When Connie opened her eyes, the sun was already high in the sky. The light was soft, and the air was clear. A little bird was chirping outside the window. She felt as if she’d just woken from a vivid dream. Yes—as if she’d brought Pamela Francis to her knees in some sort of argument… No, that would be impossible. After all, this was Pamela she was talking about. Connie closed her eyes and arched her back, stretching. Yes, that would be impossible. She was sad to admit it, but Constance Grail was a plain, insignificant nothing. In this gloomy mood, Connie opened her eyes again. Somebody’s face was directly in front of her own. “…Huh?” The person’s amethyst eyes were like enticing pools, and her hair was a veil as black as night. “…Huh?” Although the girl was bewitchingly beautiful, Connie felt extremely uneasy. Wasn’t this her own bedroom? She glanced around. There was the familiar ivy-patterned wallpaper, and beside the bed was the nightstand with the golden handles and cabriole legs. There was the love seat and the coffee table with the glass top. And there in a corner of the room was the dressing table with the attached bureau. Outside the window, she could see colorful spires. Although the Grail domain was nothing but green fields and forests, here in the capital, they were surrounded by buildings. Of course, when the social season ended in early fall, the domain would probably be brilliantly red and orange, too. Anyway, to Connie, the capital looked the same as it did every year. “So you’ve finally woken up, have you, Constance Grail? You slept through yesterday, you know.” However, on ordinary mornings, she did not hear a voice as clear and delicate as a chime. After a pause, Connie screamed. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” The girl in front of her backed away with a shocked expression. But Connie was still in a panic. The events at the Grand Merillian came flooding back to her. It was as if every time she blinked, she was seeing a different scene in a play. W-wait a second… It wasn’t just images. The mood, the temperature, the voices, the smells…everything was so fresh and clear. It couldn’t be— “It was a dream, but it wasn’t a dream?!” she shouted incoherently. “What are you talking about? Are you still asleep?” came the grumpy response. No, Connie felt relatively alert. Her memory told her that she had met this person in the hallway between the grand hall and the conservatory and that she was a noblewoman. But she wasn’t certain. She must still be half asleep. This must be a dream. Or was it? She decided, very timidly, to ask. “Um, would you mind telling me…who you are?” In any case, she knew one thing. From the intimidatingly perfect features and the refined, elegant bearing to the alluring figure and daring dress, this was obviously not a friend of Connie’s. The girl narrowed her eyes, and her red lips formed a half-moon smile. “Me? I’m Scarlett,” she announced. “Scarlett Castiel.” Scarlett Castiel? Connie’s jaw dropped. “Now wait just a minute. Scarlett Castiel was executed ten years ago.” “Oh, stop it! Do I look alive to you?” Judging by her tone, the girl seemed amused by Connie’s comment. Connie examined her. True, her exquisite face was otherworldly, but that probably wasn’t what the girl meant. The slope of her jaw and neck was delicate, and her chest was voluptuous. Her waist was slender—and her feet were literally not touching the ground. For some reason, she was floating lightly in the air. When Connie saw that, she fainted. “You sleep too much.” Awakened by this exasperated comment, Connie opened her eyes to find the same girl peering down at her, hand on her hip. “And to think, you fell asleep in the middle of a conversation with me…! I’ve never been so offended in my life!” But you’re not alive, Connie thought. Instead of saying that, she said stiffly, “I fainted.” Those amethyst eyes…that hair as glossy as onyx… Her beauty took Connie’s breath away. All of it fit perfectly with descriptions of the famous Scarlett Castiel. Her features seemed right, too. Still, ten years had passed since Connie saw the real Scarlett. And she’d only gotten one look. Although she remembered her being extraordinarily beautiful, her memory of Scarlett’s precise features was vague. It was the execution itself that had made a stronger impression, since she’d never before seen one. After it was over, she’d crawled home and stayed in bed for three days and three nights. For Connie, the name Scarlett Castiel meant the worst trauma she’d ever experienced. “B-but why the Grand Merillian…? I thought Scarlett Castiel’s ghost haunted Saint Mark’s Square…” The rumors of a headless young lady wandering the square every night in search of her missing appendage were so