I climbed the stairs in a daze, following the sounds of commotion echoing through Ronheim Castle.
The hallways were alive with hurried footsteps and urgent whispers. Something terrible had happened.
Oh my God... Oh my God...
A little while ago, I'd noticed the castle growing unusually noisy. When I stopped one of the servants rushing past and asked what was happening, her face had gone pale.
"The maid you brought from the palace has been murdered!"
I thought I'd heard her wrong.
There must have been some mistake.
A murder had occurred in Ronheim Castle.
Not far from my own room, one of my maids lay dead.
I wanted desperately to believe someone was playing a cruel prank. But judging by the atmosphere—the grim faces, the hushed tones, the way people moved with careful urgency—this was no joke.
"Everyone, step aside. Move out of the way."
My voice came out sharper than I'd intended. The servants who had been crowding the doorway turned at the sound, their eyes widening as they recognized me. Like a receding tide, they parted to let me through.
I approached the wide-open door with my heart hammering against my ribs.
Before I could enter, someone emerged from the room.
"I would prefer that you not see this, Madam."
Granada.
My eyes immediately dropped to the floor. There was a trail of blood following her footsteps—crimson smeared across the heel of one shoe and streaked along her prosthetic leg.
"The body is... quite gruesome. It is not fit for Your Highness to witness."
I shook my head firmly.
"No. I need to see this for myself."
My nerves were screaming at me to turn away, but I couldn't. I had to see with my own eyes what had happened—how it happened, and who the victim was.
Whoever lay dead in that room had come to Ronheim Castle because of me.
This death was my responsibility.
Granada studied my face for a moment, then stepped aside without further argument.
I swallowed hard and crossed the threshold.
The servants' quarters were small and sparse. Two narrow beds flanked the windowless room, with a shared wardrobe and a single writing desk squeezed between them.
And there, in the space between the beds, lay the body.
...!
The corpse was twisted in a grotesque position—limbs bent at unnatural angles like a marionette with severed strings. Blood soaked through the clothing, pooling beneath the body and spreading slowly across the floorboards in dark, terrible rivulets.
The face and clothes were completely drenched in crimson.
"Vanessa...!"
The dead maid was Vanessa.
Castle guards were already examining the body, carefully checking for the cause of death. But what struck me most—what made my breath catch in my throat—were her eyes.
Wide open. Frozen in terror.
The moment I saw those lifeless eyes staring at nothing, the room began to spin. My vision blurred at the edges.
"Chloe."
Someone caught me before I could fall.
I looked up to find Callius gazing down at me, his hair disheveled and his expression tight with concern. He must have been at the training grounds when the news reached him—he'd clearly come running.
"Are you all right?"
I shook my head mutely. My lips felt cold and numb.
Callius's jaw tightened. He must have noticed how pale I'd gone, because he gently transferred me into Granada's care.
"Take the Madam back to her room."
But instead of leaving with Granada, I grabbed Callius's arm.
"Who could have done this? Do you have any suspects? Have you heard anything?"
"I haven't received any reports yet. The gates have been sealed—the murderer can't escape. We'll gather all the castle staff and conduct a thorough investigation."
Callius gestured to one of his knights.
"There's a killer inside the castle. It's dangerous. Escort the Madam."
He assigned me to Alex—the youngest knight with distinctive red hair. Alex looked slightly overwhelmed by the sudden responsibility, but he straightened his shoulders and answered loyally.
"Yes, Your Grace!"
One of the guards who had been examining Vanessa's body approached Callius with a grim expression.
"It appears she was struck by some form of magical force—something superhuman. There are no signs of weapons or conventional tools being used."
"Magic?"
The word rippled through the gathered servants like a stone dropped in still water. Whispers erupted on all sides.
"Is there anyone in the castle who knows how to use magic?"
"I've never heard of such a thing."
"A wizard? Did someone come from outside?"
"But outsiders can't get in here. Even if they climbed the outer wall, this room doesn't have any windows... How strange."
I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't the work of an outsider.
Why would a stranger risk their life sneaking into Ronheim Castle just to murder Vanessa, a palace maid? It made no sense.
Vanessa was annoying, yes, but had she really earned a grudge strong enough to warrant murder?
That's when it hit me.
Earlier today—just hours ago—Vanessa and Lamia had gotten into a violent fight. They'd grabbed each other by the hair, scratched and screamed.
And Lamia's very survival depended on her identity remaining secret.
If it were Lamia, she would have had every reason to silence Vanessa permanently.
But Lamia said she only knew basic illusion magic. And besides, she should be locked up by now.
I didn't want to believe that Lamia—the girl who had given me a warm water bag when I was suffering, who had risked everything to help me—could do something so terrible.
For various reasons, I had just concluded it couldn't possibly be Lamia when—
"Madam! We have a problem!"
Two guards came running from the opposite end of the hallway, their faces flushed with exertion.
"The maid you ordered to be confined—she's disappeared!"
"...!"
Both Callius and Granada turned to look at me.
It had only been a few dozen minutes since Vanessa and Lamia's hair-pulling fight. Neither of them seemed aware of that incident yet.
Callius's voice was carefully neutral.
"You ordered a maid to be confined?"
