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FLASHBACK
Two young noblewomen leaned against the stone wall of the manor's inner courtyard, their voices low and their expressions bright with the thrill of scandal.
Their eyes flicked to the nearby servants as they huddled closer, eager to share the latest gossip.
"Have you heard what they say about Lord Sullivan Ryod?" One of the girls whispered, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. She was the first to speak of the archduke's notorious reputation, a man whose name was spoken with equal parts of fear and fascination.
The other girl leaned in, her face full of curiosity and excitement. "You mean the one who's as dangerous as he is mysterious? The one whose hands are stained with blood?"
The first girl nodded, her expression growing more serious. "They say he slaughters men without a second thought. It's not just his reputation, it's the truth. And his scars—oh, they're horrifying. They've turned him into something that barely resembles a man anymore."
She shuddered, her hand brushing her cheeks, clearly disturbed by the thought.
"Scars?" The second girl tsked. "I've heard they're not just from battles."
She leaned in closer, lowering her voice.
"They say half of his face is ruined—down to his neck and chest. He's so disfigured, no one can bear to look at him for long. The stories also say that his skin's been ravaged by a disease—a terrible, contagious one. They say anyone who touches him will catch it, their skin turning black, rotting away."
The first girl rolled her eyes but still looked over her shoulder as if expecting the archduke to appear from the dark and silence them with a pistol.
The second girl wrinkled her nose, a look of disgust crossing her features. "He may be somewhat handsome.. but his scars—who would want to touch him? Let alone look at him? I'm not even sure if I could bring myself to speak to him, even if he were standing right in front of me."
They both fell silent for a moment, then they turned their heads toward their friend, Adelheid, who had been quiet all along, hands tucked neatly on her lap.
The girls scooted forward in perfect sync, each grabbing one of Adelheid's with eagar grins.
"What do you think, Adelheid?" One of them asked, eyes gleaming. "Would you dare look at Lord Ryod?"
Adelheid blinked. Her lips parted slightly, then she gave a small shake of her head "No. He sounds terrifying."
Terrifying, she repeated in her mind.
He sounded like someone she wouldn't ever want to meet, that's for sure. A walking nightmare draped in silks.
"Yes, he is." The first friend agreed, nodding. "Honestly, if I saw him walking down the hall, I'd probably faint—or throw holy water."
They all laughed.
Then the second girl suddenly raised her pinky, her expression turning serious.
"Let's make a pact." She said dramatically. "Swear to never speak to him. No matter what. If we do run into him—look the other way. Pinky swear."
The first girl gave an exaggerated gasp and linked her pinky immediately. "Sworn! If I ever even look at him, may my future husband have no teeth."
They both giggled and turned to Adelheid.
Adelheid hesitated, then slowly lifted her pinky. "Fine. I promise."
She forced a smile, locking pinkies with her friends as they giggled and sealed their silly oath.
Not like lowborn nobles like them ever had a chance at meeting the infamous archduke anyway...
Right?
‡‡‡
"Move aside."
Adelheid froze.
The voice, deep—echoed through the quiet corridor. Her spine stiffened as a shiver staked down it, her eyes rising slowly to meet the figure looming before her.
She had never been the one for gossip, but even the most outlandish stories she'd heard hadn't prepared her for this.
Standing before her was a man who resembled a war-torn nightmare in flesh. Half his face was a grotesque canvas of scars, jagged and angry.
Her eyes instinctively dropped to his torso.
His chest—what little was still clothed—was covered in fresh blood, revealing skin so battered it was hard to tell where the old wounds ended and the new ones began.
When her gaze hesitantly lifted back to his face and her frown deepened.
The left side bore a scar so deep it looked like it had been carved with an axe. The gash twisted upward from his jaw, nearly reaching his temple—flesh torn open in places so brutally she feared she was looking at raw tissue.
The carnage on his face connected seamlessly with the wreckage on his chest, as if his entire being had been torn apart and haphazardly sewn back together.
But it wasn't the gore that unsettled her most.
It was his eyes.
They stared down at her with a blank expression, so emotionless it seemed almost inhuman.
She was still frozen in place, barely able to breathe—when she realized five physicians stood behind him, staring at her as though she had lost her mind.
Then it hit her—how loud she'd screamed.
Her hand slapped over her mouth. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment, mortified by her own outburst. She wanted to crawl into the nearest wall and die there.
"I.. I'm sorry." She stammered, bowing her head so quickly her neck almost snapped.
But there was no response.
Instead she heard footsteps draw closer.. to her.
Her trembling body instinctively stiffened.
The.. the archduke was walking towards her.
And then he spoke again, voice deeper this time.
"You are the one Zamiel takes interest in?"
She slowly lifted her gaze, heart thudding wildly in her chest.
The light from the torches in the hands of the physicians behind him, revealed more of his battered body now that he stood closer—savage scars crisscrossing his body like a map of violence.
Adelheid, feeling incredibly small, instinctively stepped back, shrinking under his gaze. Her mouth opened to speak but no words came out.
