Chapter 6
A strange tension settled over the room.
It was only when the Grand Duke casually spoke of the dead royals that the others, forcing it, finally began to laugh.
Some even joined in, attempting to ease the heavy atmosphere.
“Indeed. They say if you miss your prey three times, you’re meant to let it go.”
There was an unspoken rule in the Empire, the life of prey missed three times was to be spared.
As a few exchanged glib remarks, the Emperor, who had remained silent, twisted his lips into a smirk.
“Yes. It’s true, shot three times and survived three times. There’s some reason in what you say.”
“Your Majesty, how merciful you are.”
“But a prey should know its place.”
At the sudden flutter of wings, the Emperor turned to stare directly at Dominique and continued.
“I suppose one could clip its wings.”
Once again, a chill like thin ice settled in the air. Just as the Emperor was about to speak again, Dominique quietly inclined his head and answered first.
“I shall do it.”
Dominique stepped toward the birdcage. The bird, gazing up at him, had eyes of unsettling clarity.
Unable to flee, the small bird was easily caught in the Grand Duke’s hand. A frail, soft cry filled the air.
Without hesitation, he pinned down the fluttering creature and took the scissors handed to him by an attendant, bringing the blades to the underside of its wing feathers.
Watching this, the Emperor spoke once more.
“Such delicate hands you have, Grand Duke.”
“I am flattered beyond measure.”
“With hands that refined, perhaps it’s time you held a woman, don’t you think?”
“I’m not quite sure what you mean, your majesty.”
“I mean, the Grand Duke is long past the age, isn’t it? Time you thought of marriage.”
At those words, Dominique’s lips lifted in a crooked smile. Someone nearby let out a soft gasp.
Clack.
The crisp sound of the scissors cutting through the bird’s wing feathers echoed clear and sharp.
₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊
“Persistent old man.”
At the banquet that followed, Dominique humored the words of others with feigned interest before finally stepping outside.
He welcomed the coolness of the night air as he walked.
A few silver feathers still clung to his hand. Rather than brush them off or cast them away, Dominique picked one up between his fingertips and stared at it for a long moment.
Then, as if crushing something irritating, he balled his hand into a fist.
His lips still curved in that crooked, sardonic smile.
“Marriage, at this point.”
It was obvious what the Emperor intended. He, who had gone out of his way to prevent Dominique’s marriage long past the appropriate age, now spoke of it so casually.
No doubt the bride had already been chosen, a woman meant to suppress him, to watch his every move under the guise of a dutiful wife.
“Annoying.”
It wasn’t long now. The preparations were nearly complete.
To be tripped up by something like this at the final moment was inconvenient, and the problem was that he had no legitimate reason to refuse.
‘It would be easier if I could make the first move.’
But there was no suitable woman. He needed someone with a reputation poor enough to reassure the Emperor, clever enough to handle herself, discreet enough not to run to the Emperor with every detail, and, if necessary, willing to shoulder disgrace on Dominique’s behalf.
Swoosh.
A breeze stirred his hair. The faint scent of gunpowder carried on the wind, remnants of the celebratory fireworks, or perhaps from the shooting demonstration earlier in the banquet hall.
It didn’t matter.
‘Or does it?’
At the very least, it confirmed one thing, the Emperor hadn’t yet let down his guard.
‘A little more time, then.’
Though, not much. With that thought, Dominique’s steps, rather than leading him to his townhouse in the capital, turned toward the Crown Prince’s palace.
He was prompted by a hushed word from Lexion before leaving.
‘We need to talk, cousin.’
Likely to ask what exactly had just happened, or perhaps to scold him for disrespecting his father. That much, Dominique could humor for now.
‘If it can even be called a conversation.’
When last he saw him, Lexion had been surrounded by nobles, taking every drink offered, sinking deep into drunken stupor.
By the time he returned to the palace, he would barely be coherent.
It was just as Dominique reached the entrance to the Crown Prince’s residence that something caught his attention.
“……”
He raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the palace. The air was different, subtly, unsettlingly so.
The place, mostly emptied for the banquet, should have been silent save for a few lingering attendants.
Yet now it felt as though not even a mouse could be found.
Clunk.
