Meets Wolf
"May I have this dance?"
Outside — The Garden Tree
Not long ago, they'd come to Valdina to chase a different lead.
Shadeia's shaman, somewhere in the slums of Asilum, had muttered of a Venus and a falling Black Star. The trail led here—to the Royal Library of Valdina.
"They say there's a book written by a Sage in Valdina," Gallo whispered, shifting on the branch. "Maybe it mentions this Venus thing."
Siseo had received an invitation to the banquet; tonight the palace would be distracted, its inner rooms emptier than usual.
Perfect conditions to search.
After dispatching their operatives—Alpha and Zeta—to infiltrate the library, Cesare and Gallo perched atop a tree outside the banquet hall, waiting for a signal.
Hiding their presence from the public wasn't difficult for the two of them anymore.
"Where's he staring now? The Minister."
From their vantage point, they could watch both the banquet hall and the adjoining lounge.
"Boss—"
"Wait."
Cesare's golden eyes never left Etienne.
The Minister stormed into the break room and hurled his glass to the floor.
Face flushed, he vented his rage on a servant for a while.
"Why's he like that? Did someone say something he didn't like?"
The servant, who'd been kneading his swollen knee, bowed and fled.
Etienne poured himself another drink the moment the door shut, then grabbed his shirt and tore it open.
Even after smashing objects around him, his fever didn't subside. He began pacing in circles like a cornered, terrified dog.
An image flashed in Cesare's mind.
The banquet hall earlier.
The Princess holding a crystal goblet.
Red wine swirling in the glass.
She never drank it.
And then—
She quietly set that glass down within Etienne's reach.
"…Ha."
Cesare suddenly laughed—short, sharp, and genuine.
"Boss?" Gallo blinked. "Did something finally snap?"
"Who was it that called the Princess of Valdina an idiot?"
Cesare leaned back against the trunk, expression amused.
"She just made that toad drink his own poison."
Gallo's jaw dropped.
"…You're kidding."
Cesare glanced back toward the hall, where Medea stood among the nobles, smiling serenely—every inch the harmless royal.
Where in the world did such a vicious little fox come from?
"Change of plans," Cesare said, dropping lightly from the tree.
"What? But Zeta hasn't even reported yet— Boss, where— I thought we were heading back."
"Forget that. I'm going to meet her."
He hadn't intended to step foot inside the banquet hall tonight. The thought of dealing with a swarm of idiots who worshipped the Facade name bored him.
But now?
Now he was curious.
Gallo scrambled down after him.
"What are you doing again…?"
The Banquet Hall
After finishing with the Minister, Medea returned to the main hall.
It will take time for the medicine to fully take effect.
Her steps were light when she saw that Etienne had drained the glass she'd "forgotten" to finish.
It had been an unplanned card—but one that would only make her scheme unfold more cleanly.
Perhaps I should thank Birna.
The black dress swayed softly around her ankles.
"What are you discussing so intently?"
"Oh my, Your Highness!"
Marchioness Aspasia greeted Medea warmly, her attitude transformed now that the Princess's new standing had become undeniable.
She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially.
"Do you see the man standing by the ice sculpture on the eastern side? He's the head of Facade."
The head of Facade?
Medea followed her gaze.
A cheerful-looking young man with straw-blond hair stood by the ice.
His open smile and sunny demeanor made it hard to believe he was a notorious arms dealer.
That easy charm lowered people's guard, made them think he was simple, approachable.
So that's the Facade everyone fears.
"I heard Facade was terribly insular," Medea murmured. "Seems that was exaggerated."
"Don't be too trusting," Aspasia replied dryly. "Do you know who stands behind him?"
Her tone suggested the real danger was elsewhere.
"Acares."
Her eyes flicked to the taller man beside the leader.
Though he barely moved, the man drew attention like a magnet.
An iron half-mask covered the upper half of his face, its edges biting into scarred skin.
The sharp jawline and full lips visible beneath the mask contrasted starkly with the hints of ruined flesh above.
Women, in particular, could not look away.
"You can tell by the mask. He's Facade's infamous mercenary, isn't he?"
