Chapter 6

“My lady, the Count is waiting for you.”

At the maid’s urging voice, Rebecca was jolted back to reality.

She opened the door and walked slowly down the corridor.

With each step, the hem of her dress brushed against itself with a rustling sound.

Across from her, Alicia’s door opened a crack.

Through the narrow gap, Alicia examined Rebecca from head to toe with greedy eyes.

Her gaze was full of hunger.

Rebecca met her eyes and offered the faintest smile.

That triumphant smile made sparks of fury flash in Alicia’s eyes.

Yes. Realize your place. And desire what you can never have.

Parties had always been tiresome to attend, but tonight’s banquet was different.

This time she was willing.

Because tonight, she had a clear purpose.

It was the chance to fasten the very first button of her revenge.

“Croa, don’t you have anything more useful to tell me?”

Julian leafed through the reports Croa had gathered.

As usual, not a single worthwhile clue about the curse.

The quality of information seemed to be getting worse and worse.

With a growl, Julian slammed his palm on the desk.

The wineglass toppled, spilling its contents across the surface.

Red droplets splashed onto his bare chest.

“These days every storyteller who smells money rushes in. It takes days just to filter out the nonsense. More importantly, you really should change your clothes, my lord.”

Flustered, Croa rushed forward with a handkerchief, blotting the wine as it trickled down Julian’s chest. Behind him, servants stood ready with a black tailcoat.

Julian raked his black hair back in irritation.

“If I had known it would be like this, I shouldn’t have gone to war.”

“And who was it that insisted he was itching for a fight?”

“It wasn’t even a war. They surrendered the moment we drew our blades. Obviously planned by the Emperor. I knew something was off. There’s no such thing as a real rebellion these days.”

“What does it matter? At least accept tonight’s invitation in recognition of your efforts. If you keep testing His Majesty’s patience, something serious could happen.”

“Something serious? What could he do? As long as that damned goddess sits over my family, not even the Emperor can touch me.”

Julian’s golden eyes glimmered sharply.

At his feet, three black cats lifted their heads and yowled in unison.

The chilling sound made the servants falter.

Croa, used to such scenes, snatched the shirt from a servant’s hands and pushed it toward Julian.

“Enough talk. Put this on!”

Julian sighed.

“Just thinking of the wretched performance I have to give already makes my head ache.”

“Then just keep up appearances tonight. Everyone already believes the rumors — that you’re a debauched wretch with filthy tastes. I also heard they brought in Rengers wine for the banquet. That should cheer you.”

“Hm. That at least is to my liking.”

Glancing at the clock with distaste, Julian rose from his chair.

At Croa’s sharp snap of the fingers, the frozen servants finally sprang into motion, hurrying to dress the Duke.

The House of Johannes was known as the noble family blessed by the goddess Depria.

But in truth, the story was different.

Once, the family had been nothing more than minor nobility.

Then, one ancestor received a revelation from the goddess of fortune.

If you ensure that I and my children are honored above all, I shall grant your house eternal wealth and glory.

Not long after, rebellion broke out.

Siding with the rebels, the ancestor won a decisive victory under the goddess’s protection.

The new Emperor rewarded him with a dukedom.

By the Duke’s advice, the cult of Depria was established as the state religion.

Temples sprang up across the land, dedicated to her worship.

Cats, once considered ominous creatures, became sacred symbols of the goddess and heralds of good fortune.

Thus, as promised, the Johannes family rose to prominence, wealthy and honored beyond measure.

But as generations passed, gratitude faded.

One foolish descendant defiled a temple with his mistress.

The enraged goddess laid a curse:

Your child shall be bound to the one I send. You will pay dearly for the blessings you squandered so cheaply.

Months later, the mistress gave birth to a son — the only heir.

On the day of his birth, a black cat appeared.

When they tried to drive it away, the infant cried inconsolably.

When the cat was hurt, the child was injured as well.

Eventually, they understood.

The heir’s soul was tied to the goddess’s chosen cat.

From then on, each heir of the house was born with golden eyes that shifted with their emotions.

And every heir shared their divine life force with a black cat that needed no food or water, only the heir’s sacred power.

The bond cut lives short.

To preserve the line, each Duke was forced into marriage young.