famous, they were considered one of the Seven Mysteries of the Capital. When Connie told her that, Scarlett tilted her head. “Saint Mark’s Square? Oh, you mean where I was executed? I haven’t been back there once since becoming like this. I hardly remember a thing about the day I was executed.” Interesting. Connie was relieved to hear those words from the so-called Scarlett. On that day, the square had bubbled over with the worst of humanity. It was better if she didn’t remember. “But the Grand Merillian, now that’s where that idiotic Enrique and his scheming Cecilia humiliated me! Just thinking about it makes my blood boil!” “How can you be so disrespectful to our prince?! And his s-scheming? What did you say…?!” And what unbelievable slander against the celebrated Cecilia, who was so merciful that people said she must be the second coming of Saint Anastasia. But the girl saying such terrible things went on as if she couldn’t care less. “Anyhow, when I came to, I found myself in the Grand Merillian, but for some reason, I couldn’t go into the grand hall. Whenever I tried, I’d be pushed back. I suppose there are some limits on what the dead can do.” Scarlett tilted her head like she was trying to remember something. “I don’t remember exactly when I became like this, but I should probably thank you for being able to go in there. No one can hear me when I talk. I can’t even exchange glances with most people. You’re the first one who ever noticed I was there.” “Miss Scarlett…” The fleeting smile on the girl’s face sent a pang through Connie’s heart. She couldn’t get another word out, but the girl nodded anyway, as if to say she understood. “You may be plain, and you may not have a single outstanding characteristic, but you should feel proud of yourself for noticing me!” “Hmm, that isn’t quite right,” Connie answered soberly. That wasn’t why she’d been silent. But she remembered something the girl had said to her just before she entered the grand hall where the ball was taking place. “I’ve got you to thank, girl.” Connie hadn’t really understood, but it seemed that after she talked to the girl, she’d been able to enter the hall. Now it made more sense, but she still had another question. “Why are you here in my house?” She must have followed her home. After she got to go inside the grand hall, did she think she could go wherever she wanted or something? Connie’s doubt must have showed on her face, because the girl calling herself Scarlett planted a hand on her hip and glared down at her. “Clearly, it’s because I haven’t yet been paid for my services.” “Paid for your services?” “You haven’t forgotten already, have you? Or did you genuinely think I’d rescue a complete stranger without getting something in exchange?” The girl giggled. Her face had a ferocious beauty to it, like a lioness chasing down prey. At that moment, a string of words flitted across Connie’s memory. “I’ll help you. But in exchange…” She felt as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her. She hadn’t heard the end of that sentence. But she knew that all across the land, in times ancient and recent, people who made deals with strange creatures usually paid with their life. Connie hugged her shivering body and stuttered, “I d-didn’t hear you…!” “What?” “I r-really didn’t hear you! I don’t know what happened! Please spare my life…!” But even as Connie pleaded with her, the girl laughed hysterically. “Nice try.” The world turned black with despair. Tears pooled in Connie’s eyes. Father, Mother, please forgive me for leaving this world before you— Her life had been as unremarkable as her looks. Connie slumped dejectedly. Scarlett Castiel approached Connie, her presence overwhelming her. Standing there with that sadistic smile on her lips, she looked every bit the wicked woman she was rumored to be. “I saved you, and I won’t take no for an answer!” At that moment, poor Constance Grail thought that Scarlett was going to lead her into the afterworld just like Atropos, oldest of the three Fates, cutting the thread of life. “Constance Grail, prepare yourself.” Connie squeezed her eyes shut and steeled her will. But it was not death that awaited her. Her future, it turned out, was to be a little different than she’d imagined. “From here on out, I demand that you devote your life to making sure I get my revenge!” Connie blinked at the unexpected words. “…Revenge?” Scarlett edged closer, rage burning in her amethyst eyes. “Yes, revenge. You and I are going to send every single one of those outrageous beasts who drove me to the executioner’s block to hell.” “Um, that’s…” Connie staggered backward in the face of this extraordinary being. She gulped. “And who in the world could that be…?” She couldn’t just say yes so