The Villainess Enjoys Her Married Life
Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Episode 8. The Crown Prince of the Empire
2023.12.08.
His shadow stretched as long as his tall stature.
The breeze drifting through the open window stirred Lesvan’s hair.
His face was sculpted and handsome, and beneath his sharp brows, golden eyes gleamed coolly like a beast lurking in the shade, despite the sunlight falling upon him.
With furrowed brows, Lesvan slowly released the maid’s waist.
Without showing any sign of surprise, the maid bowed her head and spoke stiffly.
“……I apologize.”
Lesvan still remembered the fleeting motion the maid had made the moment they collided.
Even someone with exceptional reflexes would have tumbled backward, yet she had twisted her waist just like a knight who had undergone years of training.
As though executing a breakfall technique.
“……Raise your head.”
Lesvan’s low voice resonated.
The neckline of the maid with her hair tied tightly back was suspiciously delicate, and her fingers were just as fine.
After a moment, the maid slowly lifted her face.
With a graceful brow, a sharp nose, beautiful blue eyes like deep lakes, and lips neither too thin nor too full, she was undeniably a beauty.
“…….”
Staring straight at him, not even the slightest hint of fear showed in her eyes.
Her demeanor—wary, yet entirely devoid of fright—felt somewhat dissonant.
Her slender, lean, and light frame seemed utterly ordinary.
If she had trained enough to reflexively execute a fall-breaking maneuver, her hands could not possibly be so soft and fine.
A cluster of thoughts drifted through his mind as naturally as the wind.
“……What is your name?”
Befitting his epithet as a ‘war fiend,’ Lesvan possessed a massive and solid build. While his face was peerlessly handsome, the killing intent draped over him like clothing caused women to fear him instinctively.
“I am a maid.”
Yet she gave a brazen answer without so much as trembling.
He had asked for her name, and she answered that she was a maid.
“Meaning you have no intention of telling me.”
The corner of Lesvan’s lips curled slightly.
Audaciously, the maid gave no response to his words.
Even when he subtly released an overbearing presence, she remained unyielding.
Such a reaction could not help but pique his interest even further.
“…….”
He…… never forgot a person he had once laid eyes upon.
No matter how long ago they had met.
Amid the flow of his thoughts, a subtle sense of déjà vu was intertwined.
A moment later, Lesvan said to her:
“……You may go.”
**
Near the training grounds of the ducal estate, Lesvan and Kalian stood watching the soldiers train.
Even without smelling it with one’s nose, there was a distinct scent one sensed when facing a person.
Some called it presence or aura, but because it felt far more visceral, Kalian thought to himself:
A dense stench of blood emanated from the Crown Prince’s gaze.
A massive physique clad in a dark uniform, broad and solid shoulders, a sculpted nose and jawline, and black hair fluttering in the breeze.
And there was no need to explain how much enemy territory had been swallowed by the sword reflected in those seemingly emotionless golden eyes within that cold gaze.
The same went for the countless lives of enemies that must have vanished alongside their dying screams.
“I shall give my consent regarding the conquest of Agripe.”
Agripe was a fertile land situated in the southwest of the empire.
It was the very destination toward which the Crown Prince’s army would soon march.
To wage yet another war, the cooperation of the dukes was necessary.
“Furthermore, I will support the Imperial Army with five thousand cavalrymen from the duchy and three aura knights. Though they may not compare to Your Highness the Crown Prince’s royal guards, they will be of great help in commanding the troops.”
Though it was once an imperial fief, it had been one of the territories that took the lead when the frontier lords and kingdoms allied to strike Turesian in the back twenty years ago.
In that war where more than half of the empire’s military forces were annihilated, the Empress, two princesses, and three princes lost their lives. The sole survivor was the Crown Prince, Lesvan, who was only nine years old at the time.
It was a horrific chapter in the empire’s history, and the legend that gave birth to the war-fiend Crown Prince.
“As expected, I appreciate that you are someone easy to converse with, Duke.”
When the corner of Lesvan’s mouth curled faintly, Kalian felt a deep, chilling dread.
Refusing would have been futile anyway, since he would have simply brought an imperial decree next time.
Well, Agripe was a land blessed not only with abundant food but also rich mineral yield, so the reward for providing military support would be sweet.
“May I ask Your Highness one question?”
When Lesvan gave a slight nod, Kalian continued.
“Do you intend to reclaim all of Turesian’s former territories, Your Highness?”
Lesvan, the Crown Prince known by the moniker ‘war fiend,’ always stood at the vanguard of conquest.
He trampled his enemies mercilessly and scattered blood across the lands, expanding the empire.
There were not many territories left to reclaim now, but doing so would require spilling far more blood.
