Chapter 9
At those words, the haze clouding Kyrie’s mind cleared. With an impassive face, Veron stepped forward and spoke.
“You hadn’t arrived, so I’ve come to fetch you.”
“Ah… Lord Erenberg.”
“It seems you’ve already exchanged greetings with our young lady.”
Under ordinary circumstances, Veron would have ignored her entirely, but now, the fact that he deliberately brought it up made his intention perfectly clear to Kyrie.
He was, once again, reviving that unspoken pressure to have her sent to the convent.
‘As if I’d be cowed so easily.’
Turning to Veron, Kyrie flashed one of her dazzling smiles.
“I did wonder. Elise hasn’t been seen much lately.”
At the mention of Elise, a slight furrow appeared between Veron’s brows.
Kyrie stared straight at it, continuing nonchalantly.
“Were you perhaps thinking of sending Elise to the convent too? Maybe for her priestess training?”
“What?”
“Not a bad idea. It’d be a safe place, after all.”
“Kyrie Erenberg.”
“No meddlesome older sister to torment her there, and no bold young lords daring to chase after the Lady Erenberg either.”
As Kyrie spoke, she recalled the recent stream of suitors discreetly pursuing Elise. A sharp, scandalized air swept through those around them.
That bristling, uneasy atmosphere, something that would ordinarily silence a room, was, to Kyrie, the kind of tension she most welcomed whenever those insolent words left her lips.
“I hope your discussions go well. Who knows? The convent might just suit her temperament.”
Leaving those words hanging brightly in the air, she walked away.
Behind her, murmurs burst out, most of them from the servants.
“Unbelievable! Who should be heading to the convent is…”
Mother Abbess pursed her lips in a thin line, staring after Kyrie’s retreating figure as though fixing her with a glare. Veron did much the same.
Kyrie stepped out into the bright sunlight, leaving the thick, murmuring air behind.
A sense of urgency prickled at her, annoyed that she’d wasted time in such pointless posturing.
‘I have to get back to the Crown Prince’s Palace.’
Even now, the palace attendants might be trying to dispose of her dress, or more accurately, the pendant necklace hidden within it.
“Look, there she is, that infamous woman…”
“Is she heading to the palace again today?”
The moment Kyrie set foot on the main boulevard, ignoring the staring eyes and hushed voices, a large carriage slowly pulled up beside her.
‘Now what?’
It wasn’t unusual for carriages to halt beside her when she first earned her notoriety, their occupants gawking or following her as if she were a spectacle.
She’d long since dispelled those fools by kicking the carriages a few times, and assumed that nonsense was behind her.
‘I don’t have time for this.’
Thinking just that, Kyrie lifted the hem of her dress, preparing once more to drive her foot into the side of the carriage.
Click.
The carriage door opened.
A faint trace of gunpowder clung to the air, tickling her nose.
The moment she caught that scent, Kyrie murmured to herself without thinking.
“…Grand Duke?”
“No honorific?”
At her words, a crooked chuckle sounded.
The tone was one of mild reproach, yet unmistakably amused.
Kyrie slowly raised her gaze within the shade of a gently swaying tree, peering into the carriage.
‘Dominique Roman Haswell.’
The menacing air he exuded the previous night had been neatly tucked away.
What now sat languidly upon the fine carriage seat was a man clad in the impeccable veneer of a noble gentleman.
It was such a stark transformation, she might have thought it a different person entirely.
And then, Dominique’s gaze slowly dropped to her legs.
Only then did Kyrie realize, having raised her dress to kick the carriage, that her bare ankles and calves were gleaming pale in the sunlight.
In her rush, she’d barely bothered with the proper layers of petticoats and drawers she ought to have worn, leaving her legs exposed beneath the lifted skirt.
In the shifting shadows of the trees, those legs thrust brazenly into the sunlight.
The moment she felt Grand Duke’s gaze upon her, Kyrie swiftly dropped the hem of her dress and stared straight into the carriage.
And only then did it occur to her how absurd it was to be covering herself before him.
‘It’s not as if he hasn’t seen everything already.’
That night, after all, she’d been cloaked in nothing more than a slip of cloth so thin it barely qualified as fabric, the kind of curtain-like thing that did little to hide a body.
Rather than dwell on the memory, Kyrie wore her usual brilliant smile.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
At her unflappable response, Dominique’s faint smile deepened.
