Chapter 39
Once again, suppressing all the things she wanted to reveal, Fiorentia forced a sweet, calming tone as she spoke to Theodore.
“You have things you don’t tell me, and I have things I don’t tell you. We just have to understand that, right?”
Her words were gentle but firm. Theodore frowned slightly, reluctant but understanding, and slowly nodded.
“That’s why you came to me.”
Fiorentia crafted her words carefully. From her perspective, it was almost like she had abruptly changed the plans she had carefully laid out—but fortunately, her ingenuity carried her through. Honestly, it was as if the body she inhabited had an innate talent for acting.
If not, it would only prove that the instinct to survive is incredibly strong.
Speaking more than usual left her throat dry. She longed for a sip of water, but she couldn’t afford to break the momentum of this conversation.
Fiorentia quickly moistened her dry lips with her tongue and spoke again.
“When Desdemona called you Beringham, strangely, a flicker of hope sprang up inside me.”
Her red eyes tracked Theodore’s reaction with relentless precision, but he merely listened in silence, showing no visible movement.
Almost humming, Fiorentia slowly spoke the name that defined him:
“The Emperor’s Hound.”
It was also the reputation the Beringham family carried in society.
“They say he would do anything for the master he swore loyalty to. They say it’s instinct, because of the blood flowing through the Beringham line. The Duke of Beringham serves His Majesty the Emperor, but you… you are not the head of the family.”
His piercing blue eyes met hers directly, as if trying to tear away the mask and see her bare face. Fiorentia soothed him with a soft voice.
“Of course, I don’t intend to become your master. How could a person truly be another person’s master?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Simply that… I only want to use you briefly.”
“Use me?”
One of Theodore’s eyebrows shot up sharply. The angle carried a delicate balance of annoyance and curiosity.
“Yes. Use you.”
Fiorentia deliberately enunciated the word as if to ensure he understood. Her hand reached out again, playing with his dark hair as she spoke.
“If you can’t get out from the inside, then I need to create someone outside to pull me out.”
Wanting a clearer view of his beautiful eyes, Fiorentia swept aside the bangs that shadowed his forehead. The moment his tall forehead was revealed, she felt a small sense of relief, as if a long-held tension had eased.
Their gazes met, sparks flickering quietly between them.
“Theo. My Theo.”
Fiorentia whispered his name so sweetly it almost felt like a caress. She watched as the fierce fire in his eyes quieted, and in that instant, she whispered like a witch:
“I will get you out. So you must escape this hell too.”
A plea—or perhaps a form of persuasion. For once, she let her desperate feelings show.
“…”
“And afterward, remember exactly what effort I went through for you. Don’t forget a single thing.”
“Fiorentia.”
His lips parted, and the sound of her name that slipped out felt like a low, warm sigh.
In the silent, tense tug-of-war of their gazes, Theodore was the first to look away. His eyes shifted downward slightly.
Fiorentia followed, closing in as if she would not allow him to escape. She leaned close, as if to catch a scent. Theodore inhaled sharply, and she could see the muscles in his body tense and harden.
She stepped between his legs, hands resting on his shoulders, letting her weight press against him. Considering Theodore’s strong build, it was no burden at all.
Lowering her head, she brushed her lips against his ear before pulling back.
“Remember everything. How I treated you, what I did for you.”
Theodore’s taut muscles rose, as if swallowing something. Fiorentia let out a low laugh, vibrating faintly inside his mask.
“So that later, you’ll repay the favor.”
His neck stiffened. Noticing it, Fiorentia lightly massaged the area with her fingers—but the effect was the opposite: he only stiffened further.
“Theo. Don’t trust anyone.”
“Fiorentia…”
A voice, taut as if restraining itself, whispered close. Yet her slender fingers did not stop moving.
“Me neither.”
No response came from Theodore. Fiorentia straightened herself again.
Looking down at him now, she noticed Theodore had closed his eyes, unlike before. Her gaze lingered on his sculpted face, troubled, and finally she too closed her eyelids behind her mask. Her eyelashes trembled, brushing against her own skin, but she had no strength left to open them again.
Did I do the right thing?
Her plan had slightly faltered. She hurriedly grabbed the reins again, but whether this method would lead her to ruin or salvation remained uncertain.
Really… I just don’t know.
Could Theodore lead her to her destination? The path ahead was shrouded in mist, and she could not see clearly yet.
Her first attempt at the second stage of induced unconsciousness—a hypothesis she had devised—succeeded.
For Fiorentia, this was a highly encouraging result.
Does that mean we’re compatible?
The appearance she had once found repulsive now no longer seemed so unpleasant.
The human heart is such a fickle thing.
She quietly observed the poisonous mushroom she had called over to a corner of the room. Her gentler, softer mood made her gaze warmer, too.
Sensing the change in her attitude, the mushroom wagged its little horn like a playful gesture.
Even though it has no eyes…
Perhaps reading her thought, the mushroom’s horn drooped, subdued. Fiorentia chuckled quietly.
It felt like a pet… almost.
Still, she would not let herself grow attached.
The mushroom’s horns drooped further, seemingly confused again.
I think I’m still giving it enough care.
The horn perked slightly, as if agreeing. Fiorentia had been taking nightly walks near the enclosure, absorbing the necessary poison from the mushroom. Her efforts had improved her skill in handling it.
Greed stirred within her.
If possible, I want to attempt the final stage until I succeed.
She had tried a few times on the head maid, but failed each attempt.
What exactly am I missing?
Compared to earlier stages, this one was undeniably more difficult. But she could not even tell which condition had prevented success—it frustrated her.
Give me a hint, at least.
Even knowing she would not get an answer, Fiorentia signaled the mushroom.
At that moment, Theodore, freshly washed, observed Fiorentia and the mushroom and suddenly asked:
“You call that a poisonous mushroom… is it really a power you happened to acquire by chance?”
“Even if it is.”
Fiorentia answered nonchalantly. She had lost count of how many times he had asked.
“You two should go in now.”
The mushroom nodded politely, then disappeared.
Theodore clicked his tongue.
“It understands words too. That’s not a mushroom, is it?”
“Probably not. I just call it that for convenience.”
“It’s smarter than I thought—and quite effective. Why not try using it on Desdemona?”