Oh heavens.
She was standing in a dark corridor, infront of a bloodied man with wounds so vicious they looked like they had tried to unmake him—and behind him, five terrifying doctors watching the exchange in silence.
"I.. uh.. yes. I am to meet with His Majesty soon." She managed, her voice sounding pitiful even to her own ears.
He stared at her for a long moment.
And then, he chuckled.
It was low.. a gravelly deep sound that rumbled up from his chest and reverberated out through the corridor.
The hairs on her neck stood on end.
Was he.. laughing at her?
Had she said something funny? Or—gods—was her fear amusing to him?
"..And yet, you ogle so deeply at the naked body of another man." He drawled at last, lips quirking lazily at the corner. He straightened, the lines of his muscles falling back into a more rigid, statuesque stance. "Women."
Adelheid: "..!"
But he didn't wait for a reply.
Without sparing her another glance, he walked away, the entourage of physicians quietly trailing behind him, before they all finally vanished into the dark.
Adelheid blinked.
Ogle?
OG-LE?!
Was he insane?!
She hadn't been ogling him!
That was not admiration on her face—it was horror!
The audacity of that man to suggest she was interested in a body that looked like it needed divine intervention!
And heavens—the rumours had been worse than she'd imagined!
She let out an exasperated sigh.
But then..
Her hand slowly lifted to her forehead.
Her forehead.
Her forehead had touched his skin.
The same skin that looked like it had fought off an entire plague.
A wave of revulsion rolled through her, and her face twisted in horror.
Was she going to catch something?! Was she now infected with some mysterious born disease?! She didn't even want to think about it. She needed holy water. A new forehead. A medical physician. Something!
"Lady Adelheid?"
The sudden voice behind her nearly made her jump out of her skin—for the second time that day.
She spun around to find the butler standing there, hands clasped behind his back.
"I've been looking for you." He said calmly, eyes flicking once down the hallway and back at her. "What are you doing here?"
Adelheid, still trying to regulate her heartbeat, pressed a hand to her chest. "His Majesty didn't show, so I went to find him."
The butler did not react. He just gave a short nod and said smoothly. "Follow me. You shouldn't be in this wing of the castle."
Adelheid blinked.
But again, didn't ask questions. So, lips pressed in a tight line, she followed him quietly, her shoe padding across the floor as they made their way back to the waiting room.
Once there, the butler gestured for her to sit. "His Majesty will be with you shortly."
Adelheid arched a brow. Her patience was already hanging by a thread. "I presume you mean another hour?"
This time, the butler looked directly at her. "His Majesty is done with his meeting. He'll be here shortly."
She gave a long, theatrical sigh. 'Soon.' she muttered, dropping delicately into the seat. "Of course."
The butler give a nod and exited.
And again.. she waited.
Seconds passed. Then minutes.
Until finally, the grand double doors creaked open.
And a tall silhouette walked in.
The King.
She swallowed.
He entered, posture straight like something carved from grace and authority itself. King Zamiel was dressed immaculately in formal regalia: a deep navy coat and a white tunic underneath it, paired with black trousers and shiny dark boots.
He looked every bit the monarch. Regal and composed.
And then his eyes found hers.
"Lady Adelheid." He said, voice smooth and warm. "I apologize for the delay."
Adelheid rose to her feet, spine straightening, but eyes narrowing just a touch.
"I.. I was told you'd be with me shortly." She said, biting back the urge to express her full frustration. "That was nearly two hours ago."
A faint smile played om Zamiel's lips.
"Important matters demanded my attention." He replied. "But I appreciate your patience."
Adelheid bit down on her tongue and pressed her lips into a smile. "Of course."
He chuckled softly, then took a step closer and gestured to the settee beside him as he lowered himself onto it. "Please, sit."
She obeyed and sat carefully beside him.
"I imagine you're confused." He spoke. "about the proposal I sent."
Adelheid nodded once. "Yes, Your Majesty."
His eyes didn't leave hers. "You shouldn't be confused. I sent it with a clear mind."
She blinked. "But.. why, Your Majesty? You had dismi—"
"I had dismissed you." He interjected smoothly. "I am aware."
That silenced her. She glanced down at the purse in her lap, clutching it slightly tighter—her fingers brushing against the second letter inside it.
Then she looked up again.
"Your Majesty."
"Lady Adelheid."
Her cheeks colored instantly. "No, please, you first."
That chuckle came again, velvet-wrapped and teasing. "Speak freely, my lady."
Adelheid took a slow breath, pulled out the letter, and held it up.
"I wanted to ask.." She began hesitantly. "Why you wrote what you did in this letter.. and how you knew how to write something like that."
Zamiel's gaze fell to the letter—then he rose, unfolding to his full height and walked toward the tall windows of the waiting room that framed the lush courtyard beyond.
He clasped his hands behind his back and stared outside for a moment, quiet.
Then tilted his head slightly, a small—wistful smile—playing on his lips, eyes on the view.
"Lady Adelheid.. do not lie to me. Is your name truly Adelheid?"