If the first wife bore no child within a year, another was brought in.

Few knew the truth — only the Pope, the temple, and a handful within the house itself.

To protect the goddess’s cats, the temple treated the Duke of Johannes like breeding stock.

And so, generation after generation, the curse endured.

Wealth and glory remained, but so did tragedy.

Julian was no exception.

Yet unlike his forebears, he was born with the strongest divine power of them all.

The Pope prophesied that his lifespan would exceed that of other Dukes.

Thanks to that, he had so far avoided the detested forced marriage.

But the reprieve would not last.

He was already nearing his mid-twenties.

Soon the retainers and the temple would pressure him relentlessly.

Julian hated it.

He could never drag an innocent woman into his family’s curse.

The wives of Johannes never met good ends.

His own mother had withered and died when he was young.

The other three women went mad after his father’s death and ended their own lives.

Julian could not accept such a fate without a fight.

He lifted his gaze to the window.

Light spilled from the eastern annex where Lily lived.

Even if he left no heir, if Lily bore a son, the curse would pass to him.

That tiny boy would be chained to the same wretched destiny.

Julian clenched his jaw.

“It has to end with me…”

All his life, he had longed for a miracle.

But he had never once prayed.

“Careful of your step, Rebecca.”

Zeppelin stepped down first from the carriage and held out his hand.

For a moment, he was struck silent by her appearance.

Clad in the ornaments he had chosen, she was breathtaking, beyond words.

Rebecca paused to gaze at him in his immaculate white tailcoat, then placed her hand on his arm.

Zeppelin’s eyes drifted to the wedding ring on her slender finger, and memory tugged at him.

On his seventeenth birthday, the Devonshire estate had held a grand ball.

Snow was falling thick that night.

Bored with the festivities, Zeppelin had slipped onto the balcony — and there, for the first time, he saw Rebecca.

She was only eleven, tumbling joyfully in the snow until her cheeks burned crimson.

When their eyes met, she beamed at him with a smile so radiant that he lost his breath.

He had fallen in love at once.

Or more truthfully, he was captivated by her face — so like his own.

If I marry her, how beautiful our children will be.

To Zeppelin, raised to believe beauty was the highest meaning of life, that thought became his guiding star.

From that night on, he devoted himself to making Rebecca his.

And at last, he succeeded.

But molding her into what he desired proved far more difficult.

Rebecca was sharper, stronger-willed than he had expected.

Zeppelin, however, was just as patient.

For nearly ten years, he labored to isolate her completely, to make her rely on no one but him.

Even Alicia had been brought into the household for this reason — to force Rebecca to compare herself with youth and despair all the more.

He wanted her to doubt herself, to cling to beauty with increasing desperation.

All that remains is for her to give me a child. My child, in my image.

Zeppelin felt the stares of other men drifting toward Rebecca’s luminous face.

Satisfied, he smiled and led her into the banquet hall where chandeliers glittered overhead.

He had no inkling what thoughts were moving through Rebecca’s mind.

“I’ve heard much of you, Duke Johannes.”

Julian, seated beside Emperor Zahidra, turned his head at the clear voice.

A young woman with red hair swept up in a knot was smiling at him.

The Emperor beamed as he introduced her.

“Julian, I don’t believe you’ve met. This is Princess Catherine.”

A princess?

Julian’s eyes flicked over her as she blushed prettily.

Then he glanced at Zahidra.

The Emperor was watching the two of them with obvious anticipation.

Julian stifled a laugh.

Ha. Old fool. You’re transparent.

For generations, the authority of the temple had grown overwhelming.

Most high nobles were puppets of the Pope, and the common people adored him as well.

So much so that even government policy was not final until reviewed by a cardinal or the Pope himself.

The House of Johannes had once been firmly aligned with the temple.

But since Julian became Duke, he had walked a careful line of neutrality between throne and church.

The previous Emperor had been helpless, nothing more than a marionette of the temple.

Zahidra, having grown up watching, had long prepared to strengthen imperial power.

To him, Julian must have looked like a goose that laid golden eggs.

The temple held no sway over the goddess’s chosen heir — the Duke of Johannes.

If he could pull Julian to his side, the Duke would be a powerful counterbalance to the temple.

And what better way to bind him than through marriage?