In truth, Dominique had no particular reason for calling out to her.
He’d merely been on his way to the palace once again, letting out a mirthless chuckle at how the Emperor summoned him about as often as one might train a hunting hound.
Lexion was surely still in bed, dead drunk from the night before, and the Emperor’s foul temper would only be worse today.
‘He’ll probably start droning on about marriage again.’
His mood had soured considering just how much of the Emperor’s tantrums he could tolerate.
And then, through the open carriage window, he’d caught sight of that mad dog.
Kyrie Erenberg, striding boldly down the boulevard without even a carriage of her own.
‘She supposedly waited hours yesterday.’
‘And left without seeing the Crown Prince. Serves her right.’
Even as the street buzzed with whispers loud enough for Dominique to hear from his carriage, Kyrie Erenberg walked on, smiling brightly.
Like a rose, determined to leave a mark upon the hand that dared to pluck it.
That sight brought to Dominique’s mind the memory of her face from the night before.
Not the smiling mask she so often wore, but her true, unguarded expression.
After she’d left, not even bothering to gather her dress, Dominique had stood alone in the room, inhaling the faint scent of platanus and mint that lingered behind.
That scent, growing fainter with each passing moment, was the only proof she’d ever been there.
‘Still… I should’ve known she’d pull something insane.’
The image of Kyrie Erenberg’s pale form creeping into the Crown Prince’s chambers in little more than her underthings stirred a dry, humorless laugh from him.
Her intent had been obvious: she meant to claim Lexion by scandal or by surrendering her so-called purity.
And, to Dominique’s surprise, it hadn’t been a bad tactic.
Had he not intervened, it might well have succeeded.
It was at that moment Dominique revised his assessment of Kyrie Erenberg, if only slightly.
‘I thought all she could do was wear that mad smile and play the fool…’
But it turned out, in a situation where one misstep could see her accused of plotting regicide, she’d made a bold move worthy of a true mad dog.
‘Driven, reckless.’
Someone unafraid of ruin or death.
At the very least, it meant she possessed a measure of courage.
And to Dominique’s surprise, he found he rather liked it.
‘Better than standing there, waiting like a fool outside the Crown Prince’s palace.’
More than anything, it had been her expression. The honest flicker of surprise and dismay in her furrowed brow.
Not the over polished, gaudy smile she wore to hide her fear, but an unfiltered, genuine reaction and something about that had delighted him.
The same satisfaction one felt when outwitting prey believed untouchable.
As Dominique savored the memory, a heavily inebriated Lexion had stumbled into the palace.
‘Ah, cousin. Still here?’
‘You summoned me, Lexion.’
‘Did I…? Why did I call you again…?’
The fool, unaware that all his attendants had passed out drunk.
While the Crown Prince’s Palace had proven alarmingly insecure thanks to a certain lady, now wasn’t the time to exploit it.
‘After today, the guards will be twice as cautious.’
A minor regret, perhaps.
In a flat voice, Dominique had told him,
‘If you can’t remember, you may as well leave.’
‘No, wait. Dominique, you owe me your loyalty too, remember?’
‘Ah.’
‘That’s why you’re First Grand Duke. To serve me.’
Growing weary of Lexion’s drunken ramblings, Dominique found himself recalling the soft, tense weight that had lain in his arms.
That supple yet stubborn body. The way its heartbeat had pounded insistently against him.
Before he realized it, he was picturing her back there again.
And in that instant when she’d furrowed her brow…
He’d felt an impulsive urge to crush that form clutched just below his elbow.
Dominique had rarely experienced any strong carnal desires.
Producing bastards to arouse the Emperor’s suspicion was something he’d long abhorred.
But just then, instead of humoring his idiot cousin, he’d imagined his hand roaming the pale curve of her chest, testing how that delicate-looking body might respond to his grip.
Not so much out of lust, but rather curiosity.
He wanted to see what kind of reaction the mad dog would show when truly cornered.
It was an uncharacteristic impulse for him.
‘I suppose it’s been a while since something this entertaining crossed my path.’
It was much like discovering that something one believed to be mere furniture was, in fact, not furniture at all.
Yet, that was as far as it went.
‘Still.’
Based on what she’d done the night before, Kyrie Erenberg was a woman of considerable use.
Perhaps… she might even be the one to do what Dominique most desired.
Such as sneaking into the Crown Prince’s bed and driving a dagger into his heart.
