Darkness swept over Ilenia’s vision.

“But… but you promised. You said you would have them released.”

“When did I ever promise such a thing? At most, I said I might consider it out of goodwill. Nowhere did I say I would keep such a vow.”

“But…”

“Ilenia Hildebalt.”

The unfamiliar name rang in her ears, sharp and unyielding.

“What matters above all is your appalling manners. Yes, you may have spent eighteen years growing up in a pigsty, but noble blood runs in your veins. How can you behave so disgracefully? That unruly attitude must be corrected at once.”

The fork trembled in her swollen hand. Her knuckles pulsed, puffed from the lashes she had endured. She had borne it all—each strike, each merciless lesson—suffering in silence for the sake of her parents’ safety.

She suffered for her foster parents, not these impostors and hollow-faced strangers.

And now, after all she had suffered, to hear it was impossible—how could it be now?

Ilenia did not jump to her feet. Instead, she tightened her grip on the fork, forcing back the rage that was blurring her vision, and forced herself to lift her head. Every fibre of her being screamed at her to stab the man in the hand and shout that he was not her father.

“…Father. I beg you.”

But what escaped her lips was nothing more than a pitiful, wavering plea. To hide the fury burning red in her eyes, she bowed her head.

“My foster parents are old, and their health is frail. They cannot survive long on the frozen stone floors of a dungeon without a sliver of light. I beg you, at least let them wait for trial under humane conditions.”

“So long as they were under the jurisdiction of the Watch, perhaps. But the moment they were brought to trial and placed under the Tribunal, they passed beyond our reach. Abandon the thought.”

“But… that’s not what the Watch told me. They said—”

“How dare you raise your voice at the table!”

Bang!

The count’s hand struck the table, making it shudder. The wine in his glass trembled on the brink of spilling, carrying his anger in its ripples.

“Has Lady Crea not disciplined her properly? Nothing seems to have changed.”

“Indeed. The baroness has already expressed her frustration. She says the girl is utterly savage—no better than a wildling.”

The countess pressed her cheek in feigned distress, all warmth gone from her voice. The gentleness she had once shown Ilenia at their first meeting was nowhere to be found.

“Such a shame, unable to learn even the simplest thing.”

“Look at her. Having been raised among beggars, it’s no surprise that she behaves so badly. Despite bearing the Hildebalt name, I fear she will bring us shame. Lady Crea must ensure she is corrected.’

Their venomous voices scraped against her ears.

Ilenia’s gaze swept the room: the man and woman who dared to call themselves her parents; the servants, bowing low before them; and even the eldest son, calmly eating as though the storm of voices did not exist.

There were so many people, yet not a single one stood at her side.

It was like sinking into a vast pit. The harder she struggled to free herself, the deeper the quicksand pulled her in. No matter how she struggled, the swamp would swallow her whole. This mansion was that swamp.

“If you truly wish to save those foster parents of yours… there is one way.”

At those words, a rope seemed to be cast into the abyss. Ilenia’s head snapped up.

Count Hildebalt’s lips curved into a thin, chilling smile.

“Next week, a guest will be visiting the estate. How well you receive them will determine whether I reconsider your foster parents’ treatment.”

“…Are you serious?”

“Of course. This time, I mean it.”

Empty words. Perhaps, just as before, they would seize upon some fault that never existed and brush it aside.

“I understand.”

All Ilenia could do was bend to their whims, clinging desperately to the faint hope that their fickleness might turn in her favor by some miracle. She forced a smile, struggling to appear the part of a dutiful daughter.

The corners of her mouth trembled with pain.

When the miserable meal finally ended — the food had never even reached her tongue — she slipped away and pressed her back against the cold wall of a shadowed corridor.

“Haa…”

Her stomach churned, refusing to settle. Holding back the bile that threatened to rise left her trembling and faint.

“You’re being deceived.”

She almost laughed at how true the words were, but when she looked up, she saw a man leaning casually against the staircase railing above her.

“Deceived by them.”

“…What do you mean?”

“For eighteen years, they never once thought about you. They never worried about your absence. In fact, they were glad to have one less mouth to feed.”

Ah. Isidore Hildebalt.

The name surfaced belatedly as her eyes locked on the deep green eyes so like her own pale gold hair—a proof of blood if ever one existed.

“They only remembered you for one reason: money. They needed another girl to sell, and so you were convenient. Nothing more.”