easily. She didn’t even know who Scarlett wanted revenge on. Depending on the situation, Connie might not be up to the challenge by herself. “I don’t know.” “What?” “I was framed, you see. I was executed for a crime that Cecilia set me up for. A person like me would never have done something so pathetic.” Scarlett narrowed her eyes in disgust. What did she just say? At a loss for words, Connie stared at the source of this outrageous statement. Executed for a crime of which she was innocent? In other words, she’d been falsely accused? “And that, Constance, is why I need you to act in my place to discover the true criminals and make their lives hell!” How could this be? Connie’s heart was pounding fast. Until this very moment, she had believed that Scarlett Castiel was a horrible person. She had total faith in a rumor that was plausible. What a fool she had been! “So then it’s not true that you forced Princess Cecilia’s entire birth family to kneel at your feet…?!” She wasn’t only incredibly beautiful. She also came from a bloodline so noble, the royal family often married their princesses off to the dukes of Castiel. Add that she had been engaged to the crown prince, and she must have been the envy of many. All those feelings no doubt fueled the rumors. Connie was certain Scarlett had always been isolated. The least she could do was discover the real Scarlett and give her the understanding she deserved… Connie squeezed her hands into fists and smiled sympathetically. Scarlett gave her a puzzled look. “Oh, no, I did that.” “…You did?” “What?” “…N-nothing. Um, then what about wielding your power over Cecilia and throwing her in prison for lèse-majesté?” “That did happen. Although she didn’t learn her lesson in the least.” “…Then what about the story of you throwing red wine on her and tearing her dress off in the middle of a ball?” “I didn’t take off her undergarments, so that’s not so bad, is it?” “…Slapping her across the face with all your strength in public?” “What’s wrong with that?” Connie took a deep breath. “You’ve done quite a lot, it seems!” “Nothing that amounts to much.” “It does amount to much! I’ll admit execution was an overly harsh punishment for those crimes, but you should have expected to be locked up, at least!” “What did you say?! Just who do you think I am?!” Scarlett barked, scowling. “I apologize—you are Miss Scarlett Castiel!” “That’s correct. I am a very grand personage! Who cares if I pester an insignificant viscount’s daughter?!” “But you did end up getting executed!” Now she’d done it. Connie had a bad habit of letting her tongue slip exactly when it shouldn’t. The blood drained from her face. She was so terrified, she couldn’t even look at Scarlett. Her eyes darting everywhere but at her, she screwed up her last bit of courage. “A-also, about helping you get revenge—” She was going to say it wasn’t a good idea. But before she could even get the words out of her mouth, they were rejected. “What about the debt?” Scarlett’s tone was as calm as a placid sea. “Your family is in debt, aren’t they? What do you plan to do about that, now that you’ve broken off the engagement?” She hadn’t broken it off. Connie hadn’t. Her Royal Highness Scarlett had broken it off. But the truth was, the result was the same. The incident at the ball had lost her family the support of the Bronson Company. She had discarded her family’s reputation and her fiancé, leaving only shame and debt. Connie’s shoulders drooped dejectedly. The more she thought about it, the more she felt like she was suffocating. “It’s not as if I couldn’t help you.” Connie looked up. She must have had a very desperate look on her face. Scarlett smiled in amusement. “You are going to help me get revenge, aren’t you?” “Uh…” “And surely this would never happen, but for a sincere Grail to fail to return a kindness—well, I couldn’t imagine anything more insincere.” “What would you like me to do?” Connie answered reflexively. The most wicked woman in the world smiled with satisfaction. When Connie walked down the stairs to the living room, the family’s maid, Marta, came running toward her, looking worried. Apparently, as soon as Connie got home from the ball at the Grand Merillian, she had collapsed in bed and stayed that way until now. According to Marta, that is—Connie had no memory of any of it. The members of the Grail family had found out what happened the morning after the ball, but by then, thanks to the strenuous efforts of Viscount Hamsworth, the church had already approved the dissolution of Connie’s engagement to Neil Bronson. Scary. Marta said that as head of household, Connie’s father was on his way to the church to complete the necessary documents. Connie let out a low, involuntary wail. Her father, Percival Ethel Grail, was the veritable personification of sincerity. He probably never imagined in his wildest dreams that his daughter’s fiancé might be unfaithful. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d burst a blood vessel or two from the shock. Worried, she asked Marta how he was doing. Marta sighed deeply. “Oh, the master was horribly angry. At one point, he even threatened to challenge the young gentleman to a duel. It was only thanks to the mistress’s words that he returned to his senses.” It seemed he had ultimately decided that since Connie had settled the matter with Neil herself, it would be insincere for him to interfere any further. Thank you, principle of sincerity. Thank you, Mother. Connie’s mother was always the one who held the family together. “But before we worry about that, Miss Constance, shall I make you some milk porridge? You haven’t eaten a bite since yesterday.” “Oh, that would be wonderful! I’m absolutely starving! …Also, has anything arrived for me?” The last part was an order from Scarlett. She’d said that by now all the letters should have arrived, so she had better go and get them. Given that the order was coming from the one and only queen, Connie nodded right away, but secretly she was confused. Since she was shy, she had only a handful of friends, and she couldn’t imagine them going out of their way to write her a letter about what had happened. She glanced at Marta. As predicted, she was as surprised as if she’d seen snow in July. Connie nodded knowingly. “I’m sorry to ask such an odd question. Please forget I said anything.” “No, it’s not that…,” Marta said, apparently struggling to get the words out before going to fetch her mail. Connie carried the armload of letters into her room. “What is this?!” she shrieked. “You see? I was right.” Scarlett smirked. According to Marta, servants bearing personal correspondence had been arriving at the house constantly since the day before. Connie wasn’t boasting, but she’d never received so many invitations in her life. “You’ve given them something to talk about. To think, for a chaste nobleman’s daughter to do something of that nature in public!” Scarlett added. But Connie hadn’t done it. She’d say it a million times—she, Connie, hadn’t done it. The queen in front of her had. Scarlett wanted to see the invitations, so Connie sat down on the love seat and spread them on the glass-topped coffee table. She guessed there were at least twenty. Scarlett inspected each one carefully, then suddenly yelped in delight. “Here it is! I knew it would be there. Just look at those frills and gold leaf. Emilia Caroling is still as tacky as she was ten years ago!” she said, pointing to a particularly eye-catching card. Connie picked it up. The sender’s name was written on the back. “…The Baroness Godwin?” “Godwin? Don’t tell me Emilia married Douglas Godwin! That enormous butterball? And to think she used to call him a pig on two legs!” Scarlett snorted. “Anyhow, Constance, you’re going to Emilia’s ball. That woman loves to talk, and she loves to see other people in trouble. If you ask the right questions about what happened ten years ago, I have no doubt she’ll start twittering like a canary in heat.” Scarlett’s biting words broke the momentary silence in Connie’s bedroom. “Are you a complete idiot?” Connie cowered. Scarlett’s chilly gaze was directed at the reply to Lady Godwin’s invitation that Connie had just written. “It seems this will be our last chance to view the camellias—what the hell is this?” “Um… It’s a seasonal greeting?” What else could it be? But Scarlett’s face went blank. When she did that, her picture-perfect features drew the eye even more, like she was some sort of finely made doll. As Connie was absently contemplating this fact, lightning struck again. “What kind of fool writes about wilting flowers as a social nicety?” “Um…!” “Camellias ultimately fall with their petals intact! In classical literature, they were used as a metaphor for decapitation! It would be bad enough to talk about them blooming, but here you go bringing up their ill-fated end! You might as well come out and challenge the host of the party to a fistfight!” Connie was at a loss for words. “And your handwriting is despicable! Rewrite that immediately.” “As long as she can read the words…” “What did you say?” “Nothing, nothing at all!” Connie scrambled to pull a fresh sheet of writing paper from her bureau and dip her feather pen in ink. No sooner had she begun to write, however, than a barrage of criticism flew at her: “Be careful! You just dropped an ink spot right there!” “How could you possibly choose your words so poorly?!” “That word looks awful! Start over!” As she struggled along, holding back her tears, she