The Fake Madam Disappeared

“Well then, Count. You can speak to me…”

The door closed as Vent finished his words. Damian headed straight back to his room. He opened his drawer and took out a drawing.

“... Perfect.”

Daphne’s portrait perfectly fit into the locket he had been staring at. Demian stared at it for a long time before putting the locket in his pocket.

Just as he turned around, he noticed the fountain pen rolling across his desk. Damian’s eyes widened at the sight of the pen. It had the familiar pattern engraved on it.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Dawn had broken, casting shadows over the room. Edmund sat in his study.

Creak, creak.

The only sound was the window rattling in the fierce wind. It was silent, but far from peaceful. Edmund set down the documents he’d been reading mechanically and closed his eyes.

“A dog follows its master. If the master looks down on someone, so does the dog.”

Master and dog. The meaning was clear. Edmund pondered over those words again and again.

Knock, knock.

“Everything has been prepared, Your Excellency.”

At his subordinate’s words, Edmund moved to the prepared location, where he had a clear view of Daphne’s room. All that was left now was to wait.

— — —

Another day. After guarding this place until dawn, Nick stood up from his seat.

“It seems like it will be tonight.”

No one from Marquis Bled came. Not a single person, nor an ant, had shown up.

“Is there a possibility… that Marquis Bled has caught on?”

“No.” Nick answered firmly.

The reason Nick had been able to rise to power so quickly was his swift actions and thoroughness, leaving no trace behind. Even if a mission failed, no crumb was ever left.

But this thoroughness had also become a double-edged sword. If no trace was found, suspicion inevitably fell on Nick.

“I’ll prepare again tonight.”

“Do so.”

“I’m curious about something.”

Nick stopped Edmund as he turned to his study.

“Duke, why are you looking for the Duchess?”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Young Lord, did something happen yesterday?”

Damian snapped back to his senses.

Wearing a thick coat, Sophia looked at him with worry in her eyes.

“Ah, it’s nothing, Godmother. I just had some things in my mind…”

When Damian returned to his usual self, Sophia looked relieved and turned her gaze.

“This greenhouse has always been beautiful.”

She glanced around the greenhouse, admiring the well-tended plants by Summer. As Sophia’s attention shifted elsewhere, the perfect smile that had been on Damian’s face vanished.

He stood a few steps behind her, deep in thought.

“This is…”

When he noticed the familiar pattern drawn on the fountain pen he often used, he immediately took out the sword he put under his bed.

“How can this be?”

Although rare, it was possible that it was made by the same person but he received it from different people. Strange enough, it didn’t occur to him at all. That it was sent by one person.

“... Mother.”

Daphne. The fountain pen and the sword.

Damian immediately searched his desk and gathered all the items bearing the same pattern. There were a total of fifteen. He didn’t even bother to tidy up his desk and sat there, staring at the pile of items.

‘Why on earth?’

He thought about it all night but couldn’t find an answer. It felt like he was lost in a maze with no way out. For a fleeting moment, he thought that he finally found a lead but quickly shook his head.

‘This is nothing but hypocrisy.’

She had ignored them all this time, and the only reason for sending these objects now was to ease her own guilt. Daphne had been a hypocrite until the end.

“Is it worth taking the successor class?”

Sophia turned around, having finished looking at the flowers.

“Yes.”

“His Excellency had finished his successor studies at your age.”

“I will work harder, Godmother.”

Damian had grown up hearing that he was a rare genius. That he was naturally gifted.

But Damian knew very well that he could never escape Edmund’s shadow. His father was always a step ahead, a man whose talents defied explanation.

“You must work even harder – for me and for the family.”

“I won’t disappoint you, Godmother.”

Sophia smiled in satisfaction at his answer, gripping his hands tightly. Her grip was so strong that his hands turned pale.

“You must keep that promise.”

“Yes.”

Though her hands were warm, Damian felt a shiver run down his spine as if icy water had been poured over him.

“Oh, look at the time. I have so many appointments here in the north, I hardly have any time to spend with you.”

“Please, don’t worry about me.”

Sophia left the greenhouse, and Damian unbuttoned the collar that had been tight around his neck. It was just one button, but it felt like he could finally breathe again. His back was soaked with cold sweat.

“Phew...”

He slumped onto the bench. Though his schedule was tight, he just wanted to rest for a moment.

“Young Master?”

At that moment, Summer appeared, her garb similar to a gardener's.

