Chapter 08
As soon as we arrived at the room, Anne called out to me in a trembling voice.
“My lady, I’m truly sorry.”
“For what?”
At my seemingly calm response, Anne bit her lip.
“Earlier… when the young master spoke, I couldn’t say it wasn’t true.”
“You mean when he said I killed the Duchess?”
When I asked her bluntly instead of skirting around it, her shoulders flinched sharply.
A long silence followed. Then Anne drew in a breath, her expression almost solemn.
“I have never—not even once—thought that you killed the madam.”
“It’s okay.”
“…What?”
Anne looked as though she doubted her own ears.
“W-What did you just say…?”
“I said it’s okay.”
I spoke firmly.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“My lady, I failed you. And yet… how can you say that?”
“How could you possibly have denied him back there?”
I truly meant it.
Anne was just a servant. She couldn’t recklessly oppose the second son of the ducal house.
Of course, it would be a lie to say I wasn’t hurt at all. But I wasn’t angry at her. If I were in her position, I might not have spoken up either.
“You couldn’t help it.”
“My lady…”
Anne looked at me with tearful, moved eyes. I smiled faintly.
“I didn’t get to finish my apple pie.”
Anne stared at me for a moment, then nodded vigorously.
“I’ll bring it right away!”
“Mm.”
Click—
When Anne left, the room fell deathly silent.
Today’s conflict with Renzard brought me an important realization.
Even trust becomes useless in the face of power.
I wasn’t angry that Anne didn’t defend me. It was more that I had been forced to acknowledge an uncomfortable truth.
At first, I hadn’t known how to survive here. But thanks to Anne’s care, I adapted quickly. Then I set a new goal: if I had to live inside this novel, I needed to secure a financial lifeline so I could survive even if I were cast out.
But now…
Now I want to continue living in this estate with Anne.
Eating Puichi’s apple pie. Taking lessons from Dikal.
Now that I know what it feels like to receive affection, I’ve decided to revise my goal.
Before, I simply wanted to solidify my position in the estate to gain Heinox’s favor and secure funding. But now, I’ve decided to firmly establish my place in order to prevent the fracture of House Tanzeric like in the original story.
To do that, I need to uncover the truth.
Tanzeric is already in crisis because of someone’s scheme that began with Priscilla’s death.
Because of it, Heinox roams battlefields, Chadman has grown indifferent and resigned to everything, and Renzard vents his grief over his mother’s death on the wrong target.
And as for Roksina—who in the original story bears the stigma of killing the Duchess—she would grow into a broken, villainous woman.
But since I already know the outcome of this manipulation, perhaps I can stop it.
Uncovering the reason behind that death—the beginning of everything—has now become my most important goal.
Whoever is behind this, I won’t let them have their way.
Meanwhile, in Heinox’s office, the air was colder than midwinter.
“There was quite a commotion, I hear.”
“I’m sorry…”
Though Heinox spoke calmly, the restrained anger in his brief question made Renzard shrink.
“I did not summon you to hear apologies.”
“F-Father, it’s just—”
“I’ll explain.”
Chadman, who had come forward upon hearing that Heinox summoned Renzard, spoke up.
“I asked Renzard.”
Heinox had already heard the full report from the butler.
Still, he had called Renzard because he wanted to hear it from his own mouth.
“I had just finished training and was walking down the corridor when I smelled something sweet.”
Renzard wiped his sweaty palms against his trousers before continuing.
“It wasn’t mealtime, so I thought it strange. When I opened the dining hall door, she was eating apple pie.”
“And then?”
Renzard swallowed hard.
“So I asked why she was there…”
His voice trailed off. Heinox clicked his tongue.
“So in the end, you were the one who started the disturbance.”
“I’m sorry…”
Heinox looked at Renzard’s bowed head, then turned to Chadman.
“Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
For a fleeting moment, Roksina’s furious shout flashed through Chadman’s mind. But he hesitated.
“…No.”
Heinox tapped the armrest with his fingers.
