Chapter 08
After sending Catherine away, Diana leaned back in her chair, feeling refreshed, and leisurely picked up a book to read.
“Your Grace, it’s Shane.”
At the sound of Shane’s voice outside, Diana closed the book with a snap.
“Come in.”
Shane entered, followed by an unfamiliar woman.
The stranger had hair like the clear autumn sky and eyes the color of maple leaves—perfectly matching her vibrant presence.
Curious, Diana tilted her head slightly. Shane calmly introduced her.
“This is Belinda, the knight you requested. She’s unregistered.”
“To be precise, I was registered—until I was dismissed,” Belinda added cheerfully.
Diana smiled softly. “Why were you dismissed?”
“I refused a bribe. A noble tried to pay me to overlook a crime.”
No wonder she carries herself so confidently. Diana glanced at Shane, who nodded in confirmation.
“We grew up together in the same neighborhood. She’s highly skilled—just a bit rough around the edges.”
“Shane!”
Belinda scratched her head sheepishly.
Diana trusted her instantly. Someone who lived by such principles was exactly who she needed.
“Good. Belinda, I’ll hire you formally—as my personal guard.”
Belinda’s eyes sparkled as if she were meeting a celebrity.
“I’ve heard so much about you, Your Grace. Actually, I grew up in the Marquisate’s orphanage.”
“Oh! Really?”
Diana’s face lit up with genuine delight.
Before her marriage, she had frequently visited orphanages, using her father’s resources and her own allowance to support the children. Even after becoming Grand Duchess, she had continued financial aid.
“Yes. I was training at the barracks back then, so I never saw you in person… But the headmistress always spoke of you. The ‘Saint of Pereshte.'”
“That’s too much praise.”
Diana’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Clearing her throat, she steadied her voice.
She needed to explain her situation—at least briefly—to someone who still saw her as a saint.
“Belinda.”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“I’m no saint. I’ve… decided to stop being one.”
“…What?”
Belinda was baffled. When Shane had first approached her, she’d been thrilled at the idea of serving the renowned Diana. But what did she mean by not a saint?
“Do you know what’s more terrifying than a demon?”
“Uh… I don’t know, Your Grace.”
After a moment of thought, Belinda shook her head.
Diana’s voice dropped low, filled with bitter contempt.
“Humans. Humans with filthy desires.”
Belinda stared at her, understanding dawning. She, too, had seen the ugly side of nobility—those who committed crimes and fought tooth and nail to escape punishment.
“You already know, don’t you? If you’ve experienced it yourself.”
“Yes. I do.”
“I intend to pass judgment.”
“Personally?”
Unlike Belinda, Diana had the power and status to punish wrongdoers.
As if reading her mind, Diana smirked.
“Sometimes, the law isn’t enough. And… sometimes, the punishment the law delivers is far too light for the crimes they’ve committed.”
Diana clenched her fist.
They deserve more suffering. More pain than what they inflicted on me.
She removed her blindfold.
Belinda’s eyes widened—Diana’s eyes were perfectly fine.
With a faint smile, Diana gave a brief explanation, similar to what she’d told Shane.
Belinda listened, her anger rising as if the betrayal had been her own.
“How could they?!”
Now she understood. No saint could endure such treachery unscathed. The fact that Diana was still standing, calm and composed, was a miracle in itself.
“Belinda.”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Will you do anything for me?”
Belinda’s eyes burned with a feral intensity. A sense of justice surged within her. She couldn’t forgive those who had done such vile things.
She stepped forward and knelt before Diana, her voice firm with resolve.
“I swear my loyalty to you, Your Grace.”
Diana’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
One step closer to revenge.
There was no need to rush.
Behind her angelic smile, Diana’s mind churned with ruthless calculations.
“Ugh, this is so annoying!”
Back in her room, Catherine finally unleashed her frustration, hurling objects and screaming.
The Grand Duchess has been acting so strange today! Did losing her sight make her this irritable?
No matter how she thought about it, rage boiled inside her.
Until she was ten, Catherine had truly believed she was Diana’s daughter—an elegant noble girl who took after her parents.
But then, one day, she accidentally witnessed Alicia and the Grand Duke kissing.
At first, she had trembled with betrayal. She pitied Diana.
But then Alicia approached her in tears.
‘Catherine…’
‘How dare a mere physician address the Young Lady like—!’
‘…You’re my daughter.’
‘What?’
When Catherine looked at Calypso, he simply nodded.
She was stunned. The daughter of a lowly baroness? The thought had never crossed her mind.
Her hands shook. Alicia grabbed them and whispered:
‘What do you think will happen if it’s revealed you’re not her real daughter?’
‘…’
‘You understand now. Clever girl.’
Memories of Diana’s endless love flashed through her mind.
But would she still love me if she knew? If she found out I was the daughter of the woman who betrayed her?
Catherine quickly adjusted her stance. Mother became Diana.
And from that day, Alicia and Catherine’s relationship became that of mother and daughter.
Catherine had asked about Diana’s real child.
‘…Where is Diana’s real daughter?’
Alicia smirked.
‘Living among commoners. Like the trash she is.’
‘Trash…’
‘Yes. The more wretchedly she lives, the more noble you become. Because you are the real one, Catherine.’
‘I’m… the real one.’
Recalling this, Catherine’s eyes darkened.
She swept the glass cups off the table, watching them shatter on the floor.
“Aisel!”
Staring at the broken shards, Catherine suddenly shouted a name—then banged on her bookshelf.
The bookshelf slid open, revealing a hidden space known only to Catherine and Alicia.
“…Yes.”
A small, malnourished girl—no older than twelve—emerged. Her name was Aisel.
Catherine glared at her as if she were looking at Diana herself, then pointed at the broken glass.
“Clean it up.”
“…Yes, Young Lady.”
Aisel’s thin hands slowly gathered the shards. Catherine deliberately nudged a piece with her foot, making Aisel cut her finger.
Aisel looked up.
Her empty, emotionless emerald eyes—so much like Diana’s—met Catherine’s.
“What’s with that look? Got a problem, you lowborn brat?”
“No, Young Lady.”
With a mocking smile, Catherine watched as Aisel lowered her head again.
Of course not. I’ve trained her well since she was ten.
Only Alicia and Catherine knew of Aisel’s existence. Even Calypso believed Diana’s real daughter was dead.
When Catherine learned the truth, Alicia had brought Aisel to her.
“Have fun with her.”
And Catherine did.
The more wretched Aisel was, the more noble she became.
Aisel’s meals consisted of one stale loaf of bread and moldy milk per week. She was smaller and thinner than any child her age.
Perfect.
While Catherine grew up as the elegant, real noble daughter, Aisel lived in squalor.
“I… finished cleaning.”
“Good. Now go back inside. Don’t come out until I call you.”
“Yes… Young Lady.”
Aisel weakly crawled back into the hidden space. Her body was covered in scars—Catherine took out her frustrations on her whenever she was upset.
There was no escape. On days Catherine left, she locked the bookshelf.
Aisel sat inside, staring at the closed door.
But unlike before, her dull, lifeless eyes now held a sharp, vivid light.
Just like Diana’s.
