Chapter 8

Rowan, known as the guildmaster of the Veil Merchant Guild, was an energetic beauty with short, deep pink hair.

Contrary to her cute appearance, she was known in the industry as a “witch” for ruthlessly seizing whatever she wanted, even if it meant pressuring the other party.

However, people likely didn’t know that Rowan was also merely an employee, and that the true guildmaster of the Veil Merchant Guild was someone else.

Having ended up all the way down in a rural fief like Cline unexpectedly, Rowan swept back her falling bangs and grumbled: “What’s this? Just when I thought you were finally focusing on guild business after so long…”

In the small room of the tavern she had rushed to upon receiving the message, there sat a man with an awkward expression, and a silver-haired woman leaning against his shoulder, fast asleep as if exhausted.

At Rowan’s words, the man with black hair and red eyes, Dante, flared up.

“I didn’t make her drink. And I didn’t make her cry, either.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure that’s true.”

“It really is! She was already like this before I arrived.”

Rowan shrugged her shoulders.

“Yes, yes.”

“…You’re teasing me on purpose, aren’t you?”

“You’re only realizing that now?”

Rowan burst into a giggle. Had it been anyone else, she might have been suspicious, but with Dante, there was no need for suspicion.

‘He must have put up his usual iron wall again.’

After all, he was Dante Christopher—the Knight of Black Wings, the pride of the Empire.

He was only twelve years old when he inherited the title of Duke. Growing up with no one to rely on, he had turned into a severe workaholic, leading a bleak life completely devoid of even a single common scandal.

‘Still, it’s precisely types like him who fall in love at first sight when the time comes.’

If a day ever came where Dante found himself flailing in a fateful love, she would tease him far more than she was now.

Rowan, thinking only of poking fun at her superior, banteringly approached Yvonne.

“My goodness, she must have cried terribly. Her eyes are going to be swollen shut by morning.”

Rowan wiped Yvonne’s face with a warm wet towel. She hadn’t noticed while teasing Dante, but seeing her up close, her face was remarkably youthful.

‘On top of that, she’s an extraordinary beauty!’

Her paper-white, translucent face was softly framed by hair as beautiful as draped silver threads. She was so pretty that she hardly looked human.

Tsk-tsking, Rowan asked: “What could have upset such a lovely young lady so much for her to drink herself into this state?”

Dante turned his head away from Yvonne and answered tersely: “Word is her fiancé cheated on her with a close friend.”

It was a common story, yet infuriating all the same. Rowan brushed Yvonne’s silver hair to one side and said: “I don’t know who he is, but he clearly has no eye for people. Rejecting such a beautiful lady to cheat…”

The fine silver hair intertwined smoothly with her fingers. Playing with the hair that slipped through without any tangles, Rowan turned back to Dante.

“By the way, doesn’t this face, this hair, match the exact vibe Your Grace was looking for? Though I don’t know what color her eyes are…”

“Her eyes are pale green, too.”

“Ah, then!”

Was she not a person with the exact appearance they had been searching for?

Dante nodded heavily.

“…Right. When she wakes up, I intend to ask her—ask her to help us with our work.”

“Hmm.”

Rowan hummed softly. Even if her appearance passed, what came next was the real issue.

It was a task where one had to risk their life—would she really comply meekly?

‘It’d be great if she cooperated. I’m sick and tired of searching for a silver-haired, green-eyed young lady by now. His Grace hasn’t been able to focus properly on his work because of it, either.’

It was unfair to work alone! It was natural for the master to work like a dog, but why did a mere wage earner like her have to work like a dog, too?

‘Ah, I’m at the limit of my patience. At this rate, I’m going to end up wearing a wig and pretending to be the late Princess myself.’

Rowan grimaced. Right then, Dante spoke in a heavy voice: “…The woman we were looking for was a fairy, wasn’t she?”

Wondering what on earth he was suddenly bringing up, Rowan corrected him in a cheerful voice: “Not a fairy, but a half-blood. They said the blood was mixed back in her great-grandparents’ generation.”

“Then can she use magic?”

“Ancient fairies were said to be adept at magic, but in times like these, who knows? Besides, she’s a half-blood… Wouldn’t she be able to use some? Though it’d be hard to expect powerful magic.”

Truthfully, not even literature remained regarding fairies, so there was nothing known.

