“You… were you perhaps imprisoned somewhere in a tower?”

Celia stared blankly at Balt, who had somehow already taken the seat beside her.

Just what had he been eating? Balt was excessively large, forcing Celia all the way to the edge of the bench.

“Imprisoned? You could say it’s somewhat similar.”

“What? So you really were locked away this whole time? Well, otherwise, there’s no way you wouldn’t know me.”

Celia thought Balt was incredibly self-centered and talked far too much.

The information Celia possessed was extremely limited, so she needed to understand who the Third Marquis truly was.

Ileon was clearly someone to be wary of, but Balt was someone she had just met—she couldn’t yet tell what kind of person he was.

‘I knew he was a Swordmaster… but I didn’t expect him to be this huge.’

Balt’s physique was so intimidating that, had she seen him at night, she might have mistaken him for a bear rather than a man.

His sun-tanned bronze skin looked excessively healthy.

So did the pitch-black uniform, stretched taut over his muscles as if ready to burst at any moment.

Balt was impossible to ignore. Having a conversation with someone like him in public would surely invite gossip.

After finishing her thoughts, Celia spoke in a calm tone.

“…If people see us talking, they’ll surely talk behind our backs.”

“Why? Because you’re the Crown Prince’s mistress?”

Balt crossed his arms smugly.

The bench groaned and creaked under his weight—even though only two people sat on it, it seemed to suffer in agony.

“You really think I’d care about something like that?”

Celia thought Balt was truly a man who did whatever he pleased.

She once again felt the weight of the Third Marquis’s power. Indeed, these people feared absolutely nothing.

“Perhaps you don’t mind, but it would be problematic for me.”

“Are you scared?”

“What exactly do you mean?”

“I mean—are you afraid something bad might happen to you?”

Balt was testing her.

“Not particularly. I’m not afraid.”

Balt raised one eyebrow, seemingly surprised by Celia’s answer.

“Why not?”

He gave Celia a rough glance from head to toe, then bluntly said,

“You look like someone who couldn’t even lift a sword, let alone wield one.”

Celia found Balt incredibly rude.

But then again, when she thought about it, Ileon—who had actually used polite language toward her—was far stranger. Balt, at least, was behaving exactly as suited his status.

Even the Emperor she had killed, and Crown Prince Jeremy as well—they had abused their power, only thinking of how they could use her.

Now that she recalled those incidents one by one, Balt didn’t seem rude at all.

“The ball ended yesterday. Why are you still wearing that outfit?”

Balt pointed at Celia’s attire.

“A white mermaid dress? Not even a bride getting married today would dress like you. Seriously.”

Celia realized Balt spoke without thinking, blurting things out as they came to mind.

“And you—now that I look, what’s that bite mark on your collarbone?”

“The Crown Prince left it.”

“That bastard really is despicable.”

Balt shook his head slowly, as if genuinely appalled by the Crown Prince’s cruelty.

“Come to think of it, wasn’t there a reason you came looking for me?”

“…A reason? Right. There was a reason.”

Balt uncrossed his arms and looked at Celia.

His dark gray eyes flashed sharply.

For a brief moment, Celia thought he might attack her with a blade—but his next words deflated her completely.

“I overheard the maids talking. You’re close with Dietrich, aren’t you?”

“….”

“You’re really close with that damn bastard? How in the world did you two become close? As far as I know, he doesn’t like women.”

Celia wondered why Balt was so interested in Dietrich.

“I thought you summoned me because you’d heard about the Crown Prince’s disfigured face.”

“I don’t care if his face gets ruined or turned to mush.”

That was a statement worthy of punishment for royal insult. But then again, the man at the very top of the royal family probably wouldn’t be dragged away for it.

“So then—do you or don’t you get along with Dietrich?”

“Why on earth are you asking?”

“Because I’m curious!”

Balt’s voice was so loud it made her eardrums vibrate.

But then, he suddenly lowered his voice and muttered a curse.

“Ah, damn. An uninvited guest has arrived.”

‘An uninvited guest?’

Celia tilted her head in confusion. Balt let out a deep sigh and stood up.

“Whatever you do, don’t let him know you saw me.”

With that, Balt vanished from sight in the blink of an eye.

Shortly after Balt disappeared, the sound of rustling fabric approached from nearby.

Celia lifted her head toward the source of the sound to identify the intruder.

“Lady Celia.”

Appearing in a flowing white robe was Ileon Gredrick.

He smiled faintly, his eyes narrowed.