Opening the attendants’ waiting room door, Dominique found a servant passed out, slumped over.
Snoore.
At the sight of the man snoring openly, Dominique peered into the cup on the table before him and smiled faintly.
‘At a time like this?’
Finally, something interesting. His steps grew lighter as he made his way swiftly toward the Crown Prince’s bedchamber.
Weapons without permission were forbidden within the palace, though for Dominique, such rules meant nothing.
After all, his own body was the deadliest weapon of all.
Creaak.
The bedchamber door opened with barely a sound. The wind that slipped through the slightly open window made the white curtains billow. Along with the curtains, a thin canopy veiling the grand bed swayed gently.
Inside, a small silhouette sat.
Without hesitation, Dominique’s hand shot out.
Grab.
His fingers closed around something slender, cool, soft yet pliant.
Instinctively, his hand shifted to grip a vital point, pulling the figure tightly into his chest.
Thin wrists trapped in one hand, his other arm coiled around the person’s neck, as though a massive snake coiling around its prey.
He felt the delicate throat caught in the crook of his elbow.
“Hng.”
A small gasp escaped. Against his broad chest, he could feel the sharp bones of narrow shoulders and prominent wing bones. The body was light, alarmingly so.
“Who are you?”
Dominique murmured, tightening his hold just enough to press the slender throat without fully cutting off breath.
He felt the person’s Adam’s apple bob beneath his arm.
Just as he was deciding whether to snap the neck or make use of this interloper….
“I might ask you the same.”
Even in such a situation, the voice was calm.
‘A woman.’
It was unmistakably a woman’s voice. Realizing this, Dominique glanced toward the large standing mirror positioned in the room.
A patch of clouds obscured the moon, hiding her face in shadow. Only her figure was reflected.
Her body, illuminated in ghostly white under the moonlight, was clad in a gauzy nightdress so thin it may as well have been nothing at all.
The sheer fabric revealed every curve, the pale silhouette of her flesh turned a faint pink where it pressed against the cloth.
A deep neckline exposed the soft swell of her breasts, gleaming pale in the moonlight, as though dusted with crushed pearl or fine powder.
A full, generous chest, a slender waist, long pale legs shown clearly beneath the diaphanous fabric.
She looked like a ghost.
‘Lexion’s woman?’
He thought of the citrus-scented woman he’d seen that day.
But this one smelled not of citrus, but of a faint, fleeting scent like peppermint, a scent so ephemeral it might vanish any moment.
The lingering scent of gunpowder was his own.
‘Not her, then.’
Dominique stood in silence. The woman too made no move to speak, steadying her breathing as though waiting.
“……”
With every breath she took, the soft rise and fall of her full chest and fragile collarbones brushed against his arm. An oddly warm, strangely intimate sensation.
At that moment, the clouds shifted. Moonlight poured down, painting the world in stark white.
Bright blue eyes met his in the mirror. Silver hair, like strands of fine silver thread, spilled through his arm. It looked like a twisted string of silver cord.
The memory of the silver feathers clinging to his palm flickered through his mind.
As that image faded and her face fully emerged from the shadow, Dominique spoke before he could stop himself.
“Mad dog?”
₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊
Through the cracked window, the faint scent of plane trees drifted in. The fragrance mingled with the lingering gunpowder on her body, transforming into something heady and sharp.
‘Ha.’
Kirie drew in a breath, savoring the scent. Her twisted arm throbbed in protest.
‘Lexion isn’t coming.’
The moment she was grabbed, she instantly knew the man wasn’t the Crown Prince.
The Lexion she knew wasn’t quick enough for a reaction like this.
If anything, had he entered the room, he would have run to call the guards.
‘I thought for sure he’d be too drunk for that tonight.’
That was precisely why Kirie had chosen tonight to act, to catch the drunken Lexion, trap him, and claim his prized chastity in a scandalous spectacle to force a marriage.
She knew well that the Emperor and his courtiers made a habit of dropping in for morning tea at the Crown Prince’s palace.
She knew Lexion would dismiss his guards on the nights he overindulged, not wanting them to see him disgraced.
And yet, it was not Lexion who entered.
It was an unexpected man.