heard someone bang the knocker on her door. It was Marta, asking for instructions. “Miss Kate, daughter of Baron Lorraine, is here. Shall I show her up?” “Kate? I’ll go right down.” Kate Lorraine was one of Connie’s few friends. Connie stood up happily, then noticed the pitiful balled-up ruins of her letter-writing attempts covering the floor. When she turned around, the devil with the beautiful face was grinning impishly at her. She hesitated for a second before turning back toward Marta. “Actually, I’m too busy to go down right now. Can you show her up?!” The moment Kate opened the door, she threw her arms around Connie, shouting her name. “I heard you’d hardly left your bed. I’ve been so worried about you!” Kate’s chestnut-brown hair tickled her face. She was so soft, and she smelled so good. Connie couldn’t help smiling at her friend, whose eyes were so wide with affection that they seemed about to fall right out of her face. “I’m fine now. I just ate a whole pot of milk porridge and licked the spoon clean.” “Glutton. I don’t know how you eat so much and don’t gain weight. I’m jealous…,” she said, pouting. It was true that Kate might be a little rounder than average, but Connie, with her washboard figure, was jealous of Kate’s chest. Today, for instance, even though she was wearing a drab, high-necked dress, her chest looked about to burst right out of it. “Are you really all right, though?” Kate asked, throwing Connie a worried look from the love seat. Connie was confused for a second—then realized what she was talking about. “Don’t tell me people are already gossiping?!” Needless to say, she was talking about the incident at the Grand Merillian. “Yes! You’d think a hurricane came through in December,” Kate murmured. Connie’s face tensed. Even Kate, who was as unconnected socially as Connie—even less so, to be honest—knew about it. Which meant she could probably assume that by now, all of society knew about the Grail family scandal. “You probably haven’t heard, since you’ve been in bed, but yesterday Pamela returned to her domain. They said it was so she could rest, but I’m sure the truth is she slunk off with her tail between her legs because the future looked so dark. I’ve always known that little home-wrecker was a coward.” It was strange how calm Connie felt even as she listened to Kate talk about the topic she most wanted to avoid—Pamela Francis. She probably had Scarlett Castiel to thank for that. But someone else was on her mind… “What about Neil?” Kate frowned. “He doesn’t seem to be faring very well, either. I heard that a number of big business deals that the Bronson Company had lined up on the condition that Neil married into your family fell through. Neil hasn’t been charged with adultery, but the church is confining him for corrupting public morals. Sir Damian has been going around to all his customers with head bowed.” Connie’s heart ached a little when she heard that. Just a little. She shook her head to clear away the sympathy and got back to the main topic. “Um, so then what about me…?” How did people view the primary force behind hurricanes? In response to Connie’s terrified question, Kate nodded with the utmost gravity. “Poor Constance Grail has proven that even a lamb will dash at a hunting dog if it’s mad enough. That was the topic of the editorial piece in the noble edition of the Mayflower this morning. Congratulations, Constance Grail. You’re the ‘it girl.’” What a horrible way to make her debut in the papers. Connie pressed her hand to her forehead and stared at the ceiling. But as she was reeling from the news, Kate noticed the wretched state of her desk. “Well, that’s unusual.” “What?” “Sorry, I couldn’t help looking. This is an invitation to Lady Godwin’s ball, isn’t it? And you’re going? You always used to say no to such things. What changed?” “Nothing, it’s just that…” What could she say? Connie glanced at Scarlett, who until now had been watching them as quietly as a statue. Just as she’d said, Kate didn’t seem to see her. What to do? She doubted Kate would believe her if she told her the truth. But what could she tell her instead? Listen, Kate, I suddenly gained the ability to see the ghost of the infamous Scarlett Castiel. Or I guess I should say she possessed me—she still does—and actually, she says someone set her up, and the two of us plan to find out who the criminal is. And by the way, that’s why I’m going to Lady Godwin’s ball, but I’m fine; don’t worry about me… No, that wouldn’t go over very well. Connie rejected the idea immediately. She didn’t want to be estranged from one of her precious few friends. As Connie wiped the cold sweat from her face and desperately searched for an excuse, Kate suddenly gasped and clapped both hands over her