Chapter 2
Crystal Lottery was born the child of the Duke of Lottery and his concubine.
The Duke of Lottery was notorious for his debauchery with women. He had one wife, three concubines, and countless mistresses.
The only family blessed with both dazzling golden hair and eyes as blue as the sky was the Lottery family. Even if others shared similar coloring, none could match the radiant impression that a Lottery carried.
Thus, any child who bore those two traits could be officially acknowledged as a member of House Lottery. As long as the bloodline was proven, they would be accepted as a child of the family.
Even so, the duke did not have many children—only two sons and five daughters. Of them, both sons were born of the legal wife.
The five daughters were born among the concubines and mistresses, but within the family there was little discrimination based on their mothers’ status. That was because only sons were entitled to inheritance.
The property also went to the sons. Daughters were given an equal dowry and then treated as outsiders. With no stake in inheritance, it was natural that they had no will to fight among themselves.
In such a household, the fact that both sons were born of the legal wife meant there was no unnecessary conflict over succession. And since the second son was frail in health, it was almost certain that the first son would inherit the family.
Some might say the Duke of Lottery was blessed with uncanny luck—but reality was far crueller.
The daughters were left alone. But the sons… were all killed.
It was the result of collusion between the legal wife, who sought to secure her sons’ succession rights, and the duke, who wanted to avoid troublesome complications.
Golden hair, eyes like the sky—hoping the hair might darken with age was a meaningless illusion. Crystal’s mother had every reason to hide her son when she gave birth to a child who bore the undeniable marks of a Lottery.
“If it’s a boy, he’ll be Chris. If it’s a girl, Crystal.”
“…What should we do?”
Marianne looked at her friend with a worried face.
Even if they ran away, hiding such conspicuous features for a lifetime was nearly impossible. But if the truth were discovered, the boy would certainly die.
Crystal’s mother made a bold decision.
“I already said—if it’s a boy, Chris, if it’s a girl, Crystal. My child’s name is Crystal.”
“That means…”
“My child will be Crystal Lottery. The Duke of Lottery’s fifth daughter.”
“…Crystal. That’s a beautiful name. She’ll grow up to make quite a few men cry.”
“Yes. She will. Because she’ll take after me.”
Before the newborn child, the two women shared an unspoken vow.
The lie began with rumors that young Crystal suffered from a chronic illness. That her body was too weak for her to go out much. It was groundwork, a story prepared for the day when Crystal would no longer be able to hide her true sex.
The excuse of frailty drew no suspicion. People simply assumed she had inherited her mother’s constitution. In truth, no one within the Lottery household paid much attention to the mother and daughter who lived quietly in a remote annex.
There was no reason to stop them from confining themselves there. The Duke, devoted to his lovers, had no inclination to look after his family, and once the legal wife confirmed the child was a girl, she lost all interest.
Thanks to this, Crystal safely reached adulthood.
Their words had come true—Crystal grew to resemble her mother more and more. And by the time she was grown, she already had the reputation of a young lady who had made at least one male servant weep.
Had House Lottery not decided to marry her off, Crystal might have remained in that annex forever, safe and happy in her small world until the day she quietly disappeared.
But now Crystal Lottery had come to the Grand Duke’s Castle of Pentrin.
“Yes. I am Crystal Lottery. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She brushed her hair behind her ear with practiced grace, her bright smile never faltering.
“You must be tired after such a long journey.”
“It’s fine. I actually enjoyed the trip. It’s my first time traveling, since I’ve always been too frail to leave home.”
Hearing her light, smiling voice, the butler took her luggage. His brief observation told him her tightly wrapped clothes revealed not a sliver of skin. With scarf and gloves covering her completely, only her face was exposed.
Even from a glance, the rumors of her being sick seemed true—her sharply gaunt cheeks and pale lips supported the story.
The man watching her, Damian, pushed aside his thoughts. Appearances only revealed so much. Better to discard personal impressions and report only objective facts to the Grand Duke.
“Did you enjoy the journey? The climate must have been difficult. I hear snow rarely falls in the south.”
“That’s right. The last snowfall was ten years ago—just a sprinkling. Thanks to this, I was able to see plenty of snow this time.”
No. She had slept.
As if to make up for all her nervousness, she had dozed almost the entire way.
“This is the best season to see snow. In a week, the heavy blizzards will begin.”
“Blizzards? You mean there will be even more snow than this?”
“Yes. So much that going outside becomes impossible. Most people stay indoors and rest during this time. We call this season ‘Zenual.’”
