Uuugh…”
I rose groggily, feeling as though I had just awoken from a demonic nightmare. The world was unnaturally dark. At first, all I felt were the soft rustle of bedding and oddly pleasant air—then, as my eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom, I noticed a strange red glow flickering in one corner of the chamber.
My throat was parched.
Scratching at my neck, I muttered, “W-Water…”
I forced myself upright and reached for the glass set beside the low jade table. Just one sip of cool water helped clear the fog in my head.
That’s when I began to notice my surroundings.
A sealed-off chamber with its windows completely shut. Dim red talisman light glowing eerily. A grand bed large enough for three cultivators to meditate side-by-side…
And beside me—Eric, lying unconscious.
I shot upright from the bed, my hands instinctively checking his pulse and breath.
Someone had dosed him—deeply. He was still breathing steadily, but only barely. Even for someone as physically fortified as Eric, a miscalculation in the pill dosage could’ve led to spiritual collapse or worse.
“…Still alive.”
I let out a relieved sigh.
If Eric had perished… how would I ever face that lunatic Duke on my own?
I left the bed and made my way toward what appeared to be the only door—only to stop short in disbelief.
“…There’s no handle?!”
I clapped a hand over my mouth, but a hysterical chuckle leaked out between my fingers.
“She locked us in… unbelievable…”
I recalled the last thing Ella had said to me:
“I will become sovereign. And to do so, I’m willing to trade another’s misfortune. If uniting two youths who share fondness for one another is what it takes—then so be it.”
Fondness between youths?
Only now did I grasp what she meant, and a cold sweat broke across my back.
No—this wasn’t cold. It was…
…hot?
I turned back to glance at Eric. His posture had seemed strange from the start. Now I understood why.
“Did she slip us some kind of… love elixir?”
Honestly… wasn’t this a bit much?
Not that I need some potion to realize how handsome he is… I do have eyes, you know.
I gazed at him—his pale skin, the blush-colored lips that bloomed like a single crimson lotus. Beads of sweat gathered at his temples.
Had he been given the same brew?
I reached out to wipe his cheek gently. The moment my hand brushed his skin, his lips trembled faintly.
“…That crazy… that madwoman…”
Wait. Was he talking about me?
I tilted my head in confusion—just as his lips moved again.
“…Mother…”
That word hit me like a slap. I instinctively stepped back.
Ah. That’s right.
Eric’s mother had died—officially from spiritual derangement. The Duke had been praised for his devotion to her final days.
But in truth, the madness had belonged to the father. The duchess…
With a heavy sigh, I sat down on the edge of the bed.
My fingers reached into my sleeve for the object my mother had secretly passed me earlier that day.
Fortunately, the princess’s attendant hadn’t searched my body.
It
was still securely tied to the waistband of my inner robes.
Thud.
As I loosened the sash, an old cultivation journal fell to the ground. I picked it up.
The cover was brittle with age, nearly falling apart. As I turned it, faint characters shimmered into view—lines of script written in invisible ink.
“Spirit-ink...”
I frowned.
I'd glimpsed it earlier. I knew now—this was the same journal my mother had once torn pages from and tucked into an envelope with other secret documents.
Back then, I assumed it was just the back page of an old scroll...
But now, looking at it clearly...
“This was a diary.”
I opened to a random page. The writing read:
Everyone says I’ve gone mad.
Even Eric looked at me with contempt yesterday.
I’ve started to doubt myself.
Am I really insane?
The corpses I saw...
The
creature
I saw...
Were they illusions birthed by qi deviation?
No.
No, it cannot be.
Whenever doubt gnaws at me, I remember those crimson eyes.
The true eyes of the
beast
.
I must protect Eric from it.
From
that monster
.
…That
monster
.
I knew exactly who Émilie d'Orléans meant when she wrote that word.
A chill ran through me.
Mother must’ve uncovered this diary only yesterday. Even in my dream, she had discovered the truth about Valdek’s demonic cultivation the night before the wedding.
