PMBA | Chapter 8

Soon after, the Duke’s cloak settled gently over Kyrie’s naked body.

“What is the meaning of…”

Kyrie was about to speak when the Duke lightly pressed his fingers against her furrowed brow.

Frozen for a moment by the gesture, Kyrie’s eyes flickered up to look at him.

“So you can frown.”

As soon as he spoke, the scent intensified.

The scent of plane trees drifting in from outside, or perhaps the scent of gunpowder emanating from the man’s cloak draped over her.

A fragrance, imbued with all sorts of colors, struck her senses, making her head spin.

Before the dizziness could completely overwhelm her, Kyrie quickly pushed the Duke’s hand away and fled.

As she ran, she felt a dizzying sensation, as if a large, warm hand would reach out and grab her, pulling her back and pinning her down.

But nothing happened. Kyrie ran barefoot down the empty hallway.

‘So you can frown.’

‘Ah.’

As she replayed the Duke’s words in her mind, she realized that from the moment she’d encountered him…

She hadn’t been wearing the smile she habitually wore.

‘…How…’

It was hard to bear the pounding heart in her chest.

That smile was her weapon. The realization that she had been standing before a man,a soldier capable of subduing others without hesitation, without her single weapon, kept her running.

Dominique, left alone in the room, could still smell the faint scent of mint lingering in the air. The scent mingled with his own smell of gunpowder. A single strand of the woman’s hair, like a bird’s feather, remained clinging to his arm.

The smile on his lips deepened.

* * *

She barely remembered how she got back to the ducal residence.

At least she didn’t run into anyone on her way back. During her pursuit of Lexion, she had become intimately familiar with every hidden passage and inconspicuous hallway in the Imperial Palace.

Everyone’s attention was focused on the banquet, and the streets were quiet, devoid of people.

Just before entering the ducal residence, Kyrie finally noticed the Duke’s cloak still draped around her. She shuddered, threw it away, and went to her room to sleep.

“Oh.”

Only after waking up the next day did Kyrie realize she had also left her dress in the Crown Prince’s bedroom.

The most expensive dress she owned, carefully chosen and purchased within her limited allowance for maintaining appearances.  The dress she’d managed to acquire by flashing her characteristic bright smile at the designer who’d pretended to be busy to avoid giving her any clothes.

‘Should I have retrieved it?’

But it was too late now.

Instead of waking up brazenly in the Crown Prince’s luxurious, warm bed as planned, Kyrie rose from her own cold, hard bed and splashed cold water on her face, rubbing the space between her furrowed brow until it turned red.

“…”

She could still smell the gunpowder on her skin. The scent the Duke had left on her last night.

‘Even after I threw away the cloak.’

Kyrie’s body recalled that moment and the hair on her skin stood out sensitively again. The moment the Duke’s arm had brushed against her chest, the way his eyes had slowly, appraisingly, scanned her body under the moonlight.

‘With a face that didn’t look like it would be swayed by any seduction.’

The way he had looked at her with those glassy eyes had evoked a strange feeling.

‘…Strange man.’

She felt oddly uneasy about seeing him again. She would have to time her visits to the palace when he wasn’t around.

As she thought this and changed into different clothes, reaching for the familiar necklace to put it on…

“Oh dear.”

Kyrie bit her lip. The dress wasn’t the important thing.

Her mother’s pendant necklace, the one she habitually fiddled with every morning, was in the inside pocket of the dress she had left behind. She had put it there instead of wearing it around her neck, for fear of losing it during her planned encounter with Lexion.

Anxiety crept into her heart. Her resentment towards the Duke deepened.

‘…Of all things.’

Meanwhile, she began to worry deeply about whether the servants at the Crown Prince’s Palace would discover her dress and throw it away or, worse, sell it.

She remembered a few maids and servants who, when she prevented them from stealing her meager allowance, had the audacity to steal her jewelry.

