Chapter 10
“Lucon of the North.”
That was the name of the war hero — the chieftain who united the northern tribes.
If so, then this letter… was written by Lucon, the eternal Marshal of the North, who now called Salvard Tan his son.
That could mean only one thing:
Salvard Tan was the blood of Dione’s own kin — the one destined to take her as a living offering.
It also meant that Ramberta’s grim fate — to be sold away like a bargaining token — was beginning to move again, only this time toward a different master.
A chill drained the color from her face. She turned slightly, stealing a glance at Erwin.
“This is Coronis land, and you are of Coronis blood, my lady. Always act with pride.”
That was what he had said only this morning. Yet the man who had urged her to stand tall now looked… anxious, his composure cracking beneath strain.
“…Forgive me. Could you give me just a moment to finish reading?”
Ramberta’s voice was faint but steady. Perhaps there was something she had missed — a detail that might change the meaning, even slightly.
But as she looked again, the curling northern letters written in hurried script blurred together. Even though she had studied the northern tongue since childhood, the dialect was thick and archaic.
Skipping over the complex nouns and regional names, she found lines that were easier to read — the simple ones, written almost tenderly.
‘This part…’
Unlike the stiff, authoritative tone of the earlier lines, this section flowed with colloquial words and warmth — the kind that came from genuine concern.
It read like a letter her father might have sent when he was away on campaign — affectionate, chiding, familiar.
“You understand it, then.”
Salvard Tan sat back, watching her with leisurely interest, as though welcoming her into his own hall.
“Or should I translate for you?”
“…No. That won’t be necessary. I can read enough.”
At her hurried reply, his lips curved into a crooked smile.
“So. You’ve realized what it means, haven’t you? That since I am of Dione’s kin — of Lucon’s heroic blood — then…”
Ramberta bit her lip, drawing in a slow, trembling breath. The words were hard to force out, heavy as stone.
“You’re saying… if I remarry you, we can once again gain the North as our ally.”
“Hmm. I’d rather not call such a solid alliance a mere ally.”
He chuckled softly and inclined his head, amused.
“…However—”
The moment she began to speak again, he sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair in open irritation.
“What is it now?” she asked.
“Nothing. I just know it’s going to be a waste of time, and yet I’ll have to listen. That alone is enough to make me sick.”
“…Did you just call this a waste of time?”
“Yes. Am I wrong? Southern ladies always begin with ‘However—’ and then proceed to cry about how cruel the world is. You’re not going to do the same, are you?”
His gaze struck her like a blade — cold, cutting, expectant.
Ramberta flushed with anger and bit her lip hard.
“…I’m not the same. Don’t act like you already know what I’ll say.”
Humiliation seethed through her chest, but one glance at Erwin’s tense face stopped her from letting it explode.
Her voice came out low, but controlled.
“You think it’s so obvious — that I’d be worrying about what people would say if I remarried my dead husband’s brother.”
At that, Salvard Tan’s faint smile vanished. His face froze into something hard and indifferent.
She bowed her head slightly — his words weren’t wrong. Even confined within her own lands, she could never ignore the whispers of noble society.
A shameless woman who married her brother-in-law.
And worse — the murderer who conspired with him to kill Dione and seize her estate.
Such slander could come easily.
But Salvard Tan only laughed — dryly, mockingly.
“While your domain teeters on the edge of ruin, you still worry about reputation. Truly remarkable. You’re a perfect southern noblewoman, Lady Ramberta Coronis.”
“House Coronis is the rightful ruler of this land,” she shot back. “We were there from the founding of the kingdom. How could I not care about our name?”
Her voice rose, fierce with pride and fury.
What a detestable man, she thought.
He understood her better than anyone — and used that knowledge to twist the knife deeper.
“Fine,” he said coolly. “Tell me then — does that proud reputation help you now? Go on, teach me. Should I value the praise of those spineless courtiers? Or the honor of a family already bleeding out?”
His voice was smooth, dangerously soft — the kind that coaxed before it cut.
To Ramberta, it was both humiliating and mesmerizing, its cadence like velvet wrapped around poison.
He was appraising her.
Like a collector valuing a rare artifact, he observed every word, every tremor, every flicker of her eyes.
Salvard Tan was putting a price on Ramberta Coronis.
Her stomach twisted, but she didn’t look away.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “But rumor should always be buried by rumor. What do you suppose would happen if I told the court that you were a Northerner?”
Erwin’s eyes widened in alarm.
“My lady—!”
He didn’t even have time to beg her to stop before the words were already out — reckless, dangerous, and unmistakably a threat.
“Go on,” said Salvard Tan, leaning forward, amused. “I’m listening.”
For the first time since his arrival, the frost in his eyes melted into faint interest.
“If the heir of the North’s tribes was revealed to have joined the southern court — to have become a close aide to Prince Pornax — the whole kingdom would riot.”
“Heh. Suppose I believe you. Then what?”
He smiled, urging her to continue.
“Then you’d lose the southern title you gained by whatever means. And since you served as Prince Pornax’s aide, the crown might call you a northern duke instead. Another war would break out — and whichever side you stood on, you’d be forced to spill blood for Coronis. A widow like me… wouldn’t matter at all.”
As she finished, the smile on his face twisted into something darker.
A warped grin. Eyes sharp with malice and pleasure both.
Like a man who’d finally heard what he wanted most.
“Erwin, was it?” His tone turned cold. “You should leave. What I have to say next isn’t for a servant’s ears.”
Without even glancing at him, Salvard Tan pointed lazily toward the door.
His eyes — burning, unyielding — never once left Ramberta’s face.
Erwin hesitated. The weight of that gaze filled the room like smoke, suffocating.
“…My lady.”
He felt ashamed — a loyal man forced to bow before an arrogant upstart. A retainer unable to protect the only one who still depended on him.
But inside, something else was burning — calculation.
Prince Pornax calls for a northern campaign… yet his own aide is a northerner?
What would that information be worth?
“…I’ll be fine, Erwin,” Ramberta said softly. “Please. Trust me.”
“…Understood, my lady. I’ll be right outside.”
She was trembling, and yet she smiled — a small, fragile, fabricated smile.
Erwin mistook it for courage, and the shame of that misunderstanding made him lower his head as he left the room.
The door clicked shut.
No sooner had the sound faded than Salvard Tan spoke again — his voice suddenly low and sharp.
“Tell me, Ramberta Coronis… what did you do to Dione on the wedding day?”
