Chapter 68
“Shall we rest for a bit?”
My legs hurt like hell. My throat was sore, and my face muscles ached from forcing smiles. Sir Gabriel had said Marchioness Toten was highly respected, making her the perfect chaperone, and it wasn't exaggeration—every person we passed seemed to be her acquaintance, forcing endless mechanical greetings.
No more... I don't want to introduce myself anymore.... I'm not even really Evangeline, but saying my name so much feels like it'll cause Gestalt collapse. Did Gabriel know this would happen and ditch me? No.... He had work too. But he said he'd be back soon—when is he coming!
“Is Marchioness Toten tired too?”
Looking closely, she seemed worn out too, not just me. She'd been dragged here to chaperone without even properly holding her son's funeral, and on top of that, to prevent the marquisate from falling if Rider's death got out, she had to act like everything was normal. It must be exhausting on a mental level.
A maid was serving wine just then, so I quickly grabbed a glass. I handed one to Marchioness Toten too and clinked glasses before downing it. Legal doping, this is.
I returned the empty glasses and sent the maid off with a thank you. Other nobles just carried their wine around half-full, but one-shotting got them picked up on the spot. The serving maid stared at me oddly. What, first time seeing someone down wine in one go? Yeah? Probably.
“Your scarf is pretty.”
Praise is best for awkward moments. But apparently not for her. She scowled for a split second before composing herself, bowed, and left. Even the palace maids had elegant strides.
“Guess she didn't like my compliment.”
Even villains don't want praise from another villain? Kinda hurts....
“I wanted to hear it.”
A coquettish voice appeared with an unfamiliar face. Curly blond hair shimmered and cascaded under the chandelier light. Our eyes met, and her eyes and cheeks flushed as they crescented sweetly.
Whoa, whoa.... Is this for real? A human face? I'd thought Lord Oratorio was flashy handsome, but he couldn't compare. Dressed as a palace attendant, but how could someone this gorgeous exist? Absurd.
“Praise me all you want.”
You're, uh, really handsome. Afraid I'd fangirl, I just smiled back. The handsome attendant waited for praise, then drooped his eyes in disappointment at my silence.
“Not to your taste, maybe?”
As if. Undeniably beyond like/dislike—pure beauty.
“I like it.”
Only then did he beam satisfied.
“Was worried, but glad. Ah, Lady Evangeline, you'll drink the wine I'm offering too, right?”
I'd just downed one? Snapping to, another glass was in my hand. So this is what they mean by face-captivated. He watched pleased as I sipped, then vanished like his job was done.
Tipsy from two glasses, scanning the crowd, I suddenly locked eyes with the count. Frowning hard, he jabbed his finger toward the Hosakwin Duke.
Oh man, mister.... I know, I'll approach without prompting? We have a deal, so I have to at least show it.
“Marchioness Toten, how about greeting Grandfather now?”
Not rushing because the count nagged—perfect timing with few people around the duke. She nodded, agreeing it was good.
She said approaching the duke directly was awkward; better via someone with him. The clueless, acquaintance-loving Whikel Viscount stuck to him—passing by would make him approach automatically, she explained.
“Who is this! Long time no see, Marchioness Toten!”
“Viscount Whikel.”
Wow. Design flawless. As predicted, Whikel Viscount grabbed passing Marchioness Toten. He knew our connection, yet prioritized boasting ties to the center of attention over tact.
Doesn't the duke's death glare sting?
“No reply to my invitation last week—disappointing.”
“Oh, no memory of it.... Must be the butler's mistake. I'd have replied if I'd seen Viscount Whikel's. I'll scold him severely—please overlook it?”
“Haha, Marchioness Toten scolding the butler? You've gotten bolder.”
That's no lie.... He's locked in the basement right now....
“Thanks to time with the young lady. Ah, this is Lady Rohanson, my charge.”
“Pleased to meet you. Evangeline Rohan—.”
Crash!
Before I finished, glass shattered. Culprit obvious. Face beet-red, Hosakwin Duke glared furiously, teeth grinding.
He really hates me. Count.... Didn't say difficulty this high....
The duke had smashed the glass on the floor. Servants glanced warily, starting to clean shards. Reminds me of my maids—Evangeline's personality must take after Grandpa.
“Ah, you're grandparents!”
Whikel Viscount wasn't clueless—he was in the red, overdrawn. Smiling obliviously till the duke's glare hit, he hiccuped and fled.
“Whoa, too much wine—excuse me...!”
Eyes alone dominating—true villainess grandpa.
Viscount gone, but goal met. Count just needed to see me approach.
Now the real issue.... Mess up, hit family regret route—duke adores real granddaughter, inherits fortune. Can't let that happen when Count wants it.
Regret stories melt cold family with innocent smiles. Do opposite? Show ulterior motives, no sunny grins.
“Grandfather, first time meeting.”