“I see…”
To Heinox, it was only a moment. To Renzard and Chadman, it felt like eternity.
At last, the tapping stopped.
“You may leave.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, Father.”
“They’re lying.”
Left alone in his office, Heinox recalled the incident.
He had known everything already. The reason he called them was because there were certain words he wanted to hear.
But neither son had spoken them.
He could understand why they hid it. They must have been the most shaken of all.
But Heinox was the head of House Tanzeric. There could be nothing happening in this estate that he did not know.
“They can’t possibly think I wouldn’t find out…”
Renzard might have struggled to say it aloud—but Chadman was not that kind of person.
He would know that hiding it here would change nothing. And yet, he still chose silence.
“The temple…”
According to the butler’s report, Roksina had told Renzard that Priscilla’s death was the temple’s fault.
“Where did she hear such a thing?”
Heinox’s eyes darkened.
It was true—the temple had played a role in Priscilla’s death.
On the day she was dying, multiple urgent messages were sent to the temple. None received a reply.
Had a priest arrived in time, Priscilla would not have died so helplessly.
But that such a matter was spoken of within the estate—and by children—was another issue entirely.
“There must be a fool here with a loose tongue.”
Someone had clearly spoken carelessly about Priscilla’s death in front of Roksina.
“Roksina. Roksina Tanzeric…”
Even saying her name aloud felt unfamiliar.
She was the last child born between him and Priscilla.
The last child.
When he first held Chadman, he had felt happiness. The boy resembled Priscilla so much that it was as if she had simply grown smaller.
When he first saw Renzard, he felt something strange—green eyes like Priscilla’s, but black hair like his own. A child that visibly proved their bond as husband and wife.
And then—
He had been handed a baby while Priscilla’s breathing grew faint.
He had been unable to speak.
There was not a trace of Priscilla left in the child’s appearance. And yet she smiled.
With pale lips and sweat-matted hair clinging to her forehead, she said:
‘She looks like you.’
Her face white as paper, yet smiling so clearly.
‘Make her happy. Let her not suffer. Let her not be lonely.’
And then Priscilla died.
Only now did he realize those were her final words.
And he had kept none of them.
He did not hate Roksina.
After sending Priscilla away, for several months he tried desperately to cherish the child as she had wished.
But in that baby who bore only his features and none of Priscilla’s, Heinox felt fear.
It was as though his guilt at failing to protect Priscilla was projected onto the child.
If things continued like that, he feared he would grow to resent her.
So he left for the battlefield.
If he could not love the child, at least he did not want to hate her.
When he returned from years at war, Roksina was already four.
She could walk. She could speak.
Seeing the child—who once could not even properly open her eyes—moving about stirred guilt within him.
So he deliberately chose harsh words, giving her every reason to resent the father who had abandoned her.
When he heard she had injured her head, he agonized over whether to visit.
The child clearly felt uncomfortable around him.
In the end, late at night, he went and gently brushed her sleeping hair.
At that hour, she would never know he had come.
And he had thought:
Perhaps she resembles you a little.
The way she demanded a teacher. The boldness reported by the butler.
Imagining her tiny frame shouting at Renzard brought an unconscious faint smile to his lips.
“Ha…”
“Y-Young master?”
The maid cleaning Renzard’s room flinched at his sigh.
“That’s enough cleaning. Leave.”
“Yes!”
Once the maids were gone, Renzard flopped onto his neatly made bed.
“I’m a coward…?”
He recalled Roksina’s words.
‘The only ones who could have helped the Duchess were the temple. Not you. Not me. Not the Duke. The temple.’
“So the temple was at fault…?”
She had said his mother died because the temple did not come.
“Now that I think about it… it is strange.”
Calling a priest to the estate was extremely rare. It cost as much as an entire mansion.
“But…”
Heinox would never have refused to summon a priest over money. He loved his wife more than anyone.
“Then what happened that day…?”
What truly occurred?
And Roksina—
How does she know about the temple?
Renzard’s mind filled with countless questions.
