Episode 11
“C-Could it be that His Grace also possesses divine power?”
Hilda stammered nervously.
“…Divine power?”
That hadn’t crossed my mind.
I thought about it for a moment and then shook my head.
“No, I don’t think that’s it. And if His Grace did have divine power, it would’ve made things easier.
I wouldn’t be collapsing like this… Wait a minute.”
Could it be something other than divine power?
Like magic, perhaps.
Or maybe—what if it’s not that he lacks divine affinity, but that his body itself is rejecting divine power?
If that’s the case, then maybe it’s not my fault—it might be Devan’s.
“Does His Grace know how to use magic?”
“I don’t think so.”
From what I remember, he never used magic in the original story.
Then what is it?
If it’s neither divine power nor magic, then what exactly is going on?
Come to think of it, Cordelia never collapsed while healing him in the original story.
Could it be… because I’m not the true heroine of the prophecy?
That thought made my stomach churn.
I believed I could heal him even without being the prophesied heroine, simply because I had a vast amount of divine power.
But if my divine power falls short compared to Cordelia’s—and that’s why this is happening…
No matter how hard I tried, it felt like I’d always be nothing more than a replacement.
If I’m not the prophesied one and that’s why the healing isn’t working—then I needed money even more desperately.
“Money.”
“…Sorry?”
Hilda gave me a confused look.
I had to get money from Devan. I shot up from my seat.
“Miss!”
Hilda cried anxiously and quickly followed after me.
“P-Please rest a little more! You just collapsed—!”
But I ignored her and headed straight out of the room.
Money—just enough to get out of this empire.
That was all I needed.
It’s not like I hadn’t thought about leaving the Count’s estate without interfering with the original story.
I’d even considered running away to escape the Count’s abuse.
If I could somehow get enough money—by using Killian, for example—I might be able to flee.
Especially after turning eighteen and learning that Killian had joined the royal guard.
I had never once stepped outside the Count’s estate, while Killian came and went between the capital and the Count’s territory.
Back then, I thought the current Killian might have earned money at the palace—and would give me some without hesitation.
But that had been a foolish assumption.
Because Killian… was Diego. Killian Diego.
When I casually brought up money with him, I saw something in his eyes—an ambition that mirrored the Count’s.
That look of anger when the prey you thought was already caught suddenly stopped obeying.
The vague discomfort I had been feeling became clear.
In our relationship, I wasn’t the one in control.
He seemed obedient, but only as long as I was within his grasp.
And then I realized—this man would never let me leave.
If I tried to run with a half-baked plan, I’d be caught—not by the Count, but by Killian.
Which meant the only option I had left… was Devan Lantimos.
The Archduke of this empire, with both immense power and wealth.
I had to heal his curse—and get paid. That was my last chance to survive.
I burst into Devan’s office.
“What is it?”
Though it was a sudden visit, Devan remained calm, as if he had expected me.
He must’ve heard my footsteps from the hallway.
“Money. I need money.”
“…Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. But the money—please.”
Devan slowly got up from his chair and approached me, leaning against his desk.
He looked displeased.
“I’m not worried about you. But if you keep collapsing like this, how can I trust you enough to give you money?”
“That’s—!”
“You said you poured divine power into my whole body, but all I felt was a brief moment of pain. I have no way of knowing whether there’s been any real improvement.”
My only leverage was being the only one who could cure his curse.
I bit my lip hard.
If I lost his trust now, everything would fall apart.
Maybe he was already beginning to doubt that I was the heroine of the prophecy.
“…Do you know how to use magic?”
“…What?”
Devan frowned at my sudden question.
“You don’t, right?”
“No. Why are you asking me that?”
“Something… something in your body is rejecting divine power.”
“So, you’re saying it’s not your fault?”
“…Yes. This is an unexpected variable.”
Devan crossed his arms.
He looked intrigued.
“But what does magic have to do with that? Are you suggesting it’s magic that’s blocking divine power?”
“I was just exploring possibilities. But if you can’t use magic, then it’s probably not that.”
“I’ve heard that some people can possess magic power without being able to use spells.”
That was true.
And I couldn’t rule out that Devan might be one of them.
But… was it really just magic? The more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed.
I stepped closer to him.
“Give me your hand for a second.”
I grabbed his hand before he could respond.