Rowan answered with an indifferent attitude. Dante held out a handkerchief toward Rowan.

“Take a look at this, Rowan.”

Looking back at Dante with an expression that seemed to ask *what now?*, Rowan’s eyes widened.

“Wow, Your Grace, has your taste changed? Since when do you use such fancy handkerchiefs?”

The handkerchief, exquisitely embroidered with several marigolds, was so beautiful it could easily pass for a painting.

‘Was there a seamstress this skilled at the Ducal estate?’

As Rowan tilted her head, Dante asked in a meaningful voice:

“Does that look like it was embroidered by a human?”

“Humans do embroidery—who else would? But it really is exquisite. It looks like the craftsmanship of a master you’d have to pay a fortune to hire.”

Indeed. Dante nodded heavily, then added in a low voice: “That handkerchief was embroidered with magic. The needle was moving all on its own without any thread.”

“Pardon?”

To Rowan, who looked up in utter astonishment, Dante replied with a grave expression: “It seems we’ve found the person herself.”

***

Father had been sick for a very long time. Recently, I hadn’t been able to see his face at all. Whenever I said I wanted to meet Father, all the adults around wore awkward expressions and smiled.

〈His Majesty will recover soon. Please wait just a little longer, Princess.〉

Not wanting to make other people sad, I naturally stopped looking for both Father and Mother.

I simply prayed quietly.

That Father would get better, and that Mother would not be sad anymore.

And then, that day suddenly arrived.

That night—the night I lost everything.

〈Lord Petuanis, I entrust my daughter to you!〉

Mother, whom I hadn’t seen in so long, placed me on the back of a giant dragon. Then, weeping, she draped a knitted shawl over me.

〈My sweet child, Mother made this while thinking of you. I wanted to stay with you for a very, very long time and make everything for you… Your first lace gloves, your debutante dress… Not just a flowered shawl like this…〉

Tears as beautiful as diamonds poured from her large green eyes.

〈You must be happy, my daughter.〉

It was a night from a very distant past—a past I couldn’t remember.

***

Opening my eyes in the morning, I had never felt my eye area sting like this before.

‘What’s going on?’

I rubbed my stinging eyelids with both palms as if they were scraped.

‘I can’t open my eyes at all.’

I wanted to at least think, but my head throbbed as if pricked by needles.

“Water, please…”

As I sat up looking for a maid, a blunt voice echoed from beside me: “You slept soundly, so you must feel refreshed.”

“No, it hurts so much…”

Answering reflexively, I realized that the voice I was hearing was thoroughly unfamiliar. Startled, I quickly scrambled to the corner of the bed and asked: “Gasp! Wh-Who are you?”

He was a tall man. His neat forehead was slightly furrowed, and his eyes were sharp. His slightly fallen black hair, sturdy jawline, and thick forearms came into view one by one.

As I blankly inspected his face, he gestured toward me with his chin and said: “You should be the one introducing yourself.”

“Pardon? Pardon?”

Why do I have to introduce myself?

As I blinked without grasping the situation, a woman with pink hair standing beside the man cut in with a cat-like smile:

“Growling with such a terrifying face, how could a delicate young lady possibly answer?”

And who are you?

I looked at her with puzzled eyes. She shrugged her shoulders and said: “Nice to meet you, My Lady. I’m Rowan from the Veil Merchant Guild. Judging by your appearance, am I correct in thinking you came after seeing our guild’s help-wanted ad?”

“Yes, that’s right!”

Only now did my memories return one by one.

Hearing that the Veil Merchant Guild was looking for a woman with the same hair and eye color as mine, I had gone to check it out, and in a fit of pique, I drank beer.

‘Ugh, so this is a hangover? Just how much did I drink?’

I held my forehead, letting out a soft groan. Even in that situation, the two of them were waiting for my answer. I hurriedly opened my mouth: “I am…”

However, no words came out after that. I worried that if they heard my name, they might realize I was the woman soon to marry Emile Cline.

‘They might not know since they aren’t people from the Cline fief, but…’

If they did know, wouldn’t they find it odd? Why was a woman getting married soon snooping around for a job like this?

‘It would be troublesome if it accidentally reached Countess Cline’s ears…’

As I hesitated without answering, merely moving my lips, Rowan’s face—as she waited for my response—grew stern.

“Are you perhaps on the run?”

“No! Not at all!”

On the run? It was absolutely nothing like that.