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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: A Fateful Dream
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In fact, I had met this man's gaze several times throughout the party. I'd thought it was a coincidence, but now it seemed it wasn't.
*‘He was watching me, looking for something to pick on.’*
I studied his expression, which seemed to mock me for being a southern country bumpkin.
Being the subject of someone's contempt was never pleasant, but I wasn't the kind of person to fall for the clumsy provocations of a young noble who had grown up in the capital without a care in the world.
“My apologies. I have been rude, Young Lord.”
I deliberately lowered my gaze, bowing my head with a face that held a hint of fear.
When dealing with nobles, it was always important to plant a little reverence in your eyes. They were a funny lot, only feeling at ease when they had a sense of superiority from overpowering someone.
But despite my servility, the young lord didn't back down in the slightest.
“Rude? Do you even know what true rudeness is, Imeline Wedgwood?”
“I-I don’t understand what you mean…”
I put on the performance of a lifetime, my voice trembling ever so slightly as I looked up at the young lord.
His crimson eyes, hard to read, looked down on me.
I gritted my teeth inwardly, trying my best to maintain a subservient attitude.
*The wedding is in a week. I can't cause any trouble until then. At least not until then.*
I was suppressing the urge to charge at the man before me like a rhinoceros.
Then, Eric spoke.
“What could I mean? I’m talking about how your mother dares to covet the position of Duchess of Orleans, Imeline. I find you and your mother quite disagreeable. Your brother is better, at least. He doesn't pretend to be something he's not.”
Eric raised his hand with a threatening look on his face.
*Oh, how cliché. Violence?* I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my jaw, a typical reaction. I made sure not to bite the tender flesh inside my mouth—it would make eating difficult for a while if it bled.
But then, something strange happened.
“…?”
“…?”
Or rather, nothing happened?
I opened my eyes.
There stood Eric Orleans, looking at me with a strange expression.
“Why did you close your eyes?”
At his words, my true thoughts slipped out.
“W-Weren't you going to hit me?”
Eric Orleans’s face twisted in displeasure. He scanned me up and down for a moment with that same expression before speaking.
“...You're talking nonsense.”
Eric Orleans seemed genuinely offended.
“You take me for that sort of man?”
It seemed I had crushed his pride. With that, Eric turned and left the balcony. Just before he was completely gone, he added one more thing.
“Next time you feel like some man is about to use violence against you, don't just close your eyes. Dodge with all your might and protest formally. Do I have to spell everything out for a southern country bumpkin?”
At the very edge of the contempt in his voice was the faintest trace of pity.
‘…’
I remained on the balcony for a long time.
He saw.
That I had been hit before. And that I was afraid of it.
He had seen right through me.
That fact was more shameful to me than his contempt.
Only after I was certain Eric was far from the balcony did I emerge.
Wandering through the party hall in a daze, I gulped down several glasses of the apple wine an old woman offered me. I felt I couldn't bear it otherwise.
*‘Ah, Mom told me not to drink…’*
*‘We’re finally going to be happy now.’*
I had a feeling my mother’s words wouldn't come true.
Memories of misfortune linger in a person's mind for a long time, like a parasite.
The old woman watched me down the apple wine with an expression of approval before saying something strange.
“The apples in that wine are magical, you see. They help you avoid misfortune.”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
“Dreams have three functions, did you know?”
“Yes, yes. I suppose so?”
As I gave half-hearted replies and chugged the apple wine, the old woman muttered a few more words and then disappeared.
✵ ✵ ✵
...And after drinking so much, of course I was hungover.
And now, I was on my way to meet that very same Eric Orleans.
As I descended the stairs, I thought that going to meet Eric Orleans was even more uncomfortable than facing the noble ladies who were being unpleasant to my mother and me.
*Why did he even come himself? I heard these noble lords have their servants wipe their asses for them. Why come in person over wedding gifts that have already been decided?*
Just as I reached the bottom of the stairs.