On the day she’d caught them red-handed and slapped their cheeks until her wrists ached, she had earned another notorious title; the madwoman who abused innocent servants.

She doubted the Imperial Palace servants would be any different. No, it was more likely to happen there. The Emperor wasn’t known for paying his servants well.

‘I have to go back quickly.’

She couldn’t bear the thought of losing the pendant necklace, even if it meant possibly encountering the Duke again.

Just as she stepped into the hallway, her eyes met someone approaching from the distance as they entered, receiving greetings from the servants.

“…”

The person, who had momentarily looked at her with cold, disdainful eyes, quickly changed their expression to a gentle one and approached her.

“Greetings, Lady Ernberg.”

It was a middle-aged woman dressed in neat nun’s attire.

“I am the Mother Superior of the Flovel Convent.”

Kyrie’s lightly clenched fist tightened.  Her remaining rationality suppressed the sudden leap of her heart.

‘If they were planning to take me away today…’

Whenever she faced an unwanted situation, she’d resisted with all her might, creating a scene.  The people at the ducal residence were surely imprinted with the image of Kyrie Ernberg, covered in blood, yet fiercely clinging to the pendant necklace in her hand, thrashing and screaming.

Therefore, if they had planned to take her away this time…

‘Surely, they would have brought someone from the convent or the Duke’s mansion to subdue me… along with the Mother Superior.’

But the Mother Superior was alone. She could see a few maids hesitantly approaching them, but it seemed more to guide the Mother Superior than to restrain her.

“Mother Superior, this way…”

“He’s waiting for you in the drawing room.”

It was obvious who was waiting. It was not somewhere else, but Flovel. It had to be Duke Ernberg, as no one else would dare summon the Mother Superior of the prestigious Flovel Convent.

Even so, the servants didn’t urge the Mother Superior. Rather, their faces held a hint of smug amusement.

Gazes that anticipated how the “Mad Dog” would react in this situation, wondering what kind of outrageous behavior she would display this time, what kind of gossip she would provide them with before being locked away. And at the same time, gazes worried about what would happen if she threw a tantrum they couldn’t handle.

Their eyes, filled with barely concealed emotions, slowly scanned her face, one after another. The Mother Superior’s smile also deepened.

‘This feels strangely familiar.’

At that moment, Kyrie realized. This was yet another attempt to break her spirit.

Her heart, which had been frozen with fear, began to race again. The fear gradually receded, replaced by stubborn defiance.

‘What a wishful thinking.’

They were hoping she would panic and throw a fit. They were hoping she would kneel down and beg not to send her to the convent.

Instead of fulfilling their expectations, Kyrie unclenched her fist and smiled brightly. It was the very smile that made people flinch every time they saw it.

“…”

The Mother Superior’s lips twitched slightly, upon seeing the smile, and forced a smile of her own.

As Kyrie walked forward, undaunted and dignified, she sensed the air turning hostile.  An atmosphere she was all too familiar with.

Then the Mother Superior spoke, as if refusing to back down,

“Indeed, the lady of Ernberg has quite the reputation…”

Kyrie already knew what kind of reputation the Mother Superior was referring to. And she also knew what the Mother Superior was about to say.

No doubt, insults disguised as compliments would pour forth.  Without ever saying anything directly…

‘Mad Dog?’

She didn’t know why, at that moment, she remembered the man’s words. The words of the only man who had dared to call her “Mad Dog” to her face.

She could almost smell a fleeting whiff of gunpowder once again. That arrogant face looking down at her as he spoke.  Those eyes that seemed to observe and pierce through her.

The way he had spoken her nickname so casually, yet with a strange lack of malice that somehow made it all the more insulting.

The scent of gunpowder emanating from the man’s arm, mingling with the fragrance of plane trees, and the warmth of his body against hers—these sensations surfaced and subsided repeatedly in her mind.

‘Stop.’

Her inner voice echoed like a warning.  Just then, someone approached from behind.

“Mother Superior.”

Veron’s calm voice reached her ears.