Episode 12
“You look paler than before.”
“……”
I shot Kyle a glare sharp enough to pierce as he commented while inspecting my gaunt cheeks. He looked completely nonchalant in the interrogation room, as if he didn’t even remember the chaos from our last encounter in the parlor.
Just seeing that shameless face made my blood boil.
When he tried to brush the blond strands of hair from my face, I slapped his hand away. Unbothered, he continued speaking.
“Don’t skip your meals. You’ll look worse if you get any thinner.”
“Oh? So thin women aren’t your type?”
I sneered, twisting my lips.
If he didn’t like thin women, I’d starve myself until I looked like a dried-up winter tree. On the other hand, if he didn’t like chubby women, I’d gain weight until I could roll around like a balloon.
I’d done nothing but think about Kyle these past few days. No—more accurately, I couldn’t think of anything else but Kyle.
Why did he do this to me? What did he want from me?
The answer was in his words: I’d caught his attention. Just my luck.
“Why did you tell me the truth? Was it some kind of petty favor, letting me know who ruined my life before I die?”
Kyle leaned against the interrogation desk, spinning a keyring around his finger.
Then—clack—he caught the keys in his fist, leaned forward, and locked eyes with me with an obsessive gaze.
His deep voice felt like it was sinking into the floor beneath us.
“You can’t die. Don’t you want to get revenge on me?”
“Are you serious right now?”
“Hate me. More than anyone else in the world.”
“……”
“And then kill me with your own hands.”
Talking to Kyle made me feel like I was losing my mind. There was definitely something deeply broken in him. Or maybe it was just hard to find a part that wasn’t broken.
It felt like I was drowning. I managed to gasp out some words like a fish flopping on land.
“Ha! And if I do kill you, are you just gonna drop dead?”
“You’d have to escape first, before the execution.”
“……”
“Use me.”
Kyle straightened his posture, placing both hands on the desk.
And just like that, the conversation circled back to square one. He wanted me to become his woman and walk out of Fortress Prison.
Why was he so desperate to have me?
I didn’t understand—and frankly, I didn’t even want to understand anymore. I glared at him sharply.
“…I told you my mistake was catching your eye.”
“Ugh!”
Kyle flinched as I threw something. He tried to dodge, but it was too late. I had flung a handful of salt—meant for brushing teeth—straight into his eyes.
He stumbled back, clutching his eyes with one hand. He probably hit his knee on the stone floor, so he’d be limping for a while.
Feeling more than a little satisfied, I declared,
“I don’t need your help. I’m escaping without you!”
With that little act of revenge complete, I confidently strode out of the interrogation room.
When I returned to my cell, Richard stood up as soon as he saw me.
He seemed to be scanning my face and limbs, likely checking if I’d cried or been tortured again.
His concern was unnecessary. I hadn’t been the one tortured today—Kyle had.
There probably wasn’t even any evidence left behind. It was basically the perfect crime. I couldn’t help smiling brightly with satisfaction.
I really was born with talent.
Then I noticed something unfamiliar on Richard’s desk across from my cell—a crisp, fresh newspaper.
My eyes widened in surprise at something from the outside world.
“H-How did you get that?”
“I asked someone I know to send it by mail.”
“Wow…”
I stared at it with open envy. Having someone outside the prison meant he could get something like this.
For a foreigner locked up in prison like me, books or newspapers from the outside had long since become a luxury. I didn’t have anyone in the empire to exchange letters with, let alone across borders.
It wasn’t like I could send international mail to the kingdom from Fortress Prison on the back of old connections.
“Can I read it when you’re done?”
I couldn’t hide my eagerness. Something this entertaining inside this wretched place?
Richard, being the humble person he was, handed the newspaper through the bars without hesitation.
“I’ve already read most of it—go ahead.”
“Then I won’t hold back…”
I sat at the desk, spread out the newspaper, and started reading from the front page.
There were big illustrations and names of nobles I’d never heard of—dukes, marquises, border lords—followed by long articles about their possible downfalls, internal power struggles, and which factions supported which prince.
Normally, I had no interest in these political stories and found them boring. But whether it was because I was in a different country, or because I had nothing else to do to survive, even the dry stuff was fascinating now.
Then I turned the page—and froze.
[Richard Aberdeen — The Inevitable Fall of a Rising Traitor]
I looked up and stared at the man locked in the cell across from mine.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“There’s… there’s an article about you here.”
“I know. I read it first.”
Richard gave a bitter smile. I wasn’t sure if I should be reading a slanderous article about the person right in front of me.
But the newspaper was already in my hands. And I was curious about the charges I’d only ever heard whispered as rumors.
After reading every last word of the article, one thought crossed my mind:
“Wow. This guy might really rot in here forever.”
Once the word “treason” is attached to your name, the charges tend to carry heavy weight.
When news of Richard’s transfer to Fortress had first spread, even the guards had whispered that he was probably innocent—but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the charge.
And just as the headline hinted, Richard’s crime—the one I’d been curious about all along—was treason. Just as severe as being labeled a witch.
The tangled web of palace conspiracies and politics.
Into that world of noble bloodlines and power struggles had burst Richard Aberdeen—an orphan raised in a temple, without a family name or backing.
The temple, known for its pious and charitable image, had taken him in along with other parentless children.
Raised by the priests, Richard showed remarkable natural talent. Not long after picking up a sword, he wielded it like it was an extension of his body. From then on, he walked the path of a knight.
He hadn’t particularly dreamed of success—he simply used the one thing he was good at to survive the harsh world.
So when he caught the eye of the Crown Prince, it hadn’t been something he aimed for.
“Will you be my sword?”
Richard became the symbol of the Crown Prince’s merit-based promotions, and his status continued to rise. Even noble families said his future was paved with gold.
But after a certain incident, he was branded a traitor and imprisoned in Fortress.
It wasn’t what he had wanted. But, like a temple-raised child with no protector, Richard accepted it quickly.
And so, on one gloomy day behind bars, the woman in the opposite cell spoke to him.
“Wanna escape together?”
He thought he’d misheard. Maybe he’d been hit too hard on the head. But no—she looked right at him, waiting for an answer.
Flustered, he blurted out that she was crazy before he could stop himself.
The woman was beautiful. Long waves of golden hair and ocean-blue eyes reminded him of someone in his memories.
His heart thudded painfully as he watched her, unable to look away.
Then she repeated the offer to escape, and he finally came back to his senses.
“Let’s escape together.”
The words didn’t match her soft, gentle voice. It was natural to think he’d misheard.
From then on, the woman kept pestering him to escape. From the start, she was clearly unusual—and her crime, even more so.
She’d been imprisoned for impersonating a saint—something no normal person could even imagine. She was bold and shameless, just like a true criminal. And now, she was dreaming of escape.
At first, he’d simply thought he had to stop her.
Back then, he had no idea he’d end up planning this kind of thing himself.
“Have I been corrupted by criminals…?”
But the moment he saw her curled up and crying, something changed.
He wanted to give her everything she wanted.
The sight of her sobbing helplessly on the cold floor reminded him of someone.
When he heard that the prison warden had whipped her fragile body, he wanted to rip the iron doors off and beat the man senseless.
And above all—
“I didn’t kill anyone. There was someone else who did it.”
Her trembling voice, like a bird with broken wings, made him want to set her free—let her fly away from these bars.
That day, Richard made up his mind:
He would help Veronica escape.