My steps slowed. A familiar voice spoke in its characteristic, mocking tone.
“...You’re late to greet your guest.”
I barely managed to move my lips to answer.
“I’m sorry, I overslept a little…”
The memory of last night made me bite my lip. I could feel the metallic taste of blood.
Eric Orleans, who had been standing and waiting for me in the drawing-room without even sitting on the sofa, frowned as he looked at me.
A dark navy uniform. A neat cravat. Even the way his hair was styled.
How could this be?
I was confused.
Because Eric Orleans’s appearance right now was exactly—exactly—as I had seen it in my dream last night, when I had fallen into a hazy sleep, sick from the apple wine the strange old woman had given me.
I clenched my fists as I recalled the bizarre nightmare from the previous night.
That nightmare had begun with Eric Orleans dressed just like this, saying these exact words.
*‘Are you a child? How can you still be biting your lip?’*
“Are you a child? How can you still be biting your lip?”
Whoa, chills. It’s exactly like I saw in my dream. What do you call this again...?
As I was thinking this, a maid from the mansion appeared, carrying a tray with hot tea.
In that moment, I recalled what the old woman who offered me the apple wine had said.
*‘Of the three functions of dreams, one is reviewing the past, one is fulfilling secret desires, and one is foretelling the future. Never ignore the omens your dreams give you.’*
Foretelling the future.
Remembering last night's nightmare, I stumbled on the last step. I barely caught myself on the railing and looked down at my hand.
Scenes from the dream, still so vivid, flashed through my mind.
Did that all… show me the future? That’s impossible.
But just then.
Just as in my dream, the maid passed by the young Lord Orleans, carrying a tray with a hot teapot on it.
In my dream, that maid tripped over a small, half-burnt piece of firewood that a servant had dropped on the carpet after cleaning the fireplace. And the hot tea would spill all over the young Lord Orleans—
I darted between Eric and the maid, snatching the tray she was holding. Due to inertia, the teapot full of black tea tipped over, spilling its contents onto the back of my hand.
“Ugh!”
A searing pain shot through my hand. My face contorted in agony, and I let go. The tray crashed to the floor with a loud clatter.
“Imeline!”
Seeing the back of my hand turn red, Eric called my name, his eyes wide with surprise. But I paid no attention to him as he frantically looked for cold water. My focus was solely on the spot where the maid had almost tripped.
On the carpet.
There lay a half-burnt piece of firewood.
Just like in the dream.
“Are you alright? Why did you jump in? It would have been better if the tea had spilled on me…”
And so on and so forth.
I don’t remember what Eric said after that. My mind was already completely consumed by thoughts of last night's dream.
Things like the horrific deaths of myself, my mother, and my brother.
*‘Imeline. The truth is, the Duke of Orleans is marrying me because of the land Viscount Wedgwood left behind.’*
My mother, who should have been the happiest on the day before her wedding, had a deathly pale face.
In my dream, my mother told me that the Duke of Orleans hadn't fallen for her at first sight but had agreed to the marriage for other reasons. The me in the dream couldn't understand her words at all.
Viscount Wedgwood was my mother's fourth husband, and a complete son of a bitch. That gambling addict had racked up huge debts and died after falling off a cliff while being chased by loan sharks.
Before that, he had left my mother a small piece of land by the coast, but that land was already—
*‘That damned viscount already used it as collateral everywhere. It’s nothing but a pile of debt. You still had it? Even so, the creditors...’*
My mother stared at me for a long time with eyes full of terror, then suddenly pulled me into a fierce hug.
*‘...Mom? What’s wrong? Is the Duke of Orleans saying he won't marry you without that land? Why would the richest man in the capital make a fuss over a worthless piece of land the day before the wedding…?’*
At my words, my mother snapped.
*‘You, that land—don't you go anywhere and say the Duke of Orleans covets it! Don't you dare!’*
*‘O-Okay, I get it! I get it! You're hurting me. Please loosen your grip...’*
I let out a sharp cry from the pain in my shoulders, and my mother quickly released me.
