RAMHM Chapter 81

I Want to Know More About You

Her heart pounded rapidly.

"I—I was blonde?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

Without realizing it, she withdrew her hand from where it had been leaning on Yona. The bathroom was full of warm steam, but a chill ran through her entire body. Yona looked down at her now-empty hand, then raised her head with a puzzled expression.

"...My lady?"

Right. When she'd first entered Bliea's body, she'd marveled at how even the eyelash color could match so perfectly. Thinking back on it now—of course the eyelashes were golden if the hair was blonde. Nothing mysterious about it at all.

"Yona, what... what do you know? What else did I tell you?"

"About your hair?"

Yona's brow furrowed faintly as she watched her mistress behave strangely. Not displeasure at the question—the expression of someone reaching for distant memories.

"Every two weeks, even without being told, I was to mix the medicine you gave me with charcoal powder and apply it to your hair... You said if I didn't, the roots would turn golden on the first day, and on the second day, the color would change like magic as soon as it got wet..."

Why had Bliea trusted Yona this much?

"...Yona, why do you follow me so loyally?"

At the sudden question, Yona blinked her large eyes, then blushed faintly.

"Because Lady Bliea is my benefactor."

Ah. A puzzle piece she hadn't even known existed—suddenly fitting into place.

"You took me in personally when I had nowhere to go in Ellaconia, and allowed me to live well like this. Why are you suddenly asking such embarrassing questions? So out of the blue..."

"...Even when I was a sorceress?"

"My lady!"

Yona's eyes widened as she glanced at the firmly closed bathroom door, then lowered her voice.

"You told me never to speak of that!"

She couldn't control the goosebumps rising all over her body and rubbed her arms. Yona, thinking her mistress had left the bath and felt cold, quickly ushered her back into the tub.

"Why bring that up so suddenly... It's been difficult for you all this time, hasn't it? How suffocating it must have been for Lady Bliea, who lived so freely, to be confined to this estate. If you need anything at all, please tell me. Yona will go to the ends of this world to carry out whatever you command."

The young, sweet voice brimmed with loyalty. She gently touched Yona's plump cheek, still marked with a red handprint. Yona lowered her eyes shyly, then grasped her hand tightly and rubbed it against her own cheek.

"Don't worry about it. This life would have been lost anyway if not for Lady Bliea. Getting slapped once on the cheek is nothing at all."

A maid who threw her own body forward to take a blow in her stead. Why had she thought such blind loyalty from a young maid was natural? Like Marge and the other servants, she'd assumed Yona was simply one of the Count's household staff—never once considering she might be a maid Bliea had brought in herself.

Thinking back, even when everyone else feared Bliea, Yona alone had always stayed by her side, chattering away. She'd not only followed her everywhere but carried out every order without complaint. That loyalty wasn't the naive admiration of a simple young maid—it was genuine devotion born in Ellaconia.

To think she'd kept someone who knew Bliea so well this close without realizing it.

"Yona, does anyone else know my hair was originally blonde?"

"Only me, Lady Bliea. Yona will never, ever tell anyone your secret. I promise. How could I possibly mention something you haven't even told His Grace the Grand Duke?"

She wanted to retrieve Bliea's diary that she'd left with Rhodness.

"...Yes. Then dye it again. Before Marge comes."

"Yes!"

Yona quickly smeared the medicine through her hair. She shifted her gaze to the mirror, watching as the blonde gradually turned black. Bliea's face in the mirror was flushed red.

'Who are you?'

No matter how intently she stared at the distant mirror, the face that still refused to answer—she kept asking these useless questions.

'Why did you hide your hair color, even from Novian, your co-conspirator?'

Marge entered, saying, "Yona, you're so devoted. You don't need to go that far—my lady's hair always shines beautifully," and Yona replied with an embarrassed laugh that she did it because she wanted to, their voices passing by her ears in succession.

'Bliea, I want to know more about you.'

She closed her eyes against the sudden crushing wave of fatigue.

The Grand Ducal Estate, emptied of so many servants, was silent. She no longer felt anything being alone in this estate full of nothing but scars.

Walking through every corner of the mansion recalling old events—the fact that anger and sorrow no longer rose in her as they once had proved it. She walked the dimly lit corridor, returning to her bedroom as she replayed her conversation with Yona.

According to Yona, Bliea had been a sorceress active in Ellaconia. Not someone who actually practiced sorcery, but someone who'd picked up skills by watching wandering sorcerers over their shoulders, then crossed into the Empire and became Countess Acacia.

Yona had been an orphan drifting along the border between Ellaconia and the Empire—she'd wandered the mountains with other children like wild dogs, and when winter came and food ran out and they were starving, she'd met Bliea and survived.

Most of the orphans, being from Ellaconia, had taken money and chosen to stay there, but Yona, being from the Empire, had followed Bliea to serve her at the Count's estate. So the story about drifting as a sorceress was something Yona had heard from Bliea herself—she hadn't witnessed it directly.

There was nothing more to learn from Yona, but discovering even this much about the veiled Bliea was a significant achievement.

A significant achievement, certainly.

And yet.

Her chest ached strangely.

The trauma of being hurt by Annie's group when she first came to the capital had been healing naturally at the Count's estate. No longer physically suffering, she had nothing to fear, and as Grand Duchess she'd treated Yona and Marge as kindly as she'd wanted to treat her own maids.

Realizing that Yona's loyalty was directed not at her own changed behavior, but at the original Bliea—the sadness came flooding in.

