Immediately after Chloe departed for Ronheim, only Andrea's handpicked maids remained in the Princess's quarters—the servants who had tormented her for years under the guise of service.
Soon, the head maid of the Prince's palace would summon them back to their original posts. But in the chaos following Chloe's sudden departure, it seemed the woman had forgotten about them entirely. No instructions had arrived. No schedule had been set.
The maids exchanged gleeful glances.
"It's a vacation until someone remembers we exist!"
They were thrilled. Finally free from the pretense of caring for the "mad princess," they scattered throughout the empty palace wing like children released from lessons, doing whatever they pleased, wherever they pleased.
Some lounged on Chloe's own bed—the one she had been forced to abandon—gossiping and laughing without fear of consequence.
Then one of the maids noticed something odd: a corner of white paper protruding from behind a drawer on the far wall.
"What's that?"
She approached absentmindedly, pinched the corner between her fingernails, and carefully pulled it free.
Her eyes scanned the words written in delicate handwriting.
The maid read the fragment aloud, her expression twisting into a grimace of disgust. She turned to show the scrap of paper to her colleagues.
"Look at this."
The other maids gathered around, peering at the note with morbid curiosity.
"What does it mean?"
"Who knows? But look—it's definitely the Princess's handwriting."
The first maid scoffed, shivering dramatically as if struck by goosebumps.
"Another one of her deranged episodes. She's been mumbling to herself like she's talking to invisible people for years. I suppose now she's writing letters to them too?"
"Ugh, disgusting."
"How did she get so insane? Sometimes she seems almost normal, but then you catch her locked in her room whispering to shadows, and you realize she's completely mad."
"Inherited it from her mother, didn't she? Tsk tsk."
"That's why the Empress sent her to Ronheim—to get her out of the palace for good. So she never comes back."
"But what if Marquis Rodrian sees how pathetic she is and thinks she's possessed? What if he sends her right back?"
"Ha! Can you imagine? How pitiful!"
The maids giggled cruelly, mocking the woman they had spent years tormenting under Andrea's orders.
Chloe had deliberately hidden that scrap of paper behind the drawer, fearing they would discover it if she simply threw it away. But her caution had been for nothing.
The maids laughed at the "evidence" of her madness—and tossed it into the trash without a second thought.
They never noticed what the note truly said. Never thought to look closer.
The hidden message—the first letters of each phrase carefully arranged—went unread and unrecognized.
"Don't worry. I'll follow you..."
But if one read only the first letter of each word, the true message revealed itself:
D.W.I.F.Y.
Danger. Watch. Inform. Follow. Yourself.
A warning. A code. A contingency plan meant for eyes that would never see it.
It vanished into the waste bin, lost forever.
At that same moment, Andrea—who had not even bothered to see his sister off—was nowhere near the Emperor's sickroom.
Instead, he sat in a high-class tavern outside the palace walls, drinking expensive wine and nursing his wounded pride.
"What the hell is Mother thinking? Why would she suddenly send that girl to Marquis Rodrian?"
Andrea was typically fascinated by—even subservient to—Kavala's schemes. But this time, he was furious. This decision had ruined his plan. His arrangement.
The marriage between Chloe and Viscount Pelsus had been Andrea's idea from the start—his first venture into manipulation independent of his mother's shadow.
And he had been paid handsomely for it.
He downed another glass of strong liquor, lamenting the massive sum of money Viscount Pelsus had given him in exchange for arranging the marriage—money that now felt like sand slipping through his fingers.
"Damn it!"
How much effort had he put into that scheme? How many honeyed words had he wasted coaxing Chloe into compliance?
It was all gone now. Wasted.
Andrea's voice slurred with drink as he grumbled to his companion.
"Do you have any idea how much I had to sweet-talk that girl? She whined endlessly about not wanting to marry. 'I'm too young, Brother. I'm not ready, Brother.' Pathetic."
"Does Her Highness the Princess truly not wish to marry me?"
Viscount Pelsus sat across from Andrea, his pointed goatee twitching beneath his chin. Unlike the Prince—who was thoroughly drunk—the Viscount was only pretending to drink, keeping his mind sharp and alert.
He was in his forties, a commoner who had clawed his way into the lowest ranks of nobility by purchasing a title. Despite his wealth, he still bowed and scraped before Andrea like a servant, enduring the young man's insults with practiced humility.
To sit across from the future Emperor—to share wine with a prince—was an honor that made his heart swell with satisfaction.
Even if that prince treated him like dirt.
"It's all about appearances with her. She cried and complained about marrying you, yet she fell for Marquis Rodrian's pretty face in an instant. Disgusting, isn't it? Marrying a savage like that?"
Everything Andrea said was a lie—but Viscount Pelsus believed every word without question.
His face flushed red, then pale, as humiliation and rage warred within him.
His hand trembled around his glass.
Viscount Pelsus suppressed his fury and leaned forward, clinging to Andrea with desperation.
"Your Highness, surely there's still something you can do? The Princess hasn't left Arrental yet. And you've already received the investment funds in advance as collateral for the marriage arrangement..."
Andrea had promised Viscount Pelsus he would arrange a marriage with Chloe—and had taken one-third of the agreed payment upfront.
Now the Viscount was carefully reminding him of that debt.
Andrea's expression darkened.
"Are you threatening me? Over some investment money? I could return it right now if I wanted to. Do you think I don't have the funds?"
Viscount Pelsus practically leapt from his seat, waving his hands frantically.
"Of course not, Your Highness! I would never dare! I'm simply saying... everything was proceeding so smoothly. It's a shame it ended this way. So if there's any possibility—any chance at all—that you might intervene..."
Andrea had broken his promise. Andrea had failed to deliver. Yet Viscount Pelsus sat there sweating, trembling, begging for scraps.
Andrea, meanwhile, grew more irritated by the second.
"Mother said she's sending Chloe to Ronheim. What exactly do you expect me to do about that? Stop pressuring me—I already have a headache."
He snapped his fingers loudly, summoning a servant.
"Bring me something better. The most expensive wine you have."
The servant hurried off, returning moments later with a bottle that cost more than most men earned in a year.
Viscount Pelsus glanced at the label and felt his stomach drop.
Then Andrea spoke—casually, as if discussing the weather.
"You know what I wish? I wish that damned Marquis would just die. If someone were to kill him, I'd cover up the crime and reward them handsomely."
Viscount Pelsus's expression shifted.
His eyes gleamed with sudden, dangerous interest.
He leaned in, his voice carefully casual—as if he were joking.
"Then... would you give the Princess to me again?"
Andrea laughed, waving his hand dismissively.
"Sure, sure. Even if you had to take her in as damaged goods—a princess who'd already given herself to a savage—wouldn't she still be grateful?"
"I wouldn't mind that at all."
"Really? You're more generous than I thought. Personally, I'd be disgusted by a woman who'd been with a man like that. I wouldn't even want to touch her."
"It doesn't bother me in the slightest. So if the opportunity arises again, Your Highness, I would be honored if you would pursue the marriage arrangement once more."
"Fine, fine. If it happens, it happens. Let's drink to that."
"You promise?"
Andrea nodded lazily, already half-focused on his next glass.
While Chloe traveled north toward hope,
Serpents coiled in the capital, plotting murder.
The hunt had begun.
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