“Summer? What brings you here….”

Today was not a day for Summer to be working in the garden. Damian had deliberately chosen this day to bring Sophia to the greenhouse, narrowly avoiding a chance encounter.

“I had some work left to do, so I dropped by.”

Summer approached him. “I heard your Godmother is here.” She asked quietly, “Is she still the same?”

Damian knew exactly what Summer was referring to and was silent for a moment.

“…She has a deep affection for our family.”

“Even so, I can’t forgive her. I can’t forget how she hit you, a mere ten-year-old….”

“Summer!”

Damian hurriedly interrupted Summer, looking around anxiously. Fortunately, there was no one in sight.

Seeing Damian’s pale face, Summer clamped her mouth shut.

“Didn’t we promise not to talk about that day again?”

“I’m sorry.”

It was Summer’s mistake. Damian calmed his agitation and stood up.

“We made that promise that day, didn’t we?"

“…Yes, we did.”

“I have another appointment. Take care.”

Damian turned to leave but paused, and turned back.

“That.”

He pointed to the flower Summer was holding. It wasn’t one of the lush blooms from the greenhouse, but a common wild flower seen by the training ground. It was the same wildflower he had seen near the training ground.

“Oh, this is from the training ground.”

“Why did you bring it here?”

“There was a maid who used to care for this wildflower, but she hasn’t been around for about a month, so I decided to take care of it in the meantime.”

“…A maid? What was her name?”

“I’m not sure. We didn’t talk much.”

“Do you remember her eye color or hair color?”

“Her hair was brown, and her eyes….” Summer pondered for a moment, her expression gradually hardening. She scratched her head.

“I can’t seem to recall. I must be getting old.”

Suddenly, Damian recalled hearing that Daphne loved looking at flowers. As the thought continued, he dismissed it and thought that it was ridiculous. It made no sense that a Lady raised in luxury would tend to such a common wildflower.

“Is something the matter, Young Master?”

“…No, it’s nothing.”

Damian shook his head.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“I have something to tell you.”

Someone was standing in front of Edmund.

“We need to talk now.”

The woman hastily grabbed Edmund, who was about to turn away, but soon her grip loosened. Seeing this, Edmund quickly reached out to hold her hand, but she spoke first.

“Have you ever thought of me as your wife?”

He wanted to stay a bit longer and look at the woman, but Edmund’s body moved on its own and not according to his will. When he finally turned his head, the woman had disappeared, leaving behind a robe. A robe stained in dried blood.

“And this… is presumed to be the Madam’s.”

“... The search party reported that there were already human bones inside the wolf den, and the blood on the robe was indeed of a human’s. Furthermore, this robe was at least from a week ago…”

A cloth was laid over the robe. Edmund raised his head to see where the cloth had landed. There, a painting was hanging. A painting so torn that the face was completely unrecognizable.

“If I disappear, will you think of me then?”

With the voice echoing in his mind, Edmund opened his eyes in a dark room.

His office was filled with the heavy scent of cigarette smoke. He fumbled through his inner pocket, only to find an empty cigarette tin on the table, and weakly let his hand fall.

A faint light seeped through the curtains.

‘Is it still daytime?’

He both wished for the night to come quickly and for it to never come at all, the conflicting feelings still at war within him.

Edmund realized that the racing of his heart, the curling of his hands and feet, and the dryness in his mouth were signs of anxiety.

What am I anxious about?

Edmund muttered a question that would receive no answer.

What was I dreaming about?

Edmund tried to recall bits and pieces of the dream, but the memory had already faded, likely dulled by the lingering smoke. He picked up the whiskey bottle and tilted it over his glass, but only a few drops trickled out before it stopped. He belatedly realized that he had finished the bottle before falling asleep.

He immediately stood up and pulled the bell rope.

“You called, Your Excellency?”

As soon as the person who entered opened the door, they staggered from the thick smoke that filled the room.

“… Benjamin?”

It was Benjamin.

“When did you come back?”

“Just a few hours ago.”

After attending the celebration for Damian’s coming-of-age in the capital, Benjamin had returned North. He spent about a month with his family before coming back.

As he grew accustomed to the smoke, Benjamin took a few steps forward. Fortunately, he had developed a tolerance from the years he had spent by Edmund’s side; without it, he might have fainted on the spot.

“It seems to be stronger now.”

‘It was already strong five years ago, but seems worse now.’