mouth. Then her eyes started darting around nervously. “I—I do see how you could feel that way! Y-yes, I think it’s a great idea! Go have fun! There’s sure to be lots of beautiful people at Lady Godwin’s ball! And y-you never know—you just might meet a handsome, kind, unmarried prince on a white horse there…!” “What? Oh, no, that’s not why I’m going…” “It’s fine, Connie! My cousin Stacy was just saying that these days, women are allowed to be a little more forward. And the novel I finished the other day said that the only way to heal a broken heart is to find a new love!” Yes, Kate definitely seemed to be misinterpreting her motives. But since she couldn’t think of a good excuse, she just nodded and said uncertainly, “Right… I’ll give that a try…” It wasn’t long before Kate exclaimed that she had to be going. Scarlett watched her hurry off with a puzzled frown. “What do you think she was up to? Gathering information? Ugh. You’d better watch out for her, Constance Grail.” “Oh, no, I’m certain she only came to check on me because she was worried!” The Lorraines were new money who had only recently risen from petty officers to their current position as barons. Kate’s mother wasn’t of noble birth, and she had lots of children, so the family was by no means wealthy. Kate’s personality also probably had something to do with the fact that the only ball she’d ever attended was her debut. Other than that, she stayed home helping her mother with chores or piecework. Of course, the Lorraines did have a few maids and butlers, but they couldn’t afford many. Connie knew it must have been hard for Kate to slip away to check on her today. Connie was proud to call the kind, thoughtful Kate Lorraine her oldest friend. But even after she explained that to Scarlett, the latter looked suspicious. “Um, let me think… Kate is for me like Miss Lily was for you—” “Lily?” Scarlett tilted her head in adorable confusion, which made Connie tilt her own head. “…Um, hadn’t you been close with the marquess’s daughter, Lily Orlamunde, since you were both young? I don’t want to sound presumptuous, but if you could think of Kate like Lily…” According to the rumors, Lily Orlamunde was the one friend Scarlett had truly accepted. That didn’t mean she was a criminal like Scarlett, of course. She had spoken up for Cecilia when Scarlett hurled absurd criticisms at her and tried to dissuade Scarlett from acting so cruelly, and she had sought to reform Scarlett’s wicked ways until the end. She was known to be so fair-minded, people called her The White Lily of Charity. Scarlett nodded. “Oh yes, Lily. I’d forgotten all about her. She must be married by now, no?” “Y-yes, she married three years ago.” “Only three years ago? That took a while.” Young ladies in this land were generally expected to marry between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. Lily had been past twenty-five when she announced her engagement. However, there was a reason for that. “It seems that Miss Lily grieved quite deeply over your death. She blamed herself for not stopping you from committing your crimes and pledged to pay for your sins herself. Everyone tried to stop her, but she spent years devoting herself to charitable work.” The Orlamunde family had always had close ties to the church, and Lily had apparently drawn on those connections to help orphans and tutor young children. It was extremely unusual for a young noblewoman to engage independently in such activities, rather than as a proxy for her husband, and Lily Orlamunde’s self-sacrificing work was said to have eased the bitter opposition noblewomen faced if they became involved in social issues. Connie could hardly bear to tell this beautiful moral tale without breaking down in tears, but Scarlett, whose connection to Lily was far more personal than her own, seemed uninterested. “Oh, is that so?” she said, sounding bored. “And who did Lily marry?” “Earl Randolph Ulster of the House of Richelieu. But—” “Randolph?! That straitlaced prig?! She married my nemesis?!” For once, Scarlett raised her voice. Connie shuddered in surprise. “And you say he’s called Randolph Ulster?! That stubborn mule is still a count? Ten years ago, everyone said he’d become duke as soon as he came of age. Did he do something bad?” “Oh, no, nothing like that. According to the rumors, Lord Randolph asked the current duke if he could wait a while to take over…” Some of the higher noble families held several titles. Randolph’s family was one of them—they were dukes, but they also held the Earl of Ulster title. This was called a subsidiary title, and it was typically given to the successor to the higher title before they received that title, as a matter of convenience. “But what about…?” “Hmph, as usual, it’s