Celia wasn’t particularly happy to see him, knowing he was the one who had disfigured Jeremy’s face.

It meant he could harm her at any moment, if he so desired.

“Did you like my gift?”

Ileon smoothly lowered himself beside Celia on the bench.

“The bench is still warm—someone must have been talking with you just now.”

Celia feigned ignorance and shifted the topic.

“The ball ended yesterday. What business do you have with me, my lord?”

“You must not have heard. I’ve been personally entrusted with organizing the Crown Prince’s imperial coronation ceremony.”

Ileon explained in a soft, gentle tone.

“Therefore, I intend to stay within the palace until the coronation is complete.”

To disfigure the Crown Prince’s face and then casually prepare his coronation?

Celia thought Ileon was a contradictory being, full of hypocrisy.

Yet, his staying in the palace wasn’t necessarily a bad thing for her.

If Ileon returned to his domain, the chance to find out whether the Third Marquis was truly her enemy might vanish forever.

“I see. Congratulations.”

Celia offered a congratulatory greeting she didn’t mean.

Ileon silently laughed at the empty, soulless well-wishes.

“It’s simply my duty as a loyal subject. By the way, did you like the gift I gave you?”

“What gift?”

“The one where you chose the pawn, remember?”

Ileon’s blue eyes swept over Celia’s expression.

“I thought you’d like it. But judging by your face, perhaps not.”

“…I don’t quite understand what you’re referring to.”

“The chess game we discussed last time.”

—Just answer me this one question. Will you sacrifice the pawn? Or will you sacrifice the queen?

Celia instantly grasped the meaning behind Ileon’s words.

“Could it be… that question wasn’t just about chess pieces, but about choosing whom I should eliminate?”

At Celia’s question, Ileon smiled, his eyes crinkling.

“Eliminate? I merely wanted to give you a gift.”

Celia felt chills run down her spine. The man before her didn’t see people as human.

To ruin a person’s face and call it a gift to himself.

“If I had said back then that I’d sacrifice the queen… what would you have done?”

At her question, Ileon rested one hand on the bench’s armrest, regarding Celia with amused interest.

“Then someone else would have been hurt, most likely.”

“What possible reason do you have for telling me this? Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell someone else?”

“Lady Celia.”

Ileon’s gaze fell upon the bite mark embedded in Celia’s collarbone. His stare felt sticky, like a swamp, making her feel a surge of disgust rise from within.

“When I look at you, I feel a sense of kinship. Beneath that beautiful exterior, you hide a deep darkness.”

“….”

“Don’t you think it’s unfair that your entire worth is limited to beauty? When inside, you’re already rotten and decayed.”

Ileon leaned toward Celia. His gentle face drew closer by a span, his blue eyes piercing into her as if seeing straight through her soul.

“It pains me so much, I simply can’t leave you be.”

He shouldn’t know who she truly was—yet he acted as if he knew everything.

As if he alone understood the pain she kept hidden from the world.

Celia met his gaze without flinching and shot back.

“Are you trying to win me over right now?”

“I merely wish to give you another choice.”

Ileon’s softly narrowed eyes, with their blue irises, shimmered like a serpent’s pupils.

“I’m far more drawn to the darkness deep within your soul than to your beauty.”

“….”

“Poor Lady Celia, desired by countless men. Do you believe in the existence of God?”

“I don’t believe in God.”

At her words, Ileon brought his sleeve to his lips and laughed.

“And why don’t you believe?”

“Because I don’t believe God exists.”

“That’s a decent answer, Lady Celia. But it’s wrong. God truly does exist. Even now, He watches over us from the heavens.”

Celia felt an instinctive rejection. A man who saw people as mere chess pieces claiming to believe in God?

Ileon’s words were nothing but sophistry.

“You still seem to be on good terms with that bastard Dietrich…”

“….”

“I already warned you before. Be careful—he might devour you completely, not leaving a single scrap.”

Celia realized Ileon was trying to drive a wedge between her and Dietrich.

The one who would devour her completely, leaving no trace, wouldn’t be Dietrich—but rather the man standing before her now.

“My lord, if you’ll excuse me, I should be going.”

Celia stood up from the bench.

Ileon narrowed his eyes slightly, surprised.

“You have somewhere to go?”

“I’m going to see Dietrich.”

“…Lady Celia, aren’t you afraid of being devoured?”

A cool breeze tousled Celia’s silver hair.

Celia smiled faintly, her eyes narrowed just as Ileon had done, and replied,

“If I were meant to be devoured, wouldn’t I have been already?”