Chapter 187
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 187
“Lady Rohanson! The Count says he will be here shortly.”
Just in time, the maid I had sent away returned, looking excited. She seemed thrilled to have returned with results, sparing herself my scolding. When I gave her a small nod and thanked her for her trouble, her face visibly lit up.
Not long after the maid’s announcement, the door opened. Count Rohanson had finally arrived.
“Evangeline.”
The Count spotted me as he strode into the room, his eyes scanning the space.
He looked far more haggard and gaunt than the last time I’d seen him, which gave his expression a fierce quality. Even so, his face remained remarkably handsome. I suppose that was how he managed to seduce Amaranth despite his terrible personality.
But what immediately caught my attention was the maid following behind him.
Bishop Marik…
The maid, using the alias ‘Saraka,’ was the very same one I had briefly encountered at the Crown Prince’s Birthday Banquet. I never would have dreamed that the maid I saw back then would turn out to be Bishop Marik.
Now I understood why Jeremia had been so utterly confused when she revealed Saraka’s true identity. I hadn’t been able to guess it when her face was covered by a veil, showing only her jawline. With the veil removed, her face looked remarkably youthful—nowhere near Bishop Marik’s actual age.
A sudden surge of anger welled up inside me. This was the person who had harmed Gabriel and Jelly. I felt like I was going to burst with resentment. I wanted to grab Bishop Marik by the collar right then and there, but I forced the urge down.
“I would like to speak with Father alone.”
It was a clear dismissal. There was no way she didn’t understand the underlying meaning, yet Bishop Marik showed no intention of leaving. Instead, the Count cut me off.
“No need. I don’t intend to talk for long anyway.”
Did he know who she was? I stole a glance at the Count. Judging by his attitude, however, it was clear he had no idea. While he was being unusually polite to the maid, he still obviously looked down on her as a mere subordinate.
Bishop Marik bowed politely and stood behind the sofa where the Count sat. I deliberately averted my eyes, making an effort to focus only on him.
Nobles didn’t go out of their way to look at maids. If I paid too much attention to Bishop Marik, it would be like advertising that I knew her true identity.
I had to convince myself. I don’t know that Saraka is Bishop Marik. I don’t even know the name Saraka. Jeremia never sent me a letter. I must not let Bishop Marik know that I know the truth.
“Showing up out of the blue without a word just to bother your father.”
Fortunately, the Count chose that exact moment to spit out a line of trash perfectly suited to diverting my attention. Thanks to him, I could refocus.
“It seems you’ve forgotten your manners in the meantime.”
“Of course not. It has been a while, Father.”
The Count had needled me for remaining seated, implying I was being lazy. To refute him, I stood, gathered the skirts of my dress, and gave a light curtsy.
Only when I sat back down did the Count look satisfied. Even though I was the daughter he was planning to sell off to Bishop Marik, he still demanded a polite greeting. He was truly a man obsessed with appearances.
Come to think of it, the Count was a fascinating man. Even knowing I wasn’t an ordinary person, he never backed down and always tried to control me. Was he just fearless?
“I’m glad to see you unharmed. I was worried you might have been caught in the fire at the mansion, Father.”
I smiled brightly, deliberately baiting him. As I spoke so nonchalantly, the Count swallowed hard. Looking at him now, it didn’t seem like he was entirely devoid of fear.
He must have heard the rumors that I was the one who set fire to the mansion. It would be stranger if he didn’t know who the culprit was when his own house had burned down. The Count flinched slightly, rubbing his sweaty palms against his trousers.
“…You really have no filter when speaking to your father.”
“As your child, it would be stranger if I didn’t worry about you, wouldn’t it?”
When I emphasized the word “child,” the Count’s brow furrowed deeply. He looked just like the Duke used to when he found me unsettling. Anyone watching would think the Count, not Amaranth, was the Duke’s son.
As I suspected. Being directly involved, the Count seemed to know I wasn’t his biological daughter. It meant my previous worries about being illegitimate weren’t entirely unfounded.
“Why haven’t you returned to the estate instead of imposing on Viscount Hwikel? The people of the fief must be feeling neglected.”
“That is none of your concern. I have business in the capital. The Festival of Sacrifice is coming up, and I must attend.”
The Count pulled a letter from his breast pocket. It was the same invitation to the Festival of Sacrifice that the Duke had shown me.
“You came here because of this letter, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I’m currently staying at Duke Hosaquin’s estate, so I don’t quite understand why the letter was sent to you, Father. The Temple’s information network must be lagging.”
I sneered at the Temple, making sure Bishop Marik could hear me. However, it was the Count, not Bishop Marik, who took offense.
He clicked his tongue and tossed the letter onto the table. It slid across the surface and stopped right in front of me. I picked up the envelope, opened it, and pulled out the letter inside.
Invitation
As the merciful Sun Goddess has bestowed her grace and peace upon us,
we hold the Festival of Sacrifice to repay her blessings as follows.
Please grace us with your presence at this meaningful event
for our great revival and prosperity.
To: Evangeline Rohanson
Had Gabriel and I been wrong? The formal letter made no mention of me acting as a sacrifice. Furthermore, the content was no different from the Duke’s letter, which I had already read.
