~Chapter 7~
Lovelace was enjoying a rare quiet afternoon. The mansion was unusually calm.
She let out a deep sigh. The room, overflowing with gift boxes, felt cramped despite its spaciousness.
“This is suffocating.”
A sudden urge to get some fresh air hit her. That’s when she realized she had never properly explored the mansion.
Larvihan preferred her to stay within reach—within the space his senses could monitor. As a result, her world had been limited to his office and bedroom.
“Darjeeling tea and apple cinnamon pie, miss.”
Davidson, Larvihan’s personal butler and the head steward, placed the tea set in front of her. Lovelace looked at him thoughtfully.
“Is there something you wish to say, miss?”
The title “miss” still felt foreign to her, but she responded as naturally as she could.
“Where’s Larvihan?”
The casual way she referred to Larvihan startled Davidson enough that he hesitated before replying.
“Oh! That was too forward of me, wasn’t it? I’m sorry. Thank you for the tea.”
“Not at all, miss. His Grace has gone to the imperial palace.”
“The palace? Will he be long?”
Davidson didn’t miss the sparkle in Lovelace’s eyes.
“Is there something you need, miss?”
“I was hoping to look around the estate a bit…”
The hesitant way she asked, with a hint of pink blooming on her cheeks, was utterly endearing. Is this what having a granddaughter feels like? Davidson thought, letting out a quiet chuckle at his own sentimentality.
“I’ll guide you myself, miss.”
“Oh, no! I’d really prefer to go on my own.”
She didn’t need anyone to tell her Davidson was a busy man—she’d seen how tirelessly he worked. Sitting around doing nothing while being served already made her feel guilty—asking him to play tour guide was just too much.
“But—”
“Please! I swear I won’t try to run away.”
That one word—run—hit Davidson like a stone. It sounded as if she thought she were being held captive. And perhaps, despite all the lavish treatment, she was beginning to feel that way.
He bowed his head in guilt.
“Then, please take your time, miss.”
It was the Vallios estate, after all. No unauthorized person could enter—and even if they did, they wouldn’t leave alive. He didn’t have to worry about her safety.
Larvihan might scold him later for letting her go off alone—but he was meeting Empress Arwen. He’d be gone for a while.
Davidson stepped aside, creating a path for her.
“Thank you.”
As soon as he did, Lovelace practically skipped outside to the garden.
It was even more breathtaking up close than it looked from the window. Flowers in full bloom adorned the paths, and the lush greenery gave her heart a sense of relief.
She wandered through the garden’s maze-like layout, breathing in the fresh air and fragrant blossoms.
Then her stomach growled. She began thinking of the desserts and warm tea she’d left in Larvihan’s room—only to spot Davidson approaching.
“Refreshments have been prepared in the back garden.”
Ah—so this is why he was Larvihan’s trusted butler.
Smiling brightly, Lovelace followed him.
Unlike the grand front garden, the back garden was cozy and quaint. In the center was a tea table covered in lace, with a tiered tray full of cookies and bite-sized cakes.
Her mouth watered just looking at them.
“Please enjoy, miss. I’ll come when you call.”
Davidson, ever perceptive, disappeared after setting a bell nearby. Lovelace clapped her hands and hurried to sit.
His words meant if she didn’t call, he wouldn’t come. That gave her the freedom to indulge.
She stuffed both cheeks with cake, puffing them up like a squirrel. The sugary sweetness made her tongue tingle; she chased it down with tea before reaching for a finger cake topped with thick cream.
“Is it really that good?”
A gentle voice interrupted her feast. Lovelace turned, still holding the cake.
Wow.
A man stepped out from between the trees, the dappled light casting leafy patterns on his white robe.
With golden hair so bright it could shame the sun, blue eyes like glass beads, and lips tinged rose-red, he looked ethereal—beautiful in a way ordinary people could never hope to match.
Lovelace felt a strange guilt over the cream smudged on her fingers. Some beauty felt sacred.
“Good day. I am Nicolai Herhentain.”
As he smiled, it felt like flower petals were swirling behind him. Lovelace blinked slowly, unsure how to respond.
“You’re Lady Lovelace, correct? You once lived near the Holy See?”
Lovelace flinched. A stranger knew both her name and where she’d lived?
“Don’t be alarmed. May I sit?”
Nicolai asked politely. Almost entranced, Lovelace nodded. His kind face made it impossible to imagine he could ever mean harm.
Besides, this was Larvihan’s estate—surely he was a guest. She couldn’t be rude.
She looked around to tidy the area for him. Leaves had blown onto the table and chairs, and her half-eaten cake made things look messy.
She moved quickly, her nimble hands clearing everything in no time.
“Please, have a seat.”
She gestured proudly, and Nicolai smiled as he pulled a white silk handkerchief from his robe. He shook it out and laid it over the chair she’d just wiped clean.
“You know I just cleaned that, right?”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
The reply felt unsettling. But she didn’t press and quietly sat across from him.
