The war in the far north had raged for three long years, yet it ended in sudden brilliance. Catalina Duavan, the maiden knight blessed by divine light, returned triumphant to Albanus.
From that day onward, her twenty years of servitude began under Regulus Kazimir de Albanus — the late emperor whose hunger for conquest forged a kingdom into an empire.
She was the empire's brightest blade: the maiden knight who did not falter, who did not lose, who burned with the Light to shatter armies and bring glory to her king.
But glory bred greed. The emperor demanded more — more blood, more battles, more victories. His orders grew cruel, unreasonable, until neighboring kingdoms trembled beneath the endless march of his wars.
And when age stole his reason and madness consumed his reign, it was his youngest son, Prince Ivan Avorton de Albanus, who rose against him. With the aid of Catalina Duavan, the usurpation was swift.
The old tyrant fell to his son's hand—but Ivan's blade did not stop there. His brothers and sisters, the heirs and rivals of his blood, were executed one by one by his own hands. Some whispered it was to secure his rule, others said it was to root out the seeds of his father's madness.
Whatever the reason, their cries were silenced, and Ivan stood alone. From that throne of blood, the boy who once never longed for the throne, declared himself Emperor.
Unlike his father, the new emperor sought peace. He swore no more needless wars, no more sacrifices upon the altar of ambition. His first act of honor was granting Catalina her long-denied freedom.
Erika's voice faltered as the words left her lips. She shut the book a little harder than she meant to, the thud echoing through the hushed library. Her pulse was racing.
Wait—what? That… that wasn't in any of the books I read before. The stories just said the mad king was overthrown and that was it. Nothing about the emperor wiping out all his siblings.
She sat within the vast library of Sunspear Castle, across the table from the lady she served.
Her fingers hovered on the cover, almost trembling.
No wonder commoners never see books like this. This is the kind of truth nobles lock away. If people knew—half would call him a monster, the other half might say he was right. Maybe both.
A thrill shot through her, tangled with unease.
It's terrifying… but also kind of exciting. Like I just peeked behind a curtain I wasn't supposed to lift. And now I can't help but want to see more.
She realized she was smiling faintly to herself, and quickly pressed her lips together.
Across the table, her lady squinted faintly at the page, green eyes narrowing.
Erika tilted her head. "My lady, is something wrong?"
The lady hesitated before replying, her tone light, almost embarrassed.
"Well… the way you tell the story is amazing. But when I try to read it myself, I… struggle. The words blur together, and it feels as though their meaning slips away from me."
Erika blinked.
"You… struggle? But—"
She stopped herself before blurting more.
How could a noblewoman admit to such a thing?
Was this why she insisted on such private lessons, to avoid humiliation? Erika thought to herself.
"…Forgive me, my lady, but… are you perhaps illiterate?"
The words left her before she could bite them back, and she instantly winced at her own bluntness.
To her surprise, the lady smiled faintly.
"No. I can read. I know the letters, I can write them, too. But when the words are set before me… they don't always stay in order. Sometimes I can read a line five times and still not catch its meaning. It's as if the story hides from me."
Erika tilted her head, struggling to understand.
"…So you can read, but you cannot… hold onto the words?"
The lady gave a soft, shy laugh.
"Yes. That's the simplest way to put it."
Erika noticed the faint shadow of self-doubt cross her lady's face — the way her brows knit when she admitted her struggle with words, as though it made her somehow less of a noblewoman.
She never expected to see that kind of honesty.
Not all aristocrats are prideful, greedy bastards, I guess, she thought.
My lady… she's different.
Erika smiled softly, trying to reassure her.
"It doesn't make you any lesser, my lady. If anything… It makes you braver. Most nobles would rather die than admit a weakness, yet here you are, trusting me with yours."
The lady gave a quiet scoff, though the smile that followed softened the edges of her face. Her green eyes shimmered in the light, and for a heartbeat Erika felt her chest tighten.
Her chest tightened, warmth rising to her ears. She coughed, flustered… and quickly turned her attention back to the book.
"A-anyway—shall we continue, my lady?"
The lesson went on, but Erika's curiosity eventually got the better of her.
"I've always wondered… after everything the Maiden Knight went through, all that fighting and then finally gaining her freedom… why did she suddenly marry the Marquess?"
The lady's gaze lingered on the page, her voice calm.
"Perhaps freedom alone wasn't enough. Perhaps… she wanted something more."
Erika tilted her head, then smirked.
"Still, I can't help but wonder… Why would the Marquess marry Lady Catalina after all that? Maybe he's got a thing for older women."
Erika said confidently with her fingers on her chin, then continued.
"You know, the kind who can scold him and tuck him into bed like a misbehaving child."
Then suddenly she noticed, her lady's lips twitched as if fighting a smile. Then, unexpectedly, a soft cough of laughter escaped her.
She quickly covered her mouth and turned her face aside, but Erika caught the subtle shake of her shoulders, the way she tried to hold it in.
Erika blinked, stunned, before a grin tugged at her own lips.
Did I really just make her laugh?
But then —
The laughter faded, and Erika's eyes widened as the realization crashed over her.
Oh no.
She had just mocked the marquess—out loud—right in front of a noblewoman. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she ducked her head in a quick bow.
"Forgive me, my lady."
She murmured, her voice tight with embarrassment.
"I spoke out of line… I shouldn't have made light of the Marquess in your presence."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Erika dared a peek upward—only to find her lady turned slightly aside, her lips curved into a bright smile.
"It's alright," the lady said warmly, her voice a soothing balm.
"You can be comfortable with me. As long as you are here to teach me, such words won't offend me, Lady Heather."
"After all…"
her lips curved into a knowing smirk, "…the words shared between you and I are ours alone."
The kindness yet playfulness in her tone caught Erika off guard. Her chest tightened unexpectedly, her throat suddenly dry.
What kind of noblewoman is she?
A lady who admits her weakness without shame, who laughs at jokes about a marquess, who doesn't bristle at impropriety or cling to pride…
She wasn't like the others Erika had seen—arrogant, greedy, always guarding their dignity. No, this lady was different. Gentle. Human.
And Erika, for once, didn't know whether to feel more relieved… or more drawn to her.
And yet —
What Erika didn't know—what she couldn't know—was that the lady she served was Catalina Duavan herself.
To Catalina, Erika's flustered apologies were nothing more than another layer of amusement. Her husband, after all, was a man both famous and infamous among noblewomen, his charms the subject of endless gossip.
Yet here sat Lady Heather, the only woman bold enough to mock him outright… and Catalina found it refreshing.