I closed the journal slowly.
Helena…
Tucked into the back was a note—in Helena’s handwriting.
Maybe Mother would finally understand why I had entered into this farcical marriage. And then, perhaps—
“You’re supposed to grow old together, right?”
Was that what she really wrote? Like Philip had said? Urging me to cling to Eric? Like Mother had once clung to her own husbands?
But I…
I couldn’t.
This was just…
Just a contract marriage.
I was only supposed to pretend for a few months—just long enough to make way for Eric’s
real
marriage.
That was the plan.
I sighed and continued reading the note.
Finished reading?
The Duke’s a madman.
We’re going to take what we can and break free of the Orléans clan.
Eric? Who knows what he is. Whether he’s insane or just...
Eric
. Doesn’t matter.
Just take the gold and get out.
This marriage—it’s not something
you
chose.
And a marriage you didn’t choose… can never make you happy. Not truly.
I crumpled the note in my hand and held it tightly.
“Fake or not… I’m your husband. I’ll protect you. If anything happens to you, I’ll be the one who goes through hell.”
That was when—
Eric’s voice came from behind me.
“What are you doing?”
Chapter 37: If You Look Closely, It's a Useful Sham Marriage
He had a nightmare.
In the dream, Eric was walking down a creaking wooden corridor.
He knew exactly where he was—
It was the path leading to his mother’s quarters in the detached residence.
And from the end of the corridor came a strange, guttural moaning.
Eric’s mind was being torn in two.
One part of him desperately wanted to open that door at the end.
The other—drenched in dread—wanted to never know what was making that sound.
But in the whirlpool of conflicting thoughts, he kept walking.
“Uuhh… Uuhhh…”
Even with that grotesque sound echoing, he couldn’t stop.
Because this was
his mother’s
room.
‘Young Master, you mustn’t go in there for a while.’
‘Madam is very sick. She can’t hold you right now.’
The attendants had warned him.
‘Eric, your mother is very ill. You mustn’t make her condition worse. More importantly…’
His father, especially, had loathed the idea of Eric going near that room.
‘…What if you catch something? You are the heir to this clan. My son. There is nothing in this Duke’s estate more important than your safety.’
Nothing more important than
his safety
.
That’s what his father had said.
But Eric had something he valued even more.
“…Orl…e…an…”
You.
He finally reached the end of the corridor.
When he touched the doorknob, the door opened with an anticlimactic ease. It had already been slightly ajar.
Through the gap, Eric saw a woman sitting at a table, writing something.
You.
Her hair—once always neatly braided—was now disheveled, falling wildly over her shoulders.
Fourteen-year-old Eric watched Emilié Orléans from the doorway.
He saw her left hand—tugging nervously at the ends of her own hair, yanking strands out.
He remembered the softness of her hair when it fluttered in the summer wind.
That was just two years ago.
They had gone south that summer—
If you rode an hour by carriage from House Orléans’ country manor, you'd reach the sea.
Emilié had nearly fallen off the cliff while trying to watch the sunset.
Eric had caught her hand just in time.
She’d paused, then looked at him with eyes drenched in some unknown sadness.
“You’re the one holding my hand now.”
“I’ve grown up, after all.”
By then, Emilié had already looked tired… worn down.
Irritable—especially during meals with the Duke.
“Yes… you’ve grown up, haven’t you.”
She’d looked at his now-large hands with a sorrowful gaze.
Eric had never understood her back then.
Even at twelve, he stood up to her chin in height.
And though he hadn’t yet mastered aura channeling, he could beat his sword instructor five out of ten bouts.
And yet—
His mother always looked at him with eyes that mourned she could no longer protect him.
“But even someone who’s grown up… sometimes needs someone to hold their hand… just sometimes…”
She had cupped his cheek.
Even in the dream, that touch felt achingly real.
Then—
Eric saw her lift her face through the door crack.
From between the wild strands of hair, her eyes appeared.