True? Countess cut ties at marriage. Whatever—amnesia card ready.
“Who said I'm your grandfather!”
“You don't consider Mother your daughter anymore?”
Obviously tsundere patriarch. Wanted to be kind but yelled fire—now regrets, lingers. Nailed it; duke speechless.
“Too much. Mother always missed you.”
“...Amarans?”
Softening. He scanned my face oddly. As count said, Evangeline mirrors dead countess perfectly. Won't overlay face, regret, inherit—right? No choice. Cross line a bit.
“Yes. Wanted to run from harsh marriage, but cut-off father won't accept—sad, lonely, missed you daily.”
Voice low to avoid ears. Stabbing lost-daughter duke, but true—not slandering. Honestly want to bash him. Don't shun outsider daughter—care more. Diary shows her pain vividly.
“Why? Hated Mother ignoring you? Outraged she eloped with unapproved man? Never visited till death?”
“You, you....”
Cornered, duke glared fiercely. Volcanic rage—I fanned flames.
“Yes. I'm Evangeline Rohanson, your granddaughter.”
Anger peaked; duke lost reason. Grabbed servant's wine glass from table while they cleared prior shards. Morning drama? On white debut dress!
Backpedaling to dodge, yanked into embrace. Familiar scent, warmth. Looking up: locked blue eyes. Night outside, but his eyes midday sun.
Shielding me, took wine instead—red dripped from black hair ends. Color unfit verdant Gabriel.
“Sir Gabriel.”
“Yes, Lady. Back before dance as promised.”
Gabriel smiled crinkling eyes.
Wondered why so late—perfect rofan male lead timing.
“Are you okay?”
“Just a few wine drops.”
“Glad not late.”
Relief smile unlike usual cool— unguarded, not polite painting or hidden complex glance.
Pure relief from saving me. Hits hard.... Tingly like ants on arm; guilty ignoring savior.
Why weird feeling...? Cliche eternal for reason?
“Didn't need to shield me.”
“Wanted different words.”
“...Thank you.”
Didn't ask, saves anyway expecting thanks. Right words? Gabriel smiled brighter. Pure smile nearly purified me away.
Patting arm to release, he hesitated before loosening. Duke glared innocent Gabriel over own mess. Who's hurt here!
“Sir Gabriel. Know who you protect?”
“Yes. Clearer than anyone.”
Shocking defending villainess, but Gabriel doesn't care if possessor or ghost....
Duke massaged furrowed brow pained. Calmer post-vent, but whispers 'duke threw glass at granddaughter' reignited rage. Glaring, he declared.
“Hear and remember. Amarans has no daughter. You're not my granddaughter.”
Lingering on countess, but hates me—Count Rohanson 2nd—enough to deny existence.
“For Amarans begging overlook, ignored till now. Tolerated, but you're absolutely, never my granddaughter. Even if I die.”
Even nailed my inheritance intent. Yeah, approached post-illness rumors—obvious.
Key point separate. Countess kept contact? Not lifelong cutoff?
Overlook, tolerate? Birth secret? But so similar—not count's outsider kid.
Reverse—Amarans bore outside? Looks just her, like solo birth. Illegitimate, rigid duke cut ties? Plausible....
No info—head splitting. Need Amarans diary vol. 2 ASAP. But duke declared no inheritance, threw wine—will count uphold deal? Should've poked milder.
Duke left without apology, worsening confusion.
“Saw blood at crown prince's banquet—head off no complaint. Apologize to His Highness first. Hurry treat yours.”
Blood? Gabriel staggered. I hugged waist steadying.
“Sir Gabriel!”
Marchioness Toten startled. Panicking, grasped 'treat' meaning.
Realization quick. Why duke's hands empty? Should hold wine glass.
Damn! Drip wasn't just wine. Duke threw glass. Rotten geezer grandpa. Hurt someone—apologize! Pretend sorry! Glaring furious, Gabriel goofed bloodied.
“Worried about me?”
Obviously! Absurd, speechless. Not Daisy, but would've smacked if not injured. Why smile!
No answer, but took as yes—narrowed eyes gauging, smiled again. Wine glass to head? Brain issue? Happy worrying?
Fear derailing—Gabriel self-injures for attention? Shook head denying.
“Why worry when you butted in?”
“Still angry for me.”
“I'm angry?”
“Yes. Drop honorifics when mad, Lady.”
Used casual? Guess so.... Nobles keep calm always—Dolliné'd cry wasted lessons. Sorry, Dolliné. 3-month noble content unavoidable.
“Angry for me specifically. Glad many ways.”
Fuming at words. Why so mad? Not first injured for me; mansion staff shocked me, not enraged. Why extra irked at Gabriel's wound?
Closer now? Yeah, if Kanna that hurt, would've flipped, chucked wine at duke's head. Yes. Gabriel caught in family fight shielding—normal worry, anger?