"I... yes. That's..."
"What happened?"
There was no point in hiding it now.
Since things had come to this, I had no choice but to confide everything to my husband Callius and my aide Granada.
"Lamia was falsely accused in my place. She took the blame for something I did, and I felt responsible. So I brought her here to help her escape, but then Vanessa recognized her and..."
I looked at Callius anxiously.
"Did Lamia really murder Vanessa? Is she truly the kind of person who would kill someone just to keep them quiet? I don't... I don't want to believe that."
I remembered the warmth of the water bag Lamia had prepared for me. Her gentle hands. Her sincere eyes.
I wanted to defend her—desperately. But as the mistress of this castle, I knew I couldn't let personal feelings cloud my judgment.
If it really was Lamia who killed Vanessa... I can't forgive murder. No matter what.
I wanted to believe in Lamia. But given the circumstances, she was undeniably the prime suspect.
I desperately hoped I was wrong.
Callius listened to my explanation in silence, his expression thoughtful.
"That's strange. She was running away from the Empress's palace? What exactly happened there?"
Out of everything I'd said, that detail seemed to bother him most.
Granada's reaction was different—she looked genuinely impressed.
"She escaped the imperial palace alone? Then hid for days without anyone noticing, disguised herself, and fled all the way here?"
The two of them seemed strangely calm about the whole situation.
They appeared completely confident that even if Lamia had escaped her confinement, she would never make it out of Ronheim.
Granada studied me with those sharp, analytical eyes.
"She was a gypsy. She had a history of putting you in danger. Yet you trusted her?"
The words stung.
My shoulders hunched involuntarily. I'd heard similar criticism from Karl not long ago—that I was too quick to trust people, too naive about their intentions.
"In my opinion... she seemed like a good person."
I muttered the words without meeting Granada's gaze.
"Raise your head, Madam."
Granada's voice was firm but not unkind.
"When you speak, look people straight in the eye and speak clearly."
"Yes..."
I couldn't overcome her commanding presence. Reluctantly, I raised my head.
"Do you still believe in her?"
I hesitated, uncertain.
"Honestly, I want to, but the circumstances—"
"I asked about your feelings, Madam. Nothing else. Let me ask again: Do you still trust her?"
That was a truly difficult question.
Granada was asking me to make a definitive choice—to decide what I believed, regardless of evidence or appearances.
I had only two options: believe in Lamia, or don't.
I couldn't mumble or hesitate. I couldn't give a vague, noncommittal answer. Granada wouldn't accept that.
I glanced at Callius, silently pleading for help.
But my husband simply watched me and Granada in silence. He had no intention of intervening. He seemed to want me to handle this conversation on my own.
I took a deep breath.
"Yes. I trust Lamia."
"Good."
Granada's expression softened—just slightly. Something that might have been approval flickered in her eyes.
"Since you have confided your secret to me, I will confide one of mine."
"...?"
This was an unexpected turn.
"I have decided that you are trustworthy—that I will trust you. So I will speak with the full understanding that I must take responsibility for the consequences of this revelation."
I found myself deeply impressed by those words.
Granada was saying she trusted her own judgment. That she would accept full responsibility for whatever happened as a result of that trust.
It was the kind of strength and conviction I desperately wanted to possess.
I listened with complete attention as Granada spoke.
"I was originally an assassin."
"Cough—!"
I choked on my own breath.
An assassin.
Granada—the woman who had become my most trusted aide, my teacher, my guide through the treacherous politics of Ronheim—had just calmly announced she used to kill people for a living.
My mind reeled as I stared at Granada with new eyes.
Suddenly, so many things made sense.
Her perfect composure in any situation. The way she moved with lethal efficiency. How she'd walked out of that blood-soaked room without a trace of fear or hesitation.
The blood on her prosthetic leg hadn't disturbed her in the slightest.
Because she's seen far worse. Because she's done far worse.
"You were... an assassin?"
My voice came out as barely more than a whisper.
"Yes. And I'm telling you this now because I want you to understand something important."
Granada's gaze was steady and unflinching.
"Trust is not about certainty, Madam. It's about choosing to believe in someone despite the unknown. You've chosen to trust Lamia. That means something."
"The girl who escaped the imperial palace, evaded capture for days, and made it all the way to Ronheim alone... She's either exceptionally skilled or exceptionally desperate. Possibly both."
Granada paused, letting that sink in.
"If she wanted to kill Vanessa, she would have done it cleanly. Quietly. This murder was brutal and obvious—almost theatrical. That's not the work of someone trying to escape notice."
Hope flickered in my chest.
"Then you don't think Lamia did this?"
"I think we shouldn't jump to conclusions. But more importantly..."
Granada's expression grew serious.
"I think someone wants us to believe Lamia is guilty."
Callius, who had been silent throughout this entire exchange, finally spoke.
"We need to find Lamia before anyone else does. If she's innocent, she's in danger. If she's guilty..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
I looked between my husband and my aide—these two people who had somehow become the anchors of my new life.
"Then let's find her. Together."
Granada nodded approvingly.
And somewhere in the depths of Ronheim Castle, a murderer walked free—while an innocent girl ran for her life.
The hunt had begun.
To Be Continued...
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