Eyes filled with obsession, as if she were staring into something not of this world.
And within those eyes—
Was nothing but rage.
“Orléans…”
Orléans.
“I gave birth to a monster’s child…”
Her eyes no longer held a soul.
Only the fierce, consuming obsession of someone who had been fully claimed by something else.
“I… I gave birth to a monster’s child!”
Creak.
It happened in that very instant.
Eric had unknowingly gripped the door handle too tightly—and the old wooden door creaked open.
His mother’s eyes shot toward him. Her pupils trembled, bulging in a way that felt wholly unnatural. Eric froze in terror.
And yet—
“Young Master!”
At that same moment, something clicked inside him.
He realized…
She was terrified too.
But why?
Why would his own mother fear him?
…Is it because I’m the child of a monster?
…Or because
I
am the monster?
…Did I make you unhappy?
…Was I the one who drove you mad?
“Young Master!”
The butler’s voice echoed from behind him. A strong hand clamped down on Eric’s shoulder.
That was the end.
The last time he ever saw her.
The last time he looked into her eyes—those frightened eyes, curled up like a trembling beast awaiting mercy, awaiting death.
One week later, she was found in the forest, hanging by her neck.
That’s why Eric hated eyes like that.
Eyes filled with fear.
Eyes that made themselves small, as if waiting to be ended.
Eric opened his eyes.
Rustle.
A strange sound stirred the air.
Through the fog of the drug’s lingering effects, he caught a glimpse of Imeline—her petticoat sliding down.
Eric jolted upright.
“What… what are you doing?!”
✵
✵
✵
“Wh-What do you
mean
, what am I doing?!”
I spun around like a criminal caught red-handed. Eric had pulled the blanket all the way up to his chin like a makeshift shield, only his upper body barely upright.
Why is he clinging to the blanket like that…? Like I’m going to devour him alive?
“Why are you undressing…?”
Eric’s eyes darted to the petticoat that had fallen beneath my torn dress. His gaze was tense, wary—like a rabbit cornered by a beast.
“…?”
In that moment, realization hit me, and I staggered back in disbelief.
“W-Wait, no! It’s not what you think!”
“…”
That expression… he
doesn’t
believe me.
Ugh, for real?!
I subtly shoved the notebook back under the petticoat and glared at him.
“Why are you peeking at someone’s underthings anyway?! Do you know how suffocating these dresses are? I just needed some air—
just air
, alright?!”
I practically breathed fire as I shouted. Eric flinched slightly.
“R-Really?”
“Do you think I’d
violate
someone who’s passed out?! I have no idea why I’m even being accused of this right now!”
“The rose that blooms at night…”
Eric pointed at me squarely, a look of grim certainty on his face.
“You knocked me out there too…”
He didn’t finish the sentence—as if continuing it would make it too disgraceful to speak aloud.
Ah, right. That time I knocked him out and undressed him.
Well… technically, he knocked himself out. Still, same result.
I blinked, speechless.
Okay, it felt unfair now—
this time I was the one undressed!
“I’m putting the petticoat back on, so turn around!”
I snapped as I grabbed the fallen petticoat and my journal in one swoop.
No way I could show this journal to that man right now.
He’s already teetering on the edge—can’t push the Young Lord into full demonic deviation.
“I already closed my eyes,” he said flatly.
“And I’m just supposed to believe that?”
“…Don’t lump me in with someone like
you
.”
Eric ground his teeth.
Someone like
me
?
What’s
someone like me
, huh?
I pressed the journal to my waist and tied the petticoat with all my might.
Then, determined not to give him any more reason for misunderstanding, I walked over to the couch beside the bed.
Eric sat there on the bed, hands covering his eyes like some model of obedience.
Huh… he actually listens pretty well.
If it were me, I’d have peeked.
I cleared my throat.
Eric lowered his hands.
With my hands on my hips, I asked,
“Why did Her Highness lock us in here?”
I pointed at the sealed door. Eric let out a long sigh and stood from the bed, as if he’d expected the question.