It did not shock her. Not really.

From the very moment she had stepped into this mansion, their behavior had shifted as swiftly as a coin flipping in the air.

“Then why did you tell me?”

“Run.”

“What?”

“Don’t sit here like a fool waiting to be pawned off. Run, before they sell you.”

“…”

“That’s all I have to say.”

With those words, Isidore turned and ascended the stairs. Ilenia’s eyes lingered on the sweep of his departing coat before she forced herself to look away.

If escape had been possible, she would have fled long ago.

She was no fool, no ornament to be kept blind. She knew well that what her so-called father sought was not his long-lost child, but something else entirely.

However, there was one reason why she could not abandon this mansion.

“…Mama. Papa.”

The whisper slipped from her lips before she bit down hard, silencing herself. If only she could hear some word of them. Some trace.

She turned her eyes toward the window. The night sky, heavy with dark clouds, reflected nothing back at all.

······ ✦ ✧ ✦ ······

A week later, just as Count Hildebalt had said, a carriage arrived at the estate.

While the few servants bustled about, news reached Ilenia as well: the count was summoning her.

“Ha! That much has already been prepared.”

“Truly? As expected, the count’s foresight is beyond compare.”

When she entered the room, she was struck by the warmth of their laughter. The ever-smiling Count Hildebalt stood beside another man, whose eyes shifted immediately to her.

“And this is…?”

“As I mentioned before, the miracle I recently recovered—my daughter. Go on, introduce yourself.”

It was a play, every role rehearsed. Ilenia bowed as she had been instructed.

“It is an honor to meet you, Count Kebeman. I am Ilenia Hildebalt.”

The man’s gaze crawled over her, stripping her bare. Bold, clinging, and repulsive, it dissected every part of her with greedy patience.

Suppressing the nausea that welled inside, Ilenia kept her eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

“A daughter with clear, bright eyes—so like Count Hildebalt himself.”

“A precious treasure I have regained.”

Ilenia said nothing. There was no need to. The men could carry on the conversation without her. Her only role was to sit quietly and appear to be the picture of a dutiful daughter.

Even when she felt a gaze lingering on her, she forced herself to ignore it.

“Ah…”

Soon, a servant approached. Count Hildebalt’s face tightened with a hint of unease as he glanced between Ilenia and Count Kebeman.

“My apologies, but might I be excused for a moment? An urgent matter has arisen.”

“Of course, Count Hildebalt.”

“I truly regret it—it is an affair that demands my immediate attention.”

As the smiling Count Kebeman inclined his head, Hildebalt turned sharply to his daughter.

“Ilenia.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Attend to Count Kebeman in my absence. I leave him in your care.”

“…Do not worry, Father.”

His tone was heavy with command and edged with warning.

Ilenia lowered her gaze, unable to meet the unwavering stare of Count Kebeman. She clenched her fists beneath the table, digging her nails into her palms.

Click.

The door closed, and silence descended upon the parlor.

“Then, Lady Ilenia—about the matter we left unfinished…”

“Have you ever heard your parents talk about me?”

The sudden interruption took her by surprise. She faltered, her breath catching in her throat.

“No… never.”

“Truly? I have heard so much about you that I am tired of it.”

The words had scarcely left his mouth before Count Kebeman seized her hand.

Ilenia almost wrenched herself free on instinct. But mustering every ounce of restraint, she stilled, her body rigid with suppressed disgust.

“A hidden treasure of the Hildebalt—that is what I call you.”

His thick fingers rubbed against the back of her hand, and the touch crawled over her skin like an insect. To Ilenia, it was nothing short of revolting.

“…Count Kebeman. Please, don’t make any sudden moves.”

“We’ll be far more intimate than this soon enough. What harm can come from a touch like this?”

His slick laugh lingered, and she could feel his hot breath drawing closer.

‘Just a little. Hold on a little longer.’

She forced herself to endure the momentary feeling of disgust, squeezing her eyes shut before opening them again. Her long lashes quivered as she looked up.

“Um, Count Kebeman.”

“Yes, yes. Your voice is like a songbird.”

“You said we’d become closer than family, didn’t you?”

“Indeed.”

“Then—may I ask one favor?”

“What? Ha ha!”

Count Kebeman laughed broadly.

“You’re not as silly as you look. Very well—what is it you desire? Money? Jewels? Name it.”

She did not hesitate.

“Could you please pull a few people from the City Guard?”