Chapter 4

“Did you hear something just now?”

“I know you’re just laying the groundwork to pretend you didn’t fart.”

“You filthy bastard, you say anything that comes to mind because your ears are blocked. Want me to stick my butt in your face and let one rip?”

Cordelia held her breath.

Humphrey’s group—Madame Pamela’s people—had come to the abandoned house.

Unluckily, today was their smoking day.

I thought they wouldn’t come because Madame’s been in a bad mood lately…

She had been too careless.

Cordelia had come out without selling any flowers because she planned to leave today.

But if they found her here now, she’d be beaten badly, then dragged away by her hair.

If they get any closer, they’ll notice there’s someone behind the sofa.

All her attention focused on Humphrey’s gang.

It was life‑or‑death, so she stayed perfectly still, but Duke Valencia kept fidgeting.

Shh!

Cordelia raised a finger to her lips and motioned for silence.

Stop moving!

The Duke stared at her blankly, then tapped her hand.

Only then did Cordelia realize she was covering not just his mouth but his nose as well.

Gasp!

She tried to pull her hand back, but the Duke caught her wrist.

He stared at her thin wrist, where needle marks densely dotted the skin.

Too many wounds for a child.

His face stiffened.

Cordelia, meanwhile, was panicking for another reason.

I almost turned a savior into an enemy!

She tried to calm her pounding heart—until she heard Humphrey’s steps drawing closer.

“What’s this?”

“Looks like someone dumped trash here.”

The men’s voices sounded right next to them.

Cordelia clutched the Duke’s arm like a life line.

“Trash? You’ve got no eye. It’s a doll, a doll!”

“Who carries around a rag like this? Hey, money’s on the ground too.”

“That’s mine.”

“Finder’s keepers, loser! Don’t try to cheat me!”

Listening, Cordelia screamed silently.

My rag doll! My money!

When she pulled out her old cloth to bandage the Duke, she hadn’t gathered the rest of her things.

Now her only two belongings were being stolen before her eyes.

She could only wipe away silent tears.

“Come to think of it, I saw that brat Cordelia carrying a rag like this…”

“Why would that kid come all the way here? Besides, she didn’t show up at all today—maybe she ran?”

Cordelia trembled.

“Even if she ran, where could she go? No parents, nowhere else to be—she came here herself, remember? Kids like that know the outside’s even worse. They can’t leave even if they want to.”

Kyak, ptui.

Humphrey spat on the floor.

“Anyway, if she did run, a few beatings will straighten her out and make her crawl back.”

The gang laughed as if they’d heard a good joke.

If they find me here, they’ll beat me half to death.

Maybe break my legs, too.

They had once broken a runaway child’s legs so he could beg better.

Cold sweat slid down her back.

Cordelia vowed to stay still until they finished smoking and left.

Then—suddenly, Duke Valencia stood up.

“W‑What?”

A stranger appeared where they thought they were alone—Humphrey’s gang froze.

He’s injured—what is he doing!

Even if he was the Duke Valencia, he’d just been on death’s door.

Cordelia, knowing she didn’t have saint‑level healing powers, felt anxious.

After I saved him, is he going to collapse again?

If he fell to Humphrey’s gang, she’d be in danger too.

She peeked over the sofa, ready to run.

“Cover your ears,” the Duke said. “Don’t look this way. Best to close your eyes too.”

He pressed Cordelia’s head down behind the sofa. She had no choice but to hide again.

Once sure she couldn’t see, the Duke walked toward Humphrey’s men.

They first shrank back from his pressure, but seeing his wounds and their superior numbers, they squared their shoulders.

“You know this kid, Cordelia?” the Duke asked.

“And who are you? Whether we know her or not, what’s it to you?”

“To me?” His voice echoed coldly. “It matters. I’ve been searching for that child for five years.”

“…”

“I didn’t look all this time to find her in a place like this. If I die and meet Rosalyn, I’ll have no excuse. No—unlike her, I’ll fall to hell, so I won’t meet her anyway.”

That ended the talking.

After that, Cordelia only heard what sounded like Humphrey’s men screaming.

The smell of blood grew strong.

Unable to see, her mind filled with awful images.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine. He’s Duke Valencia—people say he even rules over death.

