Chapter 8
In a setting more beautiful and dreamlike—something a young girl experiencing her first love might adore—Dominic silently mocked the foolish girl beside him, whose face was flushed red with embarrassment. All the while, he played the part she longed for: the man in love, gentle and composed, the image of a relaxed, mature gentleman…
‘This is royally screwed.’
A faint irritation rose in his chest. The plan had gone off course.
Dominic cast a sidelong glance at Elaine Aiola, who had been silently walking beside him.
Her eyes, her nose, her lips… those flawless features so often praised. She looked like her brother—angelic in beauty, yet repulsive in the same way a devil wears a lovely mask.
Tch.
Their eyes met suddenly, and Dominic barely managed to keep his expression from faltering. Elaine, far less experienced, failed to do the same and flinched visibly.
To think that the once-proud Lady Aiola would become so timid after a single kiss.
Suppressing a scoff, Dominic put on the kindest, most charming smile he could muster.
“Are you feeling uncomfortable?”
“N-no, not at all!”
Elaine shook her head vigorously, sneaking a glance at him while doing so.
I’m this embarrassed, and yet he looks completely fine.
Maybe it’s because he’s a real adult… unlike me.
‘Did I seem a little grown-up back there too?’
Her cheeks warmed at the thought of how she had straddled his lap and clung to him so desperately. Then, as if the breeze had picked up her flustered thoughts, a soft laugh drifted down to her ears.
“W-why are you laughing?”
She tried to sound annoyed, but the sharpness in her voice came out more like bashful deflection.
Dominic suddenly stopped walking. Naturally, Elaine stopped as well and turned to face him.
He tilted his head slightly and whispered, his voice calm and steady.
“Because you’re beautiful.”
“…!”
“You’re beautiful, Lady Aiola, with your face blushing that lovely rose-pink.”
“I-I’m not blushing. I didn’t!”
Another low chuckle brushed against her ear. Elaine balled her fists at her sides and glared up at him. But as she met his calm and gentle smile, the tension in her expression slowly softened.
“Um… Lord Cheshire.”
Elaine nervously twisted her fingers together, lips parting with hesitation.
“Earlier, you said… that you dared to lo—”
“That I believed I had the right to love you. That someone as lowborn as me could actually dare.”
Fwoosh—!
Her face turned a deep, unmistakable red at those words.
“Y-yes. That’s… that’s what I meant.”
She swallowed hard and gave a small nod. The way Dominic remained so calm while she stumbled over a single word—love—felt almost unfair.
“Lord Cheshire… do you love me?”
Elaine had never been one to beat around the bush. She didn’t need to. She was, after all, a noble Aiola from birth.
Dominic, despite knowing full well how forthright she was, put on a mock expression of surprise before letting out a soft laugh.
“Elaine Aiola, the most noble lady of Hermanda.”
His words drifted lazily between parted lips, like a slow song. He reached up and gently cupped her small cheek with his broad palm.
“I’m about to kiss you again, my lady.”
And then, as if he had never once craved her lips—
As if everything so far had been part of his perfectly laid-out plan, he lied even to himself.
“Will that be all right?”
Dominic Cheshire gave the girl the romantic first kiss she had dreamed of. As if this were the true first time their lips met.
Elaine, cheeks burning, slowly lowered her eyelids. Her long, delicate lashes sparkled like golden thread, catching Dominic’s gaze.
He leaned in slowly—ever so slowly—and kissed her again. This time, calmer. More assured. A deeper imprint of himself upon her soul.
Just as he had planned: mature, patient, and unforgettable.
Late at night, in a quiet study lit only by the warm flicker of three candles, a man sat alone with a glass of wine, clothed in nothing more than a thin robe. Damp strands of black hair clung loosely across his handsome forehead. His sharp, narrow eyes—half-lidded with a languid air—seemed lost in thought, but the inky black of his pupils gleamed sharply each time the breeze whispered past the windows.
In his large left hand, he held something oddly delicate: a small hairpin, clearly meant for a woman of noble standing. Set with a jewel that shimmered like fresh green leaves, it looked almost as if it had been plucked from a midsummer forest.
Dominic gently traced its shape with his fingertip, unmoved. It reminded him of someone’s eyes.
Elaine Aiola.
He remembered her vividly from that kiss that should have been their first—how she had stood on tiptoe, clutching his coat tightly.
How her damp eyes had searched his face as their lips parted, followed by a foolish, fluttering smile.
‘Elaine. My name’s Elaine.’
How she had buried her red face in her hands afterward, too shy to meet his gaze, yet still properly reintroducing herself—lowering the proud pride of an Aiola just to say her name again.