Gabriel steadied quick. Sighing inwardly at wine-soaked him. Red wine hid injury depth. Careful casual:
“As Grandfather said, better treat.”
“But dance soon.”
Priority now? Quick holy water splash.
“Can't dance injured.”
“Ah. Wine on you, Lady.”
Finally realized, distanced. Told not worry, believed literally. Said can't dance over my wine-stained dress?
Want scold, but said no worry first—can't retract. He undervalues self; pushing best.
“Change, return. Hena has holy water—treat.”
“I have holy water..., no.”
Hesitated. Holy water? Ah, holy knight carries. Duh.
Then go quick! Why linger? Me?
“Fear leaving you alone, something happens.”
Yes, for me. Absent briefly, nearly wine glass—understand unease. But duke provoked; behave now, fine?
“If worried, promise behave. Many eyes?”
Appealed consciousness of stares.
Gabriel odd expression, eyed air, nodded understanding.
“Yes. Always eyes on you, Lady.”
“Sir Gabriel, not reliable maybe, but I'll stay by Lady Rohanson.”
Marchioness Toten chimed; he agreed.
“Then hurry back. Lady, be careful.”
Bowed salute, left. Warns last. Likes separate—untrustworthy. Hard sending injured for treatment....
Stares on departing Gabriel fuel 'villainess wields holy knight' rumors.
Wonder if he'll treat properly. Won't just change, right? No.... Raphaella or Uriel handle. Male leads need competent aides. No Raphaella—Gabriel'd die reckless early.
Now cleanup. Duke fled, Gabriel treating—me only.
“Marchioness Toten, sorry for discord.”
Raised voice for ears, feigning talk.
“Missed family, share late Mother's tales—Grandfather distrusts still.”
“Lady Rohanson.... Someday Hosakwin Duke opens heart—no worry.”
She matched, subtly villainizing duke. I approached kindly; he overreacted throwing glass.
Unaware I provoked—looks duke bullied disowned granddaughter. Trash his rep. Who left first?
“Ow!”
Cleaning maid yelped tiny. Shocked self, covered mouth glancing. Feared scolding for noise failing duty.
“Hand cut?”
“Pardon? No! Thought cut, but no wound—just pricked.”
Beady drop on fingertip wine, not blood. Wiped dress; clean finger. Relief unhurt.
“Sorry added cleanup.”
“No, Lady!”
Apologized; flapped hands flustered. Kind to maid shifts 'Evangeline nicer than rumored.' Sorry using.... Conscience stings....
“Lady shocked too—rest till Sir Gabriel returns.”
Not shock, guilt—but she thought trauma, supported to quiet spot. Approaching scattered remnants. Tried talking earlier; now duke-hater, tails tucked.
“Didn't expect Hosakwin Duke so harsh. Sorry couldn't help.”
“No need mind.”
Quiet as told Gabriel; prior maid shyly served wine. Knows stuff. Calm shock with alcohol. Took with Marchioness Toten, clinked.
“Tastes different from before...?”
She sipped, puzzled mutter. That odd? Sipped—my uncouth palate no big diff. Richer, maybe aged more.
Emptied by performance start. Exhausted, wanna home.... Respect rofan chars anew. High society no joke.
“Banquet proper begins.”
Crown prince and twin imperial grandchild—one—descended holding hands. Prince overshadowed by successor-son and plain daughter. Stopped center.
“That's Yeremi.”
“Marchioness Toten distinguishes?”
Blond, blue eyes, outfits/hairstyles identical—how?
“Impossible visually—even father Crown Prince can't.”
Parents should know? She can? Sharp eyes. She smiled faintly, continued.
“Easy once known. Accessories differ color.”
Color?
“His Majesty gifted differently colored gem necklaces at birth. Emerald for Yeremi, onyx for Tenebrey.”
Ah, true. With prince: emerald—Yeremi. E similar, easy.
She added never remove even bathing; neck spots them. Duh, known easy.
“Dearest daughter, one song for father's birthday?”
“Gladly.”
Prince and Yeremi posed; orchestra matched. Dozens for two—incredible.
Spinning circles, lights dimmed one by one—final spin, all out. Windows shut? Pitch black. Big event killing lights?
Nearby panic murmurs. Pushed near—'Ah!' staggered; steadied. Wine spilled soaking dress? Gabriel... your sacrifice wasted.
“Lady Rohanson, thank you.”
No 'okay?'; thanked, gone. How long dark? Music continues—not emergency, planned. Indoor fireworks? Something new? Chaos says failed event.
Lights snapped back quick.
Beyond imagination. Blackout pre: prince dancing with Yeremi—now limp on chandelier. Sword in heart; hilt familiar. Déjà vu hit—clamped mouth horrified.
That's my dagger? Noticed not alone—someone screamed.
“Lady Rohanson assassinated Crown Prince!”
Crazy, what? No!