“Would you like some tea?”
Thanks to Davidson’s foresight, there were enough cups and a teapot ready for them both.
“No, thank you.”
He declined with a raised hand. Lovelace assumed it was just a polite refusal.
“Oh, don’t be shy. It’s really quite good.”
She poured him a cup, trying to imitate the grace of a noble lady. Nicolai’s brows twitched upward.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He pushed the cup gently back toward her.
“There’s dust on it.”
What?
Lovelace’s mouth fell open. The cup looked clean to her. Nicolai gave an embarrassed smile.
“I’m… particular. Even the smallest speck bothers me.”
Ah, germaphobe.
That must be hard to live with. Lovelace glanced at him with a hint of pity.
Though… is it okay to feel sorry for the Pope?
“Wait—you’re really the Pope?”
His appearance and clothing suggested as much, but it was still hard to believe the Pope would personally come see her.
His face, so delicate it was hard to tell if he were a boy or girl, looked nothing like what she’d imagined.
Didn’t Bangs say the Pope was some old grandpa?
Nicolai turned and lifted his shoulder-length hair, revealing a divine stigmata glowing faintly with sacred light.
There was no denying it. To say otherwise felt like inviting divine punishment.
“You’re really the Pope?!”
Her shocked voice rang through the garden.
“Yes, I am.”
“Your Holiness, please forgive my disrespect.”
Lovelace had spent years begging near the Vatican. She’d heard enough to know how revered the Pope was—and had seen the way people bowed before him.
She tried to mimic that reverence. Nicolai, with a bittersweet smile, brushed his hair back.
“No need for that. Aren’t we friends?”
“…Excuse me?”
Friends? Since when? Was there some religious meaning to the word? Was it symbolic?
Lovelace tilted her head.
“We’re here to help each other. I simply borrowed the term ahead of time.”
She didn’t quite follow. She understood the words, but not the implication.
He’s hiding something. But even so, Lovelace had to ask.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m referring to the man holding onto you.”
“Larvihan?”
At the sound of his name, the flawless smile on Nicolai’s face cracked.
His serene expression turned cold, sending a chill down her spine. Lovelace swallowed hard.
“You seem… quite close with him.”
He was back to smiling gently, as if nothing had happened. But Lovelace gripped her teacup tightly, instincts screaming to be cautious.
“You mustn’t be deceived by him, Lovelace. You have to stay away.”
She looked at him suspiciously. Telling her to avoid Larvihan out of nowhere?
“He’s extremely dangerous.”
Nicolai’s voice brimmed with conviction—so much so that it was hard to argue.
“That’s a strange thing to say, Your Holiness—considering you entered someone else’s home uninvited.”
Larvihan stepped into the garden from the same direction Nicolai had come.
Clad in a stark black suit, his presence contrasted sharply with Nicolai’s radiance. He slowly pulled leather gloves onto his hands.
“Did you come to keep my lover company, worried she might be bored?”
He gently draped an arm over Lovelace’s shoulder, caressing it softly with his gloved hand.
The rubbing sound of leather made her ears twitch.
“Or perhaps you wanted to point out how lax my estate’s security has become?”
Nicolai said nothing. The two men locked eyes in heavy silence. Caught between them, Lovelace felt like she was standing on thin ice.
The once-peaceful garden now felt like a battlefield.
She tried to stand and excuse herself, but Larvihan’s hand pressed her down.
“Davidson.”
At his call, a stiff-faced Davidson appeared.
“Who was in charge of security this afternoon?”
“Sir Helderson.”
“Bring him.”
Still watching Nicolai, Larvihan issued the order. Davidson returned moments later with Helderson in tow.
Upon seeing the scene, Helderson immediately dropped to one knee.
“Please kill me, Your Grace.”
Few knights can assess a situation in seconds. Helderson was one of the Seven Knights of Vallios—some of the continent’s most skilled swordsmen.
But Larvihan showed no mercy. He reached toward Helderson, who had allowed the intruder in.
“Close your eyes for a moment, Lovelace.”
His hand gently covered her eyes. But the scent of leather, not his usual fragrance, made even Larvihan feel unfamiliar.
“Y-Your Gr—”
Crack.
Something shattered. The voice calling his name was cut off mid-syllable.
Wind blew. The sharp scent of blood hit Lovelace’s nose.
And words came flooding back to her mind.
“He was a man who knew no mercy.
‘Did they say I’m the demon who will end this continent? As a devout follower, I cannot disobey divine prophecy.’
Wherever he walked, heads rolled like magnolia petals in spring.
With the face of an angel, he committed cruelty worse than any devil…”
“…Larvihan Vallios.”
“Yes, Lovelace?”
She murmured his full name without meaning to. Because she knew him.
All too well.
“I remember everything.”
Lovelace trembled—overwhelmed by the returning memories, the realization she was inside a novel, and worst of all…
That it was a dark, brutal one.