‘Not Lady Aiola—just Elaine.’
Her small cherry-colored lips… The memory alone brought a faint thrill to Dominic’s otherwise impassive face.
“Next time,” he whispered, almost fondly, “may I visit the mansion to call on you… Elaine?”
“Of course. I’ll be happy to wait.”
When she spoke those words—soft, expectant—his mind immediately conjured the image of those green eyes, gently curving with affection.
Those eyes, bright and warm with love…
Love, was it?
Yes. Elaine Aiola was undeniably lovable. She was the girl who could make him feel like someone precious—someone worthy. The memory of her tender smile stirred a sudden warmth in his chest.
He was supposed to meet her next in front of the Aiola estate.
His heart gave a sudden, pounding thump. What would they look like when he showed up there, standing beside her?
Fernando Aiola—whom he had always wanted to strangle with his own hands.
And Vanessa, his beloved princess. What face will you make when you see me there?
“Vanessa…”
He murmured her name without thinking. His thoughts were broken by the quiet sound of the library door opening and the entrance of Walker, the Cheshire family’s steward, carrying a tray.
“Still thinking about Princess Vanessa, are you?”
Dominic’s gaze snapped toward him in surprise. Walker, unfazed, quietly replaced the empty bottle on the desk with a fresh one, smiling lightly.
“My prince.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
His voice turned cold, the chill unmistakable. The only people who ever saw this man show even a hint of gentleness were two: Jeremy, his cousin back in the Kartan Empire, and Walker, who remained by his side under the simple title of ‘steward.’ Unlike the woman who was monitoring the Aiolas in exchange for reward, these two helped him without asking for anything in return. They were the only ones he believed would never betray him.
Though, sadly, this is what gentleness looks like from me.
“Apologies. But watching you sit alone like this with a drink reminds me so much of your late father, Prince Elphenor.”
Dominic’s eyes, black as obsidian, swept over Walker with quiet menace. Speaking the name of the dead so carelessly—yet his gaze soon dropped to the small hairpin in his hand again.
And suddenly, a question arose.
Whenever he drank like this late into the night, it was always Vanessa he thought of. Why, then, had his mind drifted to that girl tonight?
Elaine Aiola.
The blood of the detestable Aiolas.
With an annoyed motion, Dominic pushed his damp hair away from his forehead and poured himself another glass.
“Princess Vanessa is the one who drove Lady Liliana to her death. She’s also the sister of Edmund—the man who murdered your father, Prince Elphenor, and disgraced your mother, Queen Amelotte.”
He knew all this. He didn’t need Walker to remind him. He had never forgotten it. He relived it every single day.
“I truly wish you would stop thinking about her. You swore—five years ago, to me and to Lord Jeremy—that you’d destroy the vile bloodlines of Hermanda and Aiola. The ones who dragged you and Lady Liliana into ruin.”
“….”
“Do you still love Princess Vanessa?”
Dominic didn’t answer. Instead, he tightened his grip around the delicate hairpin in his hand.
“Keep it.”
The memory came rushing back—her cheerful laugh ringing in his ears, the moment those tiny hands removed the pin from her hair and placed it in his palm.
“It belonged to my mother’s mother’s mother. If I give this to you… will you believe that my heart is yours?”
For the first time, Dominic felt shaken. The strange warmth rising in his chest—he almost wished it was because of Vanessa. That would be easier to understand.
Do I still love her?
He stared into the glass of deep red liquid.
Yes. He still loved her.
How could he not? The woman who held his entire life in her palm, only to crush it. That despicable, mocking woman.
The wine, red as flame, reminded him of Vanessa. He raised the glass and took a slow breath, as if hoping to find her scent in it—though he knew it wasn’t there.
Vanessa. My love. The devil who broke me. The daughter of a serpent. The witch who will burn in hell. My companion in ruin, the one I’ll drag to the end with me.
And to reach her, to destroy her… he needed to make that foolish girl—Lady Aiola’s delicate daffodil—his completely.
“Dominic.”
The voice echoed in his mind, playful and light, like the rustling of linden leaves in a summer breeze. Beneath the tree, Elaine Aiola had smiled at him, dazzlingly radiant.
Her white skin, tinged with soft pink like the first snowfall of winter—that image replayed vividly in his mind.
“Yes, Vanessa…”
Dominic welcomed the clarity of his purpose, his resolve sharpening. And in doing so, he thought again of Elaine Aiola—with a smile.
That lovable daffodil of House Aiola.
The perfect offering who would lead him straight to Vanessa.
So yes—getting excited while thinking about that foolish girl? That was only natural.