“She drugged us, too! I didn’t think the princess was like this! What the hell is she thinking?!”
I mean, okay, I
did
kind of think she might be like this… but that’s not the point!
“I dodged one lunatic marriage only to fall into another?!”
While I ranted at full volume, Eric responded oddly calmly.
“…Lower your voice. We’re still in the Imperial Palace. Slander against royalty is a punishable offense.”
His absurdly calm tone made my expression twist.
I flopped down on the couch, yanked a few hairpins out from under my veil, and threw off the one remaining glove I had.
Now that both hands were free, I started straightening out the hairpins.
“You’re saying we’re inside the palace?”
“Yes. From what I heard before I lost consciousness, we’re in the western tower… wait—what are you doing?”
“Getting out of here, obviously.”
Eric watched, utterly baffled, as I scouted the walls with a flattened hairpin in hand, searching for any kind of gap.
We had to get out.
The room wasn’t cramped, but it was dark.
Sealed in.
And my stomach had been turning since earlier.
Urgh…
But no matter how much I hoped, I couldn’t find even the slightest crack.
Eric watched in silence, then muttered, half-exasperated,
“…Do you really think you can pick a palace gate with that?”
“I think doing something is better than sitting here like a log, thank you very much.”
I snapped back, stung by his words but too proud to admit it.
Eric sighed, shaking his head, and buried his face in his hands.
“Emelin Wedgewood… just sit still. The door won’t open until morning anyway.”
“
Until morning?!
”
So we’re stuck like this the entire day and night?!
“How are we supposed to just
wait around
?!”
I resumed my desperate search for a hidden seam in the wall. There had to be one.
Just like the secret storage room in the ducal estate—there had to be a hidden door somewhere.
Otherwise, what kind of weirdo builds a strange room like this and doesn’t install an exit?
It’s not like this is some prison—
And who in their right mind puts a giant soft bed in a prison, anyway?!
While I jabbed around the edges of the wall with a flattened hairpin, Eric narrowed his eyes and fixed me with a cold stare.
Then he spoke.
“What kind of life have you even lived?”
“You’ll get hurt if you find out.”
If a young lord like
you
knew the truth, it’d be catastrophic. No way could I admit to keeping ledgers in invisible ink under the South’s so-called
Witch
—a loan shark feared across the land. Or to learning the arts of lock-picking in the shadows.
I scratched the back of my neck and slipped off my glass slippers to rest my aching legs. I’d been running around all day, and it felt like my feet might fall off. As I tiptoed barefoot along the wall, feeling for hidden seams, Eric frowned harder and spat,
“You’re a dreadful bride.”
“Is that really what matters right now? Shouldn’t we be figuring out what that scheming princess was thinking, locking us up like this?”
“Do you really not know?”
He looked exasperated, his expression heavy with fatigue. No wonder—he’d been dosed with more of that drug than I had.
‘Tch… shameless royal witch…’
She called us here for a strategy meeting and then tossed us into a locked room together like chess pieces. How are you supposed to ally with nobles when they pull stunts like this? Even thieves have codes of honor.
‘Honor among thieves…’
That phrase triggered a memory—my mother’s note. The one that said
let’s hit the Duke’s manor hard and then disappear
. It matched my original plan
so perfectly
it made my chest sting a little. Too perfectly.
Which got me thinking…
Am I really one to talk about honor?
I glanced sideways at Eric.
“People outside will be looking for us soon.”
Like my mother. Philip. Maybe even the Duke himself.
Eric furrowed his brow.
“So… did you manage to patch things up with your family?”
I shook my head. His expression darkened.
“Then how did they manage to deliver that letter to you so precisely?”
“That’s what we call
coordination among villains
, Young Lord.”
“What an impressive alliance…”
He muttered, eyeing me like I was some strange creature he couldn’t quite make sense of.
“Earlier…”
I swallowed nervously.
Did he see the journal?
Or… that note?
Chapter 38