As I was folding the letter and putting it back into the envelope, I heard the sound of rhythmic breathing.
“Father?”
I snapped my head up and saw the Count with his eyes closed. His chest rose and fell in a small, steady rhythm. Judging by his breathing, he wasn’t dead.
He had fallen asleep in the short time it took me to read a brief letter. Did that make any sense? It was definitely not normal.
“He must have been very tired. The tea probably helped him relax,” Bishop Marik, who had been looking down at the Count with indifference, suddenly said to me.
Tired, my ass. Do I look like an idiot? Given her suspicious attitude, it was obvious she had used some kind of sleeping agent to put the Count to sleep. Since I was drinking the same tea, she must have made her move before we even entered the reception room.
The invitation was indeed bait. The fact that she had gone so far as to drug the Count left no room for doubt. Her reason was obvious: she wanted to speak to me alone.
It felt as though I had been completely fooled, which was incredibly annoying. I deliberately picked up my teacup and took a sip of the now-cold tea, making sure she saw me.
“It doesn’t seem to have any effect on me.”
If she was going to make an excuse, she should have prepared a plausible one. The tea served at the Viscount’s estate was black tea. It contained caffeine.
“Is that so? What a pity.”
Bishop Marik replied shamelessly. Her eyes curved slightly, and I realized she didn’t even know how to smile properly.
“When I saw you before, you didn’t speak. I thought you were mute.” I brought up our encounter when she was disguised as Saraka. Although ‘Saraka’s’ tone was much more innocent, knowing her true identity made it clear how similar they were. I could see why she had deliberately kept her mouth shut at the Imperial Castle.
“Do you remember me?”
“I remember meeting you at His Highness the Crown Prince’s Birthday Banquet. Yours is not an easy face to forget.”
At my reply, Bishop Marik touched her own face.
“Ah… I sometimes forget that my face looks like this.”
Knowing her identity, I could guess what she meant. Since she usually wore a veil pulled low, she rarely had to show her burn scars to others. She probably hadn’t expected her bare face to leave such an impression.
“Are you someone sent by Bishop Marik?”
“I’m glad you recognize me. Yes, Bishop Marik sent me.”
Bishop Marik bowed her head slightly. For someone called God’s favorite, the bishop was remarkably careless, speaking of herself in the third person without a hint of hesitation. Her acting was so superb she could have stepped onto a theater stage this very second.
Consequently, I felt like an actress who had stepped onto the stage of a farce to play opposite her. Both Bishop Marik and I had read the script, yet we were performing on stage, pretending to know nothing.
If so, Bishop Marik’s name would surely be written on the cover of that script. Flash. A spotlight turned on. Everything around us, except for Bishop Marik and me, was consumed by darkness. I delivered my lines nonchalantly.
Evangeline:(Staring intently at Saraka) Leaving the letter with Father must have been a ploy to get me to see you.
Saraka:(As if in admiration) How clever. Yes, that’s right. Bishop Marik said she had a message to deliver to Lady Rohanson through me. (Curving the corners of her mouth upward)
Evangeline: A message for me?
However, while Bishop Marik’s goal was to finish the play and bring down the curtain, my only desire was to smash the elaborate stage she had undoubtedly worked so hard to build.
“What favor could the favorite of God possibly want from me? Does she want to offer me the role of the sacrifice?”
I stepped down from the stage Bishop Marik had prepared and asked directly. The lack of any mention of the sacrifice in the letter was surely because she wanted to propose it in person.
Bishop Marik stood behind the Count, looking at me. Even with him asleep, she chose to speak from behind his chair instead of taking a seat, perfectly reflecting her nature as a mastermind who never stepped forward herself.
“You know it well. Yes, Bishop Marik said she would like to propose the role of the sacrifice to Lady Rohanson.”
Her face was expressionless, but her gaze was intense. In her eyes, interest and fervor clung together like tattered rags. It was a gaze full of desire, entirely unbefitting a pure priest.
“Bishop Marik is truly benevolent. To think she would entrust such an important role to someone she considers wicked.”
Of course, since I had my own goals, I would inevitably participate in the Festival of Sacrifice. However, I was reluctant to accept her words at face value. Accepting the proposal did not mean I would dance to her tune.
When I nitpicked her words, Bishop Marik looked at me with half-closed eyes and spoke.
Saraka:(Looking at me with pity, as if observing a pathetic creature) It is the Sun who is truly benevolent. For she has bestowed a mission even upon Lady Rohanson.
Her lines were rigid, as if recited from memory. Even the way she looked at me was disgusting. I knew all too well that Bishop Marik loathed heretics and didn’t even treat them as human. She regarded me as something wicked—no, a half-wit who couldn’t even be considered human.
Even I, whom she treated as a mortal enemy, was probably nothing more than a device for the play’s climax.
Using Bishop Marik as a negative example, I reflected on my past actions. Had I looked at Gabriel that way? How could he have stayed by my side after receiving such looks?
Bishop Marik appraised me as if evaluating meat hanging in a slaughterhouse, then smiled faintly. It was an awkward smile, like that of someone who had never smiled in her life. Pointing at my dress, she remarked:
“You have cat hair on you.”