huh? You think men like a cold fish like you? That pretty face won’t last forever. Once they’re tired of you, you’ll just be sent to another tavern!”

“……”

“Did I ever tell a great noble lady to go mix with those stupid peasants? No! Just bat your eyes a little and they’ll fall all over you! Why, just why?”

Bill remembered Rochelle’s life, a noble who had never once set foot outside the Kotov estate even as an adult. He quickly glanced down at her pale, soft hands.

Now that the monarchy was abolished and the anti-royalists were running wild, no matter how unknown her face, one can’t easily hide their roots.

She must know her noble life is in danger—even a fool would.

If only this girl were a little more sociable, he could have sat on a pile of money for life!

Rochelle stared at the ranting Bill, blinking a few times before dropping her head with an annoyed frown.

“…I’m sorry.”

“You little—!”

Despite her words, her blank face showed not the slightest hint of remorse. Bill, unable to contain his anger, grabbed the back of her neck hard.

Clutching the worn collar of her dress, he spat curses into her ear, his voice rising, before finally stomping off to the kitchen, out of breath.

“……”

Only then did the silence she’d longed for settle around her.

Rochelle blinked blankly for a while, then took a short breath and calmly pulled a napkin from the drawer. The way she wiped the dusty glasses was graceful.

Concentration banished stray thoughts.

Sorrows, the pain of war, even longing for those she’d lost.

That’s why Rochelle only realized very late that someone had been staring at her.

Her hand, holding the glass, froze in midair. Tilting her head, she looked up. A man with an imposing build was leaning on the counter, chin in hand.

His black beret was pulled down low and his coat collar was stiffly raised, so only his eyes were visible, but she felt as if he was smirking. His burning eyes were fixed on her, unwavering.

…How long had he been watching her? Did he know how rude it was to stare so openly at someone’s face?

Flustered, Rochelle hesitated before quietly asking,

“Is there something you need?”

“……”

“Or would you like a menu, sir?”

The man’s gaze slid down her rough dress and then back up to her face. He was very blatant, as if checking the quality of goods at an auction.

A long silence followed. The golden eyes, their intent unreadable, sent a chill down her spine.

Only after Rochelle, her face stiff, asked again, “Is there anything else you’d like?” did the man nonchalantly fold the paper in his hand and tuck it into his coat pocket.

“Yes, miss. I’d like a menu, please.”

His smooth reply sounded almost as if he was holding back a laugh.