She staggered back into her bedroom. Her retreating figure looked incredibly frail.
The dream continued vividly.
The next morning, my mother, her face devoid of life, wore a lavish dress adorned with countless jewels.
It was the wedding dress she had chosen.
Seeing her poor condition, I spoke to her seriously when we were alone in the bridal waiting room.
*‘If the Duke is giving you a hard time over some worthless country land, let's just run away. Whether he's rich or not, marrying a man with a rotten character will only lead you to ruin.’*
I bit back the urge to say, *‘We've been through this before, haven't we?’* and sighed.
For the record, all of my mother's husbands were more or less the same.
*‘Or we could just go to the Duke and apologize together. Tell him it was all a misunderstanding and that we're sorry for not telling him about the debt sooner. That's what good, normal people do, Mom. When there's a misunderstanding or you've told a lie, you admit your mistake and bow your head.’*
Even in the dream, as I said those words, I strangely thought of Eric Orleans.
A man who always wore an arrogant expression, who valued his pride more than his life, yet never hesitated to correct his own mistakes.
Is it right to call someone like that 'good'?
...I don't think so.
*‘You said you'd live a good life once you became a duchess. Let's live well. Okay? Let's stop doing bad things.’*
At my words, my mother gave a faint smile and caressed my cheek with a hand that had no strength in it.
*‘You don't understand, Imeline. The Duke... he'll never let me go. He'd hold onto my corpse if he had to. As collateral.’*
While I stood there, stunned, the maids entered the bridal room.
I didn't understand what she meant back then.
And so, my mother went through with the wedding, her face like that of a corpse drained of all life, standing beside the Duke of Orleans, who acted as affectionate toward her as ever.
Time in the dream flew by in a blur.
For a week, my mother, my brother, and I were so busy receiving greetings from the direct and extended members of the ducal family and their vassals that we had no time to discuss the land the viscount had left behind.
Then one night, my mother rushed into my room and thrust a document folder into my hands.
*‘Imeline! Wake up. Take these documents right now, go out the back door, and run to the nearest police station. Don't open the papers inside until you get there. Once you're there, give them the name of a prosecutor named Patrick and…’*
As I, still half-asleep, tried to ask what she meant, a maid's voice called for my mother from the hallway.
My mother left, her body hunched over like a pig being dragged to the slaughterhouse.
I sat there in a daze for a moment before I started gathering anything in the room that looked valuable, starting with a silver candlestick. I chose items that were light and could be easily converted to cash.
My mother's words meant we had to escape this mansion.
In a way, I felt relieved. I was sick and tired of pretending to be a gentle and shy young noble lady from the countryside, and it was unpleasant watching my mother act like she had committed a grave sin in front of the Duke for the past week.
*Alright, you damn nobles. I'm out of here.*
I wasn't a noble to begin with.
My father was... someone I didn't even want to think about. In any case, neither my mother nor my biological father was born of nobility, so neither was I.
I followed my mother's instructions, packing my things without opening the documents.
The only instruction I didn't follow was waiting for my mother and Philip in front of the mansion's back gate after climbing down from the window.
Our family of three had always been together, even if we were poor.
When we ran away from the merchant company my mother's third husband ran and wandered the streets, when we were beaten at the restaurant we all worked at, and when we stole money from that restaurant and fled.
Always.
This time would be the same.
I believed that.
*Once the three of us leave the capital this time, I'll tell them that we should try to live properly, even if we starve. Without relying on those damn stepfathers, with our own strength.*
*If we sell the silver candlestick and gold ornaments I brought, we might be able to open a small stew shop in the countryside.*
My mother made a pretty good chicken stew. Philip wasn't great at business, but he was a smooth talker, so he could attract customers. And since I was good with money, I could handle the accounting and management.
As I pictured our little imaginary stew shop and turned to look back at the mansion.
Two gunshots echoed from the direction of the mansion.
Bang! Bang