Bliea had received her due punishment by losing her own body. Novian had received his by watching his lifetime of built reputation crumble. So why did she feel this way? Was it because she could gain nothing through herself alone? Was it this faded resentment that she could only achieve what she wanted by entering Bliea's body?

She stopped that foolish train of thought—thanks to Rhodness's face rising in her mind once more.

"Ah..."

She was crying. When she wiped the tears falling on her cheeks, her face naturally contorted. She realized the reason for this sadness.

Everything was obtained by borrowing Bliea's body, but—there was one thing. One enormous emotion that Adrienne, dying or dead, had never known.

Rhodness's heart, unchanging in life or death. The man who'd been wounded so many times by her absurd mistakes, yet only wished she wouldn't run away. She suddenly sank down. A massive wave of grief crashed over her.

The thought that even this one person who raised her up as Adrienne again, who loved her as Adrienne—even he might grow distant because of the truth she'd learned. Sorrow and terror mixed together simultaneously.

From the moment Novian mentioned the Crown Prince's name, her anger had lost its direction. If the Crown Prince was connected to her death, it would be for his "greater cause," not because of any personal feelings toward her. That was what left her hollow.

At the same time, because of that, she could more coldly calculate how to extract the truth from the Crown Prince. Unlike thinking of Novian, she didn't have to despair every moment—at least she could hold someone accountable for her death.

But if the one watching that was Rhodness. If it was his brother, his only full sibling whom he'd protected and loved all his life. The fantasy that after "everything" ended, she could reclaim lost time with Rhodness and be happy—it grew hazy.

The gods were clearly not on her side. If they were, she wouldn't be tormented wondering if the one she punished might not be the real culprit after all. She shook her head vigorously.

'Just focus on what's right in front of you.'

The water was already spilled. Whether Rhodness knew that fact or not—she didn't know. A strange selfishness raised its head. She was used to Novian's lies by now—couldn't his words simply not be true? Wasn't there more than one or two suspicious aspects about her death? He could be lying about killing her himself, and there was no guarantee that Duke Castagna and Doris weren't involved.

'So I need to investigate further.'

After prolonged anguish, she wiped her wet face and steadied herself. Before Rhodness noticed her suspicions about Bardenaldo, she'd investigate and judge for herself first. Her muddled mind cleared.

"...What are you doing here, my lady?"

And it wasn't just her mind that cleared—her dim vision did as well. Butler Gaspar, carrying a candlestick from the end of the corridor, stopped before her. His eyes held a mixture of confusion and slight gladness.

Gaspar had lost count of how many letters he'd sent to the Crown Prince's palace. How many times he'd asked how he should conduct himself now, yet again today no reply came from the Crown Prince.

The Crown Prince and his people had said they'd take care of finishing the Grand Duchess's funeral arrangements, then followed the Grand Duke's procession.

There'd been no explanation for Gaspar. Feeling as if he'd suddenly lost both masters, Gaspar grew anxious. He too had noble blood mixed in—on his grandmother's side. He'd moved from noble household to noble household since childhood, rising to the Grand Duke's butler at a young age, but opportunities were hard to grasp.

The starting line was simply different from those who'd been complete nobles from birth. He'd harbored ambitions of grasping the Crown Prince's coattails to receive a provincial estate as a new nobleman and advance to the capital. Of course there'd be limits in his own generation, but he'd hoped his descendants would attend the Academy from childhood, obtain higher offices, and build achievements.

But one person who could help him on that path had suddenly received punishment tantamount to exile, and the other couldn't be reached—how could he just sit still!

Wandering the estate with a troubled mind, he discovered a woman sitting collapsed in the second-floor corridor. Gaspar's eyes sparkled quickly.

Yes—though she was a woman of low quality with scandals involving multiple men, she wasn't the only one whose thread had been cut. With the Grand Duke in that state, the position of future Grand Duchess was now essentially nonexistent.

Wasn't the spot beside a young widow in need of a new husband perfect for him? Moreover, Bliea Acacia still had authority over the Count Acacia estate and was also an attendant to the Crown Princess. A windfall—this was exactly what that meant.

"...What are you doing here, my lady."

She'd be skilled at seducing men, so surely the woman, understanding her situation, had been waiting here for him. The woman's disheveled face was slightly wet, as if she'd just been crying. He felt this was his moment to step forward. This was the opportunity. The chance to make that woman his and grasp another thread!

Relying on the Crown Prince alone—he needed insurance too. Gaspar extended his hand without hesitation. The woman had no choice but to take his hand. No noble man would accept a widow of unknown origins about to have her engagement broken. Perhaps he was her best option too.

Hiding his twitching lips, Gaspar kept his hand extended until she grasped it, but an uneasy feeling crept in when the woman simply stared at his hand without any reaction.

"I knew there'd come a day when you and I would have a deep conversation."

The woman's slightly hoarse voice sounded like a pleasant song. Gaspar felt all the blood in his body rushing and swallowed hard. But the woman's next words differed from his expectations.

"I know your sin."

He held the candlestick, yet it was the woman's eyes that shone brightly. Those flickering eyes held neither the excitement of attraction to a desirable person nor the low desire of someone seeking to raise their status through opportunity.

"...Shall we talk about your little tricks, you and I?"

The eyes of the woman who spoke of discussing his "sin" and the tricks he possessed—they were the eyes of a ruler commanding submission.