Chapter 189
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 189
Saraka swallowed, her throat parched.
Evangeline glared at her, her sharp gaze searching for some deeper, hidden motive. But in truth, Saraka’s only reason for being there was to deliver the message requesting her attendance at the Festival of Sacrifice.
Now that her beloved beast had been dangled as bait, Evangeline Rohanson would undoubtedly show up.
Saraka desired nothing more from her. After all, the executioner was always far busier than the condemned. Preparing the stage was entirely her responsibility.
As if obtaining the invitation was her only goal, Evangeline rose from her seat, leaving the sleeping Count behind. Her gaze as she looked down at Count Rohanson was filled with utter contempt.
“My father…”
“The Count will find it much more comfortable to stay at Viscount Hwikel's estate,” Saraka replied politely.
Even to her own ears, her voice sounded strangely foreign. It was the voice she used when speaking and acting as Bishop Marik.
Contrary to Saraka’s hopes, Count Rohanson knew very little. He was, however, a useful pawn for establishing legitimacy, so she couldn't simply hand him over to Evangeline. Her deliberate mention of the Count’s “nonsense” was a subtle warning that Bishop Marik knew exactly how to use him.
Yet, Evangeline had readily accepted her terms. It seemed she valued a hideous beast far more than her own family.
Evangeline left the room without a single lingering thought for Count Rohanson. The moment she stepped out, servants waiting in the hall entered to clean up. Their eyes widened when they saw the sleeping Count.
“Why is Count Rohanson asleep?”
Saraka was under no obligation to answer. Seeing her silence, the servants did not press the matter. They tidied the drawing room and helped the slumbering Count Rohanson to his room.
No one dared to order Saraka around. She had been brought here by Musetta, accompanied by an Imperial Knight, and Viscount Hwikel had given advance instructions regarding her.
“He’s not waking up, even with all this commotion.”
“Do you think he fainted? Lady Rohanson must have knocked him out!”
“But the Count is her father!”
“Haven’t you heard the rumors? She set fire to her own house. Do you really think she’d spare her family?”
Even as his feet dragged along the floor between the two servants supporting him, the Count did not stir. Saraka, who cared nothing for his well-being, had administered a massive, unmeasured dose of sleeping pills. She watched the servants whisper their useless gossip, then averted her eyes.
Saraka walked to the window and parted the curtains slightly to peer outside. Evangeline’s carriage had not yet left. No, it was just about to depart.
The coachman cracked his whip loudly over the horses. With a sharp whinny, the animals strained into their first steps, and the carriage began to roll away with a rattle. It felt as though a handful of water was slipping through Saraka’s fingers, vanishing into nothing.
She stared intently until the carriage was completely out of sight, only letting the curtain fall after a long moment.
With no further business at Viscount Hwikel's estate, it was time for her to return to the temple.
*
I tucked away the invitation I’d received and left the room.
It bothered me to leave Count Rohanson with Saraka, but my hands were tied. If I made a move on the Count out of fear of what he might reveal, I might never see Jelly again.
Just wait until I get Jelly back. I would never forget this grudge. I sent a silent threat toward both the Count and Bishop Marik.
Viscount Hwikel's servants were lingering near the door. When I announced my departure, they looked visibly relieved.
“...Is the Count not returning with you?” one of them asked hesitantly.
Looking closely, I saw it was the same servant who had so eagerly guided me upon my arrival, endlessly singing Viscount Hwikel's praises. He must have assumed I would take the Count—his guest—back with me. I was sorry, but that wasn’t my decision to make.
“I can’t very well drag away someone who is fast asleep.”
“Asleep?”
“Yes. He seemed very tired.”
The servant tilted his head, a bizarre expression on his face. It must have seemed strange that the Count had suddenly fallen asleep. Unable to believe my words, he cautiously called out from the doorway.
“Count Rohanson?”
There was no way he would get an answer, even if he knocked. I repeated that the Count was asleep and that he could just go in, then turned on my heel. The maid I had intentionally thrown a tantrum at earlier stepped forward to escort me out.
After guiding me to the mansion's entrance, she fled back inside without a second glance. She seemed terrified that I might abuse my power again.
I had no intention of doing so, but it still made me feel like the worst villain in the world.
My carriage was waiting in front of the estate. The coachman wasn't in his seat; instead, he was pacing anxiously nearby. His face lit up with relief when he spotted me.
“Lady Rohanson!”
“Did something happen?”
“Well, you see… some man suddenly climbed into the carriage! He won’t come out, no matter what I say.”
Emboldened by my arrival, the coachman kicked the carriage door and yelled for the intruder to get out. In response, the door swung wide open.
“Eek…!”
Caught completely off guard, the coachman shrieked and fell backward onto his rear. I wondered who it could be, but the figure leaping from the carriage was none other than Pudding.
He rushed straight toward me.
“You waited in the carriage just like you promised. Good boy.”
I stroked his hair, praising him thoroughly as the blond strands fluttered softly through my fingers. Pudding hugged me tightly, burying his face in the crook of my neck.
As I held and comforted him, the coachman watched us warily. His eyes darted back and forth, clearly imagining all sorts of scandalous things about our relationship.
“Um, My Lady, who is that…?”
“He's my guard, so don't worry.”
“Your guard? I’ve never seen his face before…”
The coachman looked skeptical, but there was nothing else I could say. I couldn't exactly introduce a person as my pet.
“Should we… head straight back to Duke Hosaquin's estate?”
“No.”
“Then where to…?”
When the coachman cautiously asked for our destination, I gave him the address of Misha's boutique, which I had gotten from Gabriel.
Leaving the bewildered coachman behind, I climbed into the carriage with Pudding.
