49.

She dipped the quill deep into the ink and set it upon the parchment. She began writing in the crooked slang of the Eastern pirates.

‘First. Spotted by River. Doesn’t seem intent on betraying. Keep close watch. Prepare access to hidden assets at the sea bank, ready to vanish at any moment.’

She quickly dipped the dry, creaking quill into ink once more.

‘Second. Think of ways to locate Nick. Find means to contact the Maritime League. Who would be suitable? Benjo? Harriet? Attempt contact, even by letter.’

‘Third. Investigate the curse Calypso mentioned. One curse at a time? Are there other witches besides her?’

‘Fourth. Prince, Calypso, Nick—connection? How exactly?’

She had been scribbling down thoughts haphazardly, but when she came to her senses, she realized she had repeatedly drawn thick circles around the words ‘How exactly?’—just as messy as her scattered mind. Rosetta gave up on further organization and set the quill aside.

At the same time, she immediately tossed into the trash her earlier plan of writing letters to Harriet, the first mate of Toulon, or Benjo, the cook at her favorite tavern. It had only just dawned on her that not a single one of those ruffians had ever properly learned to read or write.

She rubbed her temples as a faint headache began to rise. Whatever the solution, it could wait for now. After marrying Montrosa, returning east was already certain.

But tightening the noose around Nick’s neck would have to be handled with extreme caution. Few were as simultaneously favored and distrusted by pirates as nobles, and Nick was a man whose suspicion rivaled that of a rabid wild boar.

One misstep, and he would easily slip from her net—unless she directly invoked Montrosa’s name. She intended to exact death from any traitor, but she had no intention whatsoever of relying on Cardier or Montrosa’s power to carry out that punishment.

Revenge was a deeply personal grudge, an insatiable desire. Having resolved to wear Lea’s shell, she could not turn her back on her past life. She willingly accepted the fate of a gravedigger, standing guard before the sunken tomb of the ‘Red Dawn’ in the salt sea.

Yet there was absolutely no reason for anyone else to risk themselves for this revenge.

“You’re up early.”

She startled and abruptly lifted her head at Cardier’s sudden voice. Rosetta reflexively crumpled the parchment she had been writing on. The only composure she could manage was not stuffing it into her mouth and swallowing it whole.

“I—just got startled. Make some noise when you walk, would you?”

Rosetta quickly tossed the crumpled parchment into the fireplace, where embers still glowed. Cardier’s gaze followed it like a dog’s, then returned to her.

“I did knock. If I startled you, I’m sorry.”

“…You don’t need to apologize that much.”

Knocking before entering the bridal chamber? Realizing how absurd that was, Rosetta felt awkward. Meanwhile, Cardier stood holding a tray balanced on one arm, somehow having already returned from the kitchen.

“What’s that?”

“Breakfast. You should eat something before we leave.”

“Leave? So soon?”

“Yes. We finished preparing at dawn.”

Cardier cleared a small corner of the table, which she had left in disarray, and skillfully placed the tray on the newly found space. On it lay plump grapes, freshly baked white bread, a rich stew packed with meat, and several kinds of cheese—each item tailored precisely to Rosetta’s modest tastes.

Rosetta could have bet her fingernails that Cardier had prepared this himself. During her stay at Valdemore Manor, she had never once tasted such greasy, simple food. Suddenly, an unbearable hunger surged within her.

Cardier gently stopped Rosetta’s hand as she reached for the bread. He then placed a piece of cheese onto a bite-sized slice of bread and brought it to her lips.

“Here.”

“…What?”

Rosetta looked him up and down, bewildered by his behavior. Cardier wore the expression of someone doing something perfectly natural.

“I saw ink on your hands.”

“What does that have to do with… this?”

“They say it’s bad for your health.”

“…Who says?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

He brought the cheese-topped bread closer to her mouth, as if urging her. Rosetta glanced at her hands. They were indeed stained and messy with ink, but she’d eaten with mud-covered hands before—this didn’t seem like enough to harm her health. Torn between pride and hunger, she finally opened her mouth.

“…It’s delicious.”

The bread melted softly in her mouth, so delicious it nearly brought tears. It was clearly made with generous amounts of butter. She pulled the stew bowl close to her face, blew on it repeatedly, and devoured it hungrily. Each chew burst with savory meat juice. Whenever she glanced at the bread, Cardier would tear off another bite-sized piece and place it into her bowl.

“Tell me if you need more.”

Having eaten so little for so long, just one bowl of stew left her completely full. Rosetta shook her head, though she cast a wistful glance at the bunch of grapes.

“I can’t fit another bite.”

“Then I’ll call the maids to help you dress.”

Rosetta, watching him tidy the dishes with drowsy eyes, snapped back to reality at those words.

“We’re leaving right now?”

“Yes. Your mother-in-law is waiting downstairs.”

Mother-in-law. Her stomach, which had been fine moments ago, now felt scorched. As she stiffened with discomfort, Cardier, having finished clearing the dishes, stepped closer to the chair where she sat. He looked down at Rosetta with a subtle expression and spoke.

“Before that.”

He opened his mouth, as if unsure how to continue.

“There might be talk if the maids find no trace when they change your clothes.”

“Oh. Right.”

Rosetta fully understood what he intended. Without hesitation, she casually shrugged one shoulder bare. For a moment, Cardier looked utterly speechless. He roughly dragged his dry hand across his face.

“If you try anything else, you’ll die.”

Rosetta warned coolly. The paper knife in her pocket had never felt more reassuring. Cardier scoffed through his nose, as if the thought had never even occurred to him.

“How dare you.”

His tone was perfectly polite, yet his eyes remained cold and dry. Beneath those aristocratic eyelids, however, smoldered a spark of raw desire. He placed a hand on the desk where her arm rested; a vein bulged sharply across the back of his hand. As he lowered his head, his back arched like a taut bowstring. At a distance where their noses nearly touched, he whispered:

“You may not like this either, but bear it.”

Not like it… At that word, instinctively denying it, she tilted her head back—just as his lips gracefully bit into the nape of her neck. His breath scattered ticklishly across her sensitive skin. Rosetta gripped the armrest of the chair tightly.

“Uhh…”

Contrary to her belief that this was merely a duty and she would feel nothing, everything felt overwhelmingly vivid. The sharp, greasy, damp sensations… A strange thrill ran down her spine, and Rosetta clenched her toes, eyes tightly shut. Damn it. This was maddening. She’d rather take lifetime vows at a convent. Eventually, he lifted his head.

“…Done?”

Her voice had cracked, hoarse as a frog’s in mere moments. Rosetta widened her eyes in shock. And the next instant, she stared even more dumbfounded at the paper knife now in Cardier’s hand. He smiled brightly.

“I’ll keep the dangerous things.”

“…”

Damn… So this was seduction? And she hadn’t even noticed when he slipped his hand into her pocket, gripping the chair so hard it might break. This was truly the Red Dawn’s shame.

“Then get ready.”

Cardier chuckled mischievously and straightened her frozen collar. As he opened the door, maids poured in as if waiting. Each one’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

* * *

“Oh, my dear child.”

The Duchess dabbed her elegant eyes with a handkerchief and sniffled.

“To think that my little one would grow so fast, even getting married… I can hardly believe it.”

For a woman who believed that suppressing emotion was the mark of nobility, this moment must have been so touching it made her forget even her life’s principles—a historic scene indeed. Yet with the carriage already delayed for two full hours because of these melodramatic tears, there was no emotion left to feel.

“Oh dear, look at me.”

As if suddenly snapping out of the two-hour-long soap opera she had been performing, the Duchess hastily wiped away her tears.