“Breyton was quite curious about that as well. That child is always terrified of me.”
At the mention of his half-brother—the 2nd Prince with whom the Klaus family had aligned themselves—Kalian’s hand flinched slightly.
The 2nd Prince, Breyton, was the child of the current Empress and had just reached adulthood at nineteen.
“It is only because he is still young.”
Lesvan slowly drew the sword resting at his waist.
With the chilling sound of the razor-sharp blade grating against the scabbard, every gaze shifted toward the Crown Prince.
“At first, my only thought was to avenge my siblings.”
A low voice drifted out.
At the tip of the Crown Prince’s blade, vibrant Sword Aura glowed in azure light.
“Yet at some point, I came to realize. I was born from the very beginning to be a taker.”
With a single fluid sweep of his blade, a faint fissure ripped through the air.
In an instant, a wooden training dummy dozens of meters away shattered into pieces and rained down.
The training soldiers froze, staring blankly at the Crown Prince.
Was that truly within the realm of human capability, or had he made a pact with a demon, just as the rumors claimed?
Even without the wind blowing, the scent of blood lingered around the Crown Prince.
“……I will reclaim every inch of Turesian’s territory. And……”
The golden eyes swept with an elegant, chilling gleam.
“I will burn to ash every kingdom and territory that dared turn their blades against Turesian twenty years ago. I will reduce those who collaborated with them to cinders, and the empire will swallow the fruits left behind by those traitors.”
“…….”
“I wish to give you the chance to share in the glory of the war’s end as well, Duke. The nobles of Torres are all cowards who tremble at the mere sight of a sword.”
Kalian masked his appalled expression.
“We of Klaus will support Your Highness the Crown Prince with all our heart and might.”
“Music to my ears.”
Lesvan slowly sheathed his sword.
Every single word and action of Lesvan held a hidden edge.
Moreover, he was sharper in strategy, more calculating, and possessed more imperial caliber than anyone else.
‘It is an antiquated threat implying that if I dare obstruct him, he will personally draft me into the war.’
That was precisely why he never summoned Kalian to the imperial palace and always visited the ducal estate in person.
It carried the implicit message that the soldiers within the empire belonged to the Emperor, and that the military might of the Klaus Duchy was likewise the Emperor’s to command.
“Then, I shall have the servants prepare tea.”
As Kalian, with an uneasy look in his eyes, was about to call for a servant, Lesvan’s voice rang out once more.
“The tea……”
Lesvan parted his lips slightly.
His sun-like eyes rippled subtly, though no one caught that slight tremor, like a tiny pebble tossed across the water’s surface.
“Have it prepared near the lake. The scenery was quite fine.”
**
An ordinary person would have noticed long before he drew near.
Yet Lesvan was a grandmaster among masters who habitually suppressed his presence.
Having failed to sense him and ended up running straight into him, Eshika brushed her chest in relief.
Then, knitting her brows, she fumed inwardly.
‘Why does a crown prince abandon his state affairs to loiter around the ducal estate day in and day out?’
It had not actually been every day—it was his first visit in nearly five days—but for her, having run into him, it was infuriating all the same.
Since she had shown her face in maid’s attire and deceived him by claiming to be a maid, she could no longer cross paths with him as the Duchess of Klaus.
She had intended to uproot the Klaus family entirely anyway, but it felt as though an obstacle had been thrown in the way of her freedom of movement.
Regardless, what was done was done, so letting out a small sigh, she stepped into the ducal kitchen.
“This cannot be called an elixir.”
“An el…… an elixir?”
Though she had instructed Sella to bribe the head chef and have him brew an elixir according to the recipe, what he had produced was nothing more than an unpalatable sauce.
In the end, she would have to teach him the preparation method herself.
“Who is the filthy rat that dares sneak into my kitchen……?!”
As she entered the kitchen storage room, a rough, thick voice barked from behind.
Turning around, she saw the short, portly, and bald head chef, Hemos, holding a massive butcher knife and glaring at Eshika with wary eyes.
“Whew……”
With a small sigh, Eshika loosened her hands.
At the cracking sound of her knuckles, Hemos’s brow twitched.
Head Chef Hemos. The man who deliberately served days-old, stale food for Eshika’s meals just to prove his loyalty to the Grand Duchess.
Though he once held his head high on the coattails of the Grand Duchess’s influence, his standing had soured after Yuri began offering jewels, pulling the Grand Duchess’s favor away from him.
He was in a state of mutual check with Yuri, who had become the Head Maid, and was the textbook definition of a craven scoundrel—servile to the strong and cruel to the weak.
And textbook meant he was simple to deal with.
Soon, a wicked gleam surfaced in Eshika’s blue eyes.