Even after we sat down, Pudding refused to let go. It was my fault for kicking him out without listening to him earlier. He would have been much lighter if he had turned back into a cat, but he remained in his human form, leaning heavily against me as if clinging for dear life.
Since I was the one in the wrong, I couldn't bring myself to scold him. I could at least offer him a shoulder to lean on.
“I told you nothing would happen,” I said, reassuring him that I had returned safely.
Pudding had likely been watching over me, but he wouldn't have been able to overhear our conversation. I explained that Bishop Marik had proposed I play the role of the sacrifice, then continued.
“It seems Bishop Marik has realized that Azazel has changed.”
“Azazel?”
“Yes. She used Jelly as bait, but she didn't bring up Sir Gabriel at all, even though he’s clearly my biggest weakness. Despite having him in her custody, Bishop Marik didn’t say a single word about him.”
“Even if she didn’t know we rescued Sir Gabriel, she seemed aware that I’d been informed of his imprisonment.”
I wracked my brain, piecing it together. Let's assume Bishop Marik realized ‘Azazel’ was different from before. She would have wanted to test whether ‘Azazel’ was really a spy I had planted. What if that test was Sir Gabriel?
Tenebrae, acting on the Bishop's orders, guided ‘Azazel’ to the dungeon where Sir Gabriel was imprisoned. Jeremia, knowing full well how important Sir Gabriel was to me, immediately delivered the news. There was a high probability that Bishop Marik had been watching Jeremia's suspicious movements all along. She had likely set a trap and waited. Seeing Jeremia hastily send a letter, wouldn’t she have followed her?
Jeremia had confidently asserted that Tenebrae wouldn't tell Bishop Marik about their meeting in the dungeon, but it seemed Jeremia had been completely fooled by her sister once again.
“Then Jeremia is in danger.”
Having spent some time together, Pudding seemed worried about her. Fortunately, we could still send word through Rico.
According to Rico, Jeremia and Tenebrae had visited the dungeon a few more times. Tenebrae would come and silently watch Rico suffer before leaving, but she always came with Jeremia. We could pass the message along the next time she visited.
When I asked for the rat, saying I had a message for Rico, Pudding pulled it out of his pocket. He held it by the very tip of its tail as if it were something filthy, leaving the rat dangling in the air.
“Lady Evangeline has something to say to you, so listen carefully.”
I told Rico that I had spoken with Bishop Marik and asked him to warn Jeremia to be careful the next time he saw her. As soon as the rat nodded, promising to do so, Pudding roughly stuffed it back into his pocket.
“See? I was right to bring it along, wasn't I?”
“Indeed.”
Lately, Rico the rat had been constantly by Mavka’s side. Fascinated by the fact that she could talk to her mother through him, Mavka practically lived with the rat glued to her. Hazel shrieked in terror every time she saw it, and the other servants were at a loss, but Mavka’s stubbornness was not easily broken.
I hadn't intended to take the rat from Mavka before the Festival of Sacrifice, but just before we left today, Pudding had snatched it from her. When I asked why, he replied, “How can you leave a demon's minion next to a child?” He had been worried about Mavka deep down. What a good cat.
Thanks to him, I was glad I could deliver the message so quickly.
“Make sure to return the rat to Mavka when we get back.”
As I was chatting quietly with Pudding, the coachman called out.
“Um, Lady Rohanson… We’ve arrived at the boutique you mentioned.”
“Oh, really?”
Escorted by Pudding, I stepped down from the carriage.
Misha’s boutique had a remarkably luxurious exterior. As the door chimed, an employee sitting in the lobby, engrossed in her sewing, spoke without looking up.
“Reservations for the Festival of Sacrifice dresses are completely full. We are no longer taking orders, so please leave.”
“I would like to see the owner.”
“Meeting the Madame won’t change anything.”
“Still, if Misha is in, could you call her for me?”
“Sigh… You should have placed your order sooner. Why come only now…”
The employee pinched the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses, looking as if she had just encountered a troublesome customer. Deciding to finally address me properly, she set her needle aside and turned to face me. The moment our eyes met, hers went wide. Without looking away, she shouted at the top of her lungs.
“Madame… Madame! Please come out here quickly!”
“Quiet! I'm busy right now!” a sharp voice echoed from the back.
“Even if you're busy, you must come out! This is not something I can handle!”
Fortunately, it seemed Misha was indeed here. Having only ever heard her gush over me with endless praise and adoration, hearing her snap so irritably felt strangely novel.
“Madame! Hurry!”
“I'm busy to death, why do you keep calling me? Did some strange customer show up? I told you we aren't taking any more orders for the Festival of Sacrifice dresses! Why call me when you can just kick them out!”
As the employee kept urging her on, Misha emerged into the lobby, grumbling.
“...Oh my goodness, My Lady?”
Then, spotting me, she gasped and covered her mouth in shock.
“I’m sorry for being a strange customer.”
“Don’t say such things! You are always welcome, My Lady!”
Her claim of being busy was clearly no lie; dark circles shadowed the skin beneath her eyes. Despite being interrupted in the midst of such exhausting work, Misha greeted me with immense delight.
“I'm so glad you’re safe, My Lady. I was so worried because I hadn't seen you since the Birthday Banquet.”
“With so many terrifying rumors flying around, you must have been quite shaken, Misha, given how sensitive you are to gossip.”
“My Lady!”
I spoke playfully, recalling how I had bluntly asked her if she made clothes out of human skin when we first met. Misha puffed out her cheeks and glared at me, but her eyes soon began to well with tears.
“I was really, really worried… First, you were suddenly thrown into prison for allegedly assassinating His Highness the Crown Prince, and just when I thought things were getting better, a fire broke out at the Rohanson mansion…”