"I heard he was badly burned as a child—half his face destroyed. His own mother abandoned him."
"Lowborn immigrant stock. No one even knows who his real father is."
"They say he handles all Facade's dirtiest, most dangerous jobs. Most lives mean nothing to him."
When someone suddenly pointed out how much they seemed to know about the man they claimed to hate, the ladies exchanged sheepish looks.
"Well… the face might be horrific," one woman coughed delicately, "but the body is like a statue. I've never seen a man wear a uniform like that. If he looks like this at a banquet, imagine him on the battlefield."
"Madam! Her Highness is right here!"
Medea glanced quietly at the flustered matron, then allowed her eyes to drift—briefly—to the masked man.
The stiff fabric of his uniform clung to a thick neck and a broad chest.
Epaulettes perched precariously atop his shoulders, as if one wrong move would send them tumbling.
"Don't get carried away," another lady murmured. "Do you remember what happened in Achel?"
"When a tribal clan refused to pay their balance after receiving weapons, he burned everything."
"They say for over a week, ash blew over the land like snow."
"He ordered all of it burned—women, children. Since then, no one's dared break a contract with Facade."
The ladies shuddered.
"Hmph. No matter how ferocious he is, can you really compare him to the First Prince of Katzen?"
Someone clicked their tongue.
"He poisoned every subject who opposed him—before he even came of age."
"That's right. He was only fifteen, wasn't he? I remember how shocked I was when I heard."
Medea's ears pricked at the name that followed.
"What was it again? Cesare?"
"Yes. Cesare Dweisler Katzen."
"It's been a while since I heard that name."
"Of course. Three years ago, none of us would have spoken of the 'Black Devil' so casually."
"Hush! You mustn't call the Empire's bloodline evil."
"I'm not wrong. Everyone on the continent knows. He burned every minor nation he conquered, just to be acknowledged as heir by the Emperor."
"Stop, Anthy! Didn't I tell you to stop reading those trashy imperial gossip sheets? You're still too young—you believe everything you see."
"But it's true!"
The flustered mother clapped a hand over her daughter's mouth, stammering out a weak apology before dragging the girl away.
"Ah, right. I'd forgotten. Is the First Prince even still alive? I heard he was grievously injured at the frontier…"
"They say there's no cure. Some unknown poison. He's just… waiting to die."
"So the envoy coming to Valdina is the Fourth Princess, not the First Prince. I can't tell whether that's fortunate or not."
"We're lucky to avoid the Black Devil, at least."
Then again, rumor said the Fourth Princess of Katzen was hardly gentle either.
"This mission's support is essential for our kingdom," someone murmured.
"The Empire surely knows that," another sighed. "Who knows what campaign the Fourth Princess has prepared for us. I'm already anxious."
While the nobles fretted over foreign politics, Birna casually plucked another pastry from a silver tray.
The drug should be working by now.
What lovely epithet would attach itself to Medea this time?
Madwoman? Deranged Princess? No… "Valdina's Crazy Bitch" would be perfect.
Birna cast a sideways glance at Medea, her gaze overflowing with jealousy.
She thought it would be amusing if the Princess, rattled by hallucinations, staggered toward the Facade contingent.
If the startled mercenary snapped her neck by accident… all the better.
But—
Her smile froze.
Instead of screaming.
Instead of collapsing.
Instead of clawing at invisible horrors—
Medea merely glided through the hall, composed and radiant.
"Why isn't it working?" Birna hissed under her breath.
The atmosphere shifted.
"Oh gods," someone whispered. "He's coming this way."
Birna looked up, startled.
The leader of Facade was moving—along with the masked mercenary at his side.
They were heading straight for Medea.
They stopped in front of her,
casting a long shadow over her small frame.
The hall fell silent.
Medea lifted her gaze.
Gold met Green
"Princess Medea,"
Cesare said, his voice low and rough—like steel dragged across stone.
"May I have this dance?"
The Dance Begins ## The Black Devil's Request
The fox has revealed her fangs. The wolf has stepped from the shadows. And the court holds its breath.
[ To Be Continued ]
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