She whispered to herself, crouched with her ears covered.

She whispered many times.

The screams stopped.

Cordelia looked up—then froze as a shadow loomed over her.

What if it’s Humphrey?

She couldn’t even tell she was shaking.

Thud.

A hand stroked her hair.

It was the Duke.

As if praising her for staying still, he patted her head and sat against the sofa, breathing slightly hard from fighting while injured.

“Why did you leave the orphanage?”

“…What?”

“You ran away, didn’t you?”

Cordelia pressed her lips together.

The needle marks were wounds from the orphanage. They had drawn her blood ever since she could remember.

She’d escaped the day the place packed up and fled town. She didn’t want to explain.

“You’re Rosalyn’s daughter—a future saint.”

“I’m not.”

“Your eyes look just like hers.”

“I said I’m not! I don’t have a mother, so stop insisting!”

The Duke again lifted his hand as if to cover her lower lashes.

Cordelia closed her eyes tight.

She was not a saint. She’d only end up serving one—why this misunderstanding?

“You look six or seven, but you answer well.”

Before adulthood, every year mattered. Seven was different from eight.

And the Duke had just called her a year or two younger.

“I’m not seven! I’m eight.”

“How can you be sure? You might be seven.”

“The orphanage said—”

In anger she blurted out the truth, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

Cordelia, you fool!

Frozen, she wanted to smack her own lips.

The Duke spoke.

“You planned to leave again, didn’t you?”

“…”

“Then come with me. I’ll take you in as my adopted daughter and protect you.”

Cordelia stared at him—completely unprepared for that.

“I’m not fit to be a saint.”

“You are.”

“I’m not. You’ll only be disappointed. When the real saint shows up, you’ll cast me aside like in the book.”

“I’ll never be disappointed. Whoever your father is—as long as Rosalyn’s blood is in you, that’s enough.”

Cordelia knew from the novel: the Duke needed a saint.

For power.

But there was a real saint elsewhere, and when she appeared, he would turn cold, just like he did to the novel’s Cordelia.

She could see the ending.

She shouted.

“Just admit you want a girl to pretend to be a saint and that’s why you’re adopting her!”

“Fine. I need a child the world will call a saint, so I’ll take you.”

Thump.

Her heart seemed to drop.

A life lived in someone else’s place—what good was that?

“Happy now?” he asked.

“…”

“Will you become my daughter if I say it plainly?”

“…No.”

She realized he’d said something he didn’t mean.

Cordelia shook her head.

“I don’t want to.”

Her voice quivered with tears.

She hadn’t cried when needles filled her arms, or when Madame Pamela beat her, or when she starved for a week.

But just hearing the words “in someone else’s place” brought tears.

“I hate being called a replacement.”

The Duke gently pulled her small, weak body toward him.

“If you come with me, I’ll give you prettier dolls and clean new clothes. And no one will ever call you a replacement.”

He handed over the rag doll Humphrey had taken.

My rag doll…

Someone had called it trash, but Cordelia saw it as a friend.

For the past year, through hardships, she’d clutched it so much it was nearly worn away—now it was even stained with blood.

She gripped it tight.

I know he’s mistaking me for a saint and saying nice things… but…

Her fingers clenched the doll.

Even if it was a misunderstanding, he was the first person to reach out to her.

Maybe… Maybe I can lean on him just a little? Even just for a few days.

Wasn’t she afraid of the man destined to kill her? Of course she was.

But she was only an eight‑year‑old with no guardian, wandering the streets.

With only memories of the book, her body and heart were still eight, and the hand offered to her was tempting.

“Do you have a stable at your house?” she asked.

Wanting to ride horses? he thought, nodding.

Her next question made his lips tighten.

“Could you… give me a place to sleep on top of a pile of hay?”

She worried even that was too luxurious a request.

“You won’t need hay,” he said softly. “You’ll have your own room. Bigger than this shack.”

“A soft bed?”

“There is one—big and soft enough for you to jump on.”

Cordelia stayed silent a long while.

The Duke looked down at her small, pale head and spoke calmly.

“Anything else you want?”

“I want warm food. Not leftovers someone else has thrown away.”

“…I’ll fill the table with only the food you like.”

Even after hearing that, Cordelia hesitated. Then she asked her final question.