She could hardly imagine it. Even though she had slept through much of the trip, the mountains of snow piled around were more than enough to behold. Yet they said even more would come.
If she had arrived a few days later, she might have been blocked by the storm. Just imagining it made her shudder with relief.
“Does that apply to Pentrin Castle as well?”
“Yes. But since the Grand Duke’s castle is already so reclusive, there’s not much difference. Only five people live here, including His Grace Illian. You may use any room you like, since there are plenty vacant.”
Five people? Crystal nearly asked aloud but caught herself.
Even the Lottery estate, a fraction of this castle’s size, employed more servants. No matter how advanced magic was, some tasks were better suited for human hands—cleaning, cooking, and so on could not be solved instantly by spells.
With so few inhabitants, it was no wonder rumors spread about the Grand Duke’s castle. A massive fortress, inhabited by barely a handful—it was perfect breeding ground for strange tales.
As if reading her thoughts, Damian added,
“The number is small because it is sufficient—His Grace, myself, one cook, and two mages. The cook and mages handle the upkeep. It’s a heavy load for just two mages, but their ability is more than enough. And…”
Damian hesitated for a moment before finishing.
“His Grace dislikes being surrounded by many people.”
Crystal was certain this was the true reason.
Illian Pentrin.
Hero of the North, loyal vassal to the king, an ice-cold man who never showed his face. The list of his titles alone could fill a day. Thanks to this, many hearts quickened at the mere mention of his name—for more than one reason.
Where there were good rumors, bad ones followed. A blood-drinking monster. A mad recluse who hated mankind. A sadist who delighted in human screams…
Not every rumor was true, of course. But every rumor had its spark. His ruthlessness on the frontier, the reclusive castle with its sparse staff, the Grand Duke’s hidden face—enough sparks to ignite any fire.
“We’ve prepared a room for you on the third floor. You may use that one first, and if you prefer another, let us know. Though all rooms are kept spotless, we cannot offer just any chamber to a guest.”
“Oh, no, anywhere is fine.”
Crystal waved her hand. The room didn’t matter. As long as it was quiet and without nearby company, any floor would do.
“Thank you for your consideration.”
“Please don’t hesitate to ask. It’s only natural for us to serve a guest who has come all the way to Pentrin Castle.”
A guest. Twice, he’d said it.
Crystal had come here as the Grand Duke’s bride-to-be. She had sent a proposal and received a letter of consent. All that remained was to sign the marriage contract.
Yet the duke’s man implied otherwise—that she was still merely a guest, and this marriage was far from settled.
Crystal’s proposal had been the bare minimum of formality. Most requirements for an alliance marriage had been omitted. She had even sent it under her own name, without the family seal.
Polite words aside, it was like asking: Would you mind if I roasted some beans over lightning? The Grand Duke would have been justified in refusing outright.
The problem was—he had accepted.
What was meant as a half-hearted gamble had been met with enthusiastic consent. It was no wonder Crystal and her nurse had nearly fainted with shock when they read the reply.
Even thinking it over calmly, the whole thing felt precarious. She had come here with worry and fear in equal measure. And just as she suspected, the Pentrin household was not one to take lightly.
“Will I be meeting His Grace Illian soon?”
Please say no.
“Ah, I’m afraid not. His Grace is currently away from the castle.”
Thank you.
“Then I suppose I’ll wait in my room. When is he expected back?”
“Likely before dawn tomorrow. I will come to your chambers in the morning. You must be weary from the journey, so please rest well tonight.”
Though she had slept in the carriage, her body still carried the fatigue of travel. Meeting the Grand Duke was no light matter. Being able to rest and collect herself was welcome news indeed.
“The dining hall is on the first floor, but with so few people, the line between hall and kitchen is faint. And since everyone eats at different times, the hall is seldom used. If you don’t mind, I’ll have your meals brought to your room.”
“That would be wonderful. Oh, then does His Grace not use the dining hall either?”
“No. His Grace rarely leaves his study. His work keeps him occupied, so we usually bring meals directly to him…”
Damian stumbled, his voice faltering. His step on the staircase halted midway.
Startled, Crystal widened her eyes at him. His stiff gaze was fixed upward. Following it, she saw a man leaning casually against the banister.
“…Your Grace?”
The words slipped out in a whisper, unintended.
Crystal, like Damian, couldn’t look away. And then, she heard it—his voice.
Expressionless as he looked down, his lips curved into a languid smile. The unhurried composure of a predator who already knew he would win.
Illian Pentrin.
He was standing there.