“What are you doing?”
“Just wait.”
I closed my eyes and focused.
I wasn’t trying to send divine power into him like before.
I was trying to find something—anything—unusual flowing through his body.
This time, I focused on every single drop of his blood.
“…Found it.”
I frowned.
There was something on his right side. A strange energy.
It wasn’t divine power. Was it magic? But it didn’t feel like that either…
The closer I got to it, the worse I felt.
It was similar to what I felt when I tried to send divine power into him—like my entire body was being reversed.
Like something was—
Hehehe…
Pop! I let go of his hand.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
What was that sound?
I could’ve sworn I just heard someone laughing.
But that couldn’t be.
Only Devan and I were here—and it wasn’t his voice, or mine.
My legs gave out, and I stumbled.
“What’s wrong?”
I flailed for something to hold onto.
Devan caught my arm in surprise—and the moment he did, that sickening feeling hit me again.
“Let go!”
Without thinking, I pushed him away. My body staggered and collapsed to the floor.
My vision spun. Everything turned white—I couldn’t see.
There was definitely a laugh. A strange, eerie laugh.
“…Evelyn?”
My body trembled as I barely managed to lift my head and look at Devan.
Around him… something black was floating in the air.
A mist-like shadow, surrounding his face.
“A curse…?”
“What? Hey, you need to get up.”
“Don’t come near me!”
He tried to reach for me again.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.
“…Call Hilda.”
“Who?”
I was too out of breath to respond properly.
But he would soon realize she was my maid.
Devan looked down at me with a concerned expression, then rang a bell to summon the butler.
“Your Grace.”
The butler arrived quickly and bowed.
At Devan’s command, he helped me onto the sofa.
Thankfully, his touch didn’t make me feel sick.
“Shall I summon a physician?”
The butler asked gently.
I shook my head hastily.
This wasn’t something a doctor could fix. And I didn’t want any more people knowing I was here.
“What exactly is going on?”
Devan looked increasingly troubled.
My chest rose and fell rapidly as I tried to catch my breath.
Once I had calmed a bit, I looked over at him.
The black mist that had surrounded him was now gone.
“Let me see your hand again.”
Devan hesitated—probably afraid I’d collapse again.
“I’m really fine this time. Just for a second.”
I grabbed his hand.
Oddly enough, this time… I felt nothing at all.
What was that?
“You said it was a curse, didn’t you?”
Devan asked while I held his hand.
He looked at me as if demanding an explanation.
And again, I remembered the black aura surrounding him.
It had looked like it could devour him—swallow everything in its path.
I had thought it might be a curse. But was it really a curse?
I bit my lip and let go of his hand.
Devan sat across from me. With a subtle glance, he signaled the butler to leave the room.
Now that we were alone again, he spoke.
“You know what curses are, don’t you?”
Curses.
There wasn’t a soul in the empire who didn’t know.
The curse placed on Devan’s eyes was a divine one—a punishment handed down by the gods themselves.
After the sacred rite, where potential heirs were tested by spending a night in the temple to receive a holy mark—those who failed to receive the mark were cursed the next day.
Ever since the empire was founded and the temple began choosing successors to the royal bloodline, this tradition had continued.
The curses varied—some, like Devan’s, caused physical afflictions like blindness or deafness.
Others prevented intimacy for life or twisted their appearance into something unrecognizable.
But along with the curse, a prophecy was always given.
A clue to break the curse.
“The young goddess with the scent of daisies will lift your curse.”
According to the original story I had read, only Devan knew the contents of his prophecy.
The temple claimed this was all for the stability of the imperial lineage.
Those afflicted spent their lives chasing the clues in their prophecies.
Their minds were consumed by it—so much so that they couldn’t even imagine rebelling against the gods or seizing the throne.
Some of them did eventually find their clue and were freed from the curse, content to live quietly afterward.
A balloon that is too tightly sealed will eventually burst.
A rod held too rigidly will break.
The temple gave only one path to avoid that fate.
And the prophecy… was real.
It was no wonder that cursed royals clung to their prophecy.
Which meant there was only one reason Devan would bring up the curse now—
“If you were truly the chosen one of the prophecy, you wouldn’t fear the curse.”
He was doubting me.
Doubting whether I was really the heroine of his prophecy.
