Episode 3

3.

“So, you’re saying it’s now the Imperial Year 415? Not 411?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

The maid confirmed while brushing down Rosetta’s light brown hair. Through the glass, the woman's mirroring appeared far clearer than it had yesterday—hardly like someone who had just been gulping down basins of water moments ago.

“Then this body—no, this woman—no, I—attempted suicide…?”

The lady repeated herself multiple times, as though uncertain how to define her own identity. The maid recalled the strict orders of the ducal household’s physician:

Do not be shaken even if she shows signs of memory confusion. Do not betray your reaction even if her personality changes drastically. Avoid, as much as possible, any mention of the suicide attempt.

The maid tried her utmost to abide by them.

“Are you asking… when exactly you lost consciousness, my lady?”

“Yes, that.”

The lady, who had been reclining gracefully against the chair, suddenly straightened up and pointed a finger. The hair the maid had so carefully arranged instantly fell into disarray. The maid sighed in dismay but answered dutifully.

“It was after His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince officially declared the annulment of your engagement. It has been nearly three months since then.”

“Three months. Around that time, did this girl—no, I—show any unusual behavior?”

“There was nothing in particular, except… ah.”

The maid, who had been speaking freely until now, let out a faint exclamation and covered her mouth. She seemed to have remembered something but was hesitating over whether it was wise to speak. Rosetta’s eyes narrowed at once.

And then, as if she had never even considered ways to crush her opponent’s windpipe, she offered a gentle smile.

“Speak.”

“It’s nothing of importance.”

“Which is exactly why you should tell me.”

The lady crossed her right calf over her opposite knee as she spoke. Was it merely an overactive imagination that made the maid think of a back-alley thug at that posture? With a small sigh, she decided that when an employer demanded, an employee complied.

“You used to wear ribbon ornaments in your hair often, but around that time you began to show little interest.”

“…”

“That’s hardly helpful, is it?”

“…No. It was immensely helpful.”

…She had nearly nodded in agreement. This maid was currently her most compliant source of information, and she had to coax her as much as possible. Rosetta kept her smile in place while swiftly organizing the conversation in her mind.

First—though it was hard to believe—it seemed that more than four years had passed since her death in “Rosetta’s” body.

For someone who had merely blinked once between life and death, it was enough to drive her mad… yet, given that she was wearing another person’s skin entirely, accepting the situation was surprisingly manageable.

Second—suspiciously little was known about the death of the pirate Rosetta. To put it bluntly, she had been one of the Empire’s most infamous pirates.

The “Red Dawn” who ruled the eastern seas. Imperial citizens relished the tale of one of the only female pirates, which meant an outrageous bounty had been placed upon her head.

If word of Rosetta’s death had spread, pirates and the navy alike would have scrambled to display her corpse… yet more than four years had passed in utter silence. Highly suspicious.

In any case, the task before her was clear enough—wait for the right moment, then slip away to the eastern straits. And while she was at it, uncover the reason this chaos had begun. And—incidentally—sink a blade into the back of that mongrel, Nick.

…Provided, of course, that this pitiful body could obey her commands.

Speaking of which, the lady was so frail it was a wonder she had survived this long. She was as small as a lark—Rosetta’s original frame had been a good three handspans taller—and there wasn’t a single trace of muscle on her. In all likelihood, the heaviest thing she had ever lifted in her life was a jewel-encrusted fan. Rosetta clicked her tongue and rose from her seat.

“My lady?”

The maid’s voice rose with concern. When Rosetta ignored her and flung open the window, the maid instantly rushed forward to pull her back by the waist.

“No! Don’t start having strange thoughts again!”

Her face had gone deathly pale—she was clearly terrified that Rosetta might attempt another suicide. The maid cried out desperately.

“Th-then kill me first instead!”

“…I’m not going to die, I said I’m not dying.”

She had noticed earlier, but this maid’s mind tended toward extremes. Rosetta soothed her absently while letting her sharp eyes sweep over the ducal estate’s security.

