Chapter 2

At Agnes’s words, the three of them looked dumbfounded for a moment, then suddenly burst out laughing.

Their laughter spread through the room, dripping with scorn and ridicule.

It was as if they found her words so absurd they could not hold back their laughter.

Viscountess Everchen laughed until her voice cracked, then twisted her lips and jabbed a finger into Agnes’s shoulder.

“How do you plan to take your son back? Where do such delusions even come from? You were divorced, and now you want to take the child and raise him? Do you really think your ex-husband would give him up?”

Though pushed back by the force of her words, Agnes did not close her mouth.

“Even if he won’t give him up, I have to bring him. The child is sick, and that man doesn’t care.”

Another wave of mocking laughter broke out.

“Then he should stay there all the more. We have no intention of treating your useless child. At least Count Overhen is his blood relative, so he won’t let the boy die.”

“He won’t let him die, but Noah…”

Smack.

Agnes’s head snapped to the side. The blow was so hard that her cheek burned instantly.

Watching from behind, Haver clicked his tongue and scolded his mother.

“Mother, if you want to find her another match, you can’t ruin her face. That’s all she has left to offer.”

“You think it’s easy to find a match for a divorced woman? She’ll have plenty of time for her face to heal.”

Agnes covered her ringing ears and slowly lifted her head. Her pale face showed no shame from being slapped.

“I have to bring Noah back. Please. He’s very sick. If he stays there, he’ll only get worse.”

“To begin with!”

Viscountess Everchen raised her voice, trembling with fury. She detested Agnes’s unyielding attitude with a passion.

“If you hadn’t defied Count Overhen just to shield that son of yours, you wouldn’t have been thrown out in the first place. I heard Count Overhen gave you plenty of chances.”

“Because his way was wrong. He’s not fit to raise a child.”

“You really are hopeless.”

The viscountess tapped Agnes’s forehead with her finger.

“You’re the one who’s unfit. Just because you gave birth to him doesn’t mean he belongs to you. That child is the Overhen family’s property. If you can’t do anything, stay quiet. If you marry into a good family, maybe you can send him a gift or two. Count Overhen would accept that. He’s a gentleman, after all.”

The viscountess clicked her tongue and called for a maid.

“Bring something to cover her face. I didn’t even hit her that hard, but she’s so frail. The boy’s illness must be her fault too.”

Agnes sat blankly as the maid came near, lost in thought, uncaring whether her face was covered or not.

If you can’t do anything, stay quiet.

The viscountess’s words pierced deep into Agnes’s heart. Not because they hurt, but because they struck a realization.

In the dark garden, she recalled what the Duke of Vasteron, Dylan, had told her.

‘If this matter leaks, I will have to harm you for the honor of the imperial family. I do not wish to do that to my benefactor.’

Benefactor. He had called her that.

Agnes had never once done a good deed expecting anything in return. She had always believed that was the right way to live.

But now was not the time to cling to that belief.

When she thought of her son Noah, who was still suffering, her so-called principles meant nothing at all.

Viscount Everchen, his wife, and Haver mistook Agnes’s sudden quietness for surrender.

They failed to notice the golden eyes gleaming brightly beneath her bowed head.

* * *

The Everchen estate lay in the west of the empire, while the Vasteron estate was far to the north. The two lands had no dealings and were too far apart for their lords to meet under normal circumstances.

That was why the current social season, when every noble gathered in the capital, was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Agnes asked her maid Lizzie to send a letter to the Vasteron townhouse.

“Make sure no one else knows. Do you understand?”

“Of course, my lady. No one treats us better than you. You can count on me.”

Before her marriage, Agnes had treated the servants at the Everchen manor kindly, and now that goodwill returned to her. The maids knew she was preparing something, yet they pretended ignorance, closing both eyes and ears.

Agnes had even been prepared to visit in person if no reply came from Dylan. But to her surprise, a response arrived the same day, in the very hands of the maid she had sent.

“I only went to deliver the letter and leave, but they told me to wait, and soon they handed me this. Do you know the Duke of Vasteron personally, my lady?”

Lizzie asked curiously, but Agnes had no answer to give.

The events in the garden that night were something better left unspoken, for both her and Dylan’s sake.

After sending Lizzie away, Agnes opened the envelope and saw a short message written in neat handwriting.

‘Please visit tonight at eight. Dylan Harkvitz.’

Seeing his name at the end made her truly realize he was of royal blood.

Dylan Harkvitz had been brilliant since childhood, excelling in both academics and swordsmanship. He had an older sister six years his senior, but people once believed Dylan would become the next crown prince.

After a certain incident, however, Dylan withdrew from society, and the title of crown prince naturally passed to his sister, Cali.

When Cali ascended the throne, she granted Dylan the northern lands of Vasteron along with the title of duke. Since then, he had rarely appeared in the capital, and people linked his absence to that very “incident.”

There was no one who hadn’t heard the rumor.

That Dylan had been cursed by a dark sorcerer’s grudge, and since then could no longer sustain himself on ordinary food. That he had become a monster who drank blood.

They said anyone whose blood he tasted ended up like a corpse, shriveled and lifeless.

It sounded ridiculous, yet the timing of his disappearance from society and Cali’s rise to the throne made people whisper that the rumors might be true.

And only a short while ago, Agnes had confirmed the truth in the dim garden.

Dylan did indeed drink blood.

But he was no monster who killed.

Agnes, who had offered him her arm and still lived, was proof of that.

Pressing the letter to her chest, she exhaled deeply.

What she was about to do was reckless, almost mad.

But when she thought of Noah, still suffering in Count Overhen’s house, she felt she could sell even her soul to the devil if it would save him.

Agnes decided she would hesitate no longer.

* * *

The Vasteron townhouse, said to be an old mansion restored for use, carried an odd atmosphere.

Its structure was antique, yet the wallpaper and furnishings held a modern touch.

Though sparsely decorated, the few items it did have reflected their owner’s refined taste, enough to draw the eye naturally.

Determined not to offend, Agnes held her head high and followed the young butler leading her inside.

“If you wait in the parlor, His Grace will be here shortly. These maids will attend to you.”

Perhaps due to nerves, the butler’s words seemed distant.

Fortunately, her body, trained in etiquette, moved on its own, preventing her from losing composure.

Agnes sat with graceful posture and adjusted the veil covering her face.

Her pride had long since shattered, yet she could not bring herself to show her bruised cheek to another.

Besides, it would not do to appear pitiful before even proposing what she came for.

Dylan appeared before the tea brought by the maid had even cooled.

Considering the difference in their social status, it was a surprisingly quick arrival.

Agnes slowly rose and gave a polite curtsy.

“Your Grace, Duke of Vasteron. I sincerely thank you for granting me this audience.”

“I owed you a debt of help, so I thought I should meet you at least once.”

Dylan offered a courteous answer and gestured for her to sit.

He waited until she was seated on the sofa before taking his own seat.

For a moment, the two of them simply looked at each other.

It was hard to imagine this composed man had once crouched in pain beneath the moonlight.

His jet-black hair was neatly swept back without a strand out of place, and the silver-trimmed coat suited his tall, slender frame perfectly.

Even the way he sat was elegant, befitting a member of the royal family, and the blue eyes watching her were calm and relaxed.

‘When he drank blood, his eyes were red…’