The lady’s chambers were on the second-highest floor of the mansion, which made it easy to assess the grounds with just a glance.

Six patrol squads—two knights and three guards each. From the look of it, they rotated in three shifts. The estate had both outer and inner walls, despite not being the Imperial Palace. Bloody hell. The security was suffocating.

In her original body, slipping past knights would have been nothing—but in this woman’s body, it was tantamount to suicide.

Rosetta let her shoulders droop in disappointment. It seemed she would be forced to continue playing the lady’s part for the time being.

“My lady.”

Rosetta reflexively lifted her head at the sound of another voice. A young attendant. His eyes moved from the open window, to Rosetta, to the maid still clutching the lady’s waist, before he spoke in a carefully composed tone.

“His Grace requests that you join him for dinner.”

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Scrrch.

That chilling sound drew every gaze in the dining hall toward the lady.

She had just been separating meat from bone on her steak. The knife in her hand moved with such precision and delicacy that one might almost believe the bones and flesh of the onlookers themselves were being parted in real time.

Was this truly the same person who had seemed awkward even holding her water glass in the proper manner earlier?

The one sowing such a deep sense of dissonance was now wholly preoccupied with shoving a mouthful of meat into her mouth. Her cheeks were stuffed nearly to bursting, but her pretty face only made her resemble a squirrel.

Of course, the predatory gleam in her eyes as she eyed the next plate was another matter entirely.

Urp.

At last, the final victim—no, the final dish—was dispatched without a trace. The lady patted her rounded stomach and reclined in her chair with lazy satisfaction. And that utterly natural way she picked her teeth with the tip of her knife…

Her father, Duke Valdemore, spoke at last, his expression bleak.

“…Was the meal to your liking?”

“Ah, yes.”

The weight of every gaze upon her was stifling. Even Rosetta, with her notoriously thick skin, felt that perhaps it was time to show a hint more social grace.

“It was superb. I imagine you slaughtered the calf quite recently.”

“…”

…Better to have kept her mouth shut. That was the thought shared by every servant in the room. Barely three months ago, the lady had been so meek—demure to the point of timidity, with even her smallest gestures steeped in elegance. After all, she had spent nearly a decade as the Crown Princess-to-be.

It was true that a person, after great shock, might experience temporary memory loss and a shift in temperament—but in the case of the Valdemore lady, the change was far too drastic. There were moments when one felt as though her very soul had been exchanged.

…But surely, picking one’s teeth with a knife was going too far.

And yet, that face—so blindingly beautiful—only made the contrast sharper.

The Duke pressed his fingertips to his throbbing brow and spoke again.

“The social season will begin soon.”

“Will it?”

“Since your engagement to His Highness has already been annulled, it would be wise to seek another match.”

“Will it?”

The lack of sincerity was glaring. A vein stood out sharply at the Duke’s temple. He forced a smile that reached only his lips.

“I’ll arrange introductions with the heirs of powerful families starting next week.”

“…Will it—what?”

What, she was being thrown into arranged meetings just like that? Rosetta’s eyes widened, unable to hide her astonishment. It felt like that tender, smoothly swallowed meat had just lodged in her throat.

“You mean… those meetings? Where a man and a woman meet, and… you know…?”

Sh*t. This was why she should have learned the proper words for such things. She bit back the curse in her mouth. The Duke, looking faintly displeased, covered his lips with a handkerchief.

“Then we will have to retrain you in proper etiquette from the beginning. Madame Balmon will have her work cut out for her.”

The Duchess spoke hesitantly.

“But, dear… it’s only been three days since Lea awoke. She hasn’t fully recovered yet…”

“Her condition is the problem? The humiliation of that wretched Crown Prince breaking off the engagement unilaterally is bad enough—if rumors spread that she’s lost her mind—!”

The Duke cut himself off abruptly. He must never, under any circumstances, acknowledge that his daughter was mad.

And yet, even as that thought ran through his mind, watching his daughter scratching her head with a fork made his anger nearly impossible to contain. His teeth ground together.

“…We’d best find some gullible fool to marry her off to quickly.”

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