impossible to figure out what that man is thinking. But never mind. We must go speak with Lily right away. She’s a smart girl, so I’m certain she’ll have much more useful information for us than Emilia.” “B-but that’s impossible.” “You’ll be fine. If you don’t know her, I’ll think of a way. That’s my specialty, after all.” “No, it’s not that; it’s just…impossible.” “What’s impossible? Do you mean to disobey—?” “No!” Connie finally shouted. “Lily is dead!” Scarlett was silent. A hush fell over the room. Unable to stand the tension, Connie looked down. After a pause, Scarlett asked, “When?” Her voice was strained. “A year ago.” “Was she sick? Was there an accident?” “No, I heard…she killed herself.” Rumor was she’d used poison. And she hadn’t done it at the Ulster residence but at her own family chapel. “You’re lying.” “It’s true. It was even in the papers.” Lily’s suicide had livened up the capital gossip for quite some time. It had happened just after she married the Earl of Ulster, so all sorts of speculations about her untimely death had circulated. The Royal Security Force had investigated it as a possible murder but in the end had rejected that theory and declared it a suicide. “No, I’m certain it’s a lie.” “Miss Scarlett…” Connie glanced at her, her chest tightening. She was ashamed that until a short while ago, she had never doubted that Scarlett Castiel was a veritable devil in women’s clothing. After all, she had enough of a heart to grieve her friend’s death, didn’t she? “It’s a lie. I mean…,” Scarlett practically shouted, hugging her shaking body. “I mean, someone as wicked as Lily would never kill herself!” “…What?” Had she heard that right? She must have imagined it. Yes, she had to have. “Miss Scarlett?” she asked, just to be sure. “What?” “Miss Lily was your friend, wasn’t she?” Scarlett scowled emphatically. “My friend? Don’t say such awful things. I’d rather dance a polka while standing on my hands on the Cliffs of Hangara than get chummy with a girl like her.” “B-but everyone says Miss Lily was the only person who kept visiting you even after you were locked up…” According to the rumors, all the other members of Scarlett’s clique turned on her at the drop of a hat, but Lily Orlamunde braved the curious stares of their acquaintances to stick by her friend until the very end. “She kept visiting me…? Oh, that!” Scarlett’s suspicious gaze suddenly cleared. She arched her well-shaped eyebrows, and a second later, her voice rang out like a gong. “About that! It makes me furious even to think of it! Yes, that cur did come to see me! She looked at me there behind the bars, and she ridiculed me! ‘You really bungled this one, didn’t you, Scarlett?’ she said. Who the hell did that wicked girl think she was?” “You really bungled this one, didn’t you, Scarlett?” Those were the first words out of Lily’s mouth the day she came to see Scarlett on the pretext of a “visit.” Scarlett, who was fed up with being stuck in a cold stone cell, scowled at Lily. She had known this seemingly innocent girl as long as she could remember, and their exchanges had always been ironic. Every last thing about Lily irritated Scarlett. And the feeling was probably mutual. Lily wasn’t quite as beautiful as Scarlett, but she was certainly blessed with good looks. Her platinum-blond hair fell in a perfectly straight cascade against her nearly translucent white skin. Although her features weren’t especially striking, they were as regular as a statue’s. She had a cold, almost artificial beauty, but the gentle smile that constantly played around her lips and her polite demeanor softened the impression. The truth was, her pale blue eyes were always as cold as ice, but Scarlett was likely the only person who ever realized that. “That’s why I always said you ought to avoid doing anything so obvious.” She sounded like a teacher scolding a slow student, which irritated Scarlett. “What are you talking about? I can’t help it. Everything I do attracts attention.” If she took one step, she was surrounded by hangers-on, and if she said a single word, the whole room fell silent to listen. That was everyday life for Scarlett. Asking her not to stand out was ridiculous. “Tell my father to get me released from here immediately,” she said, throwing a disgusted glance around her cell. There was a bed, although it was so hard she could barely sleep on it. There was a desk and chair as well. No windows, but the guards would light the lamp if she asked. Her cell was simple but always clean. For prisoners’ quarters, it was probably top class, but to Scarlett, it was worse than a pigsty. She couldn’t bear to spend another day there. She was sure her father, the duke, would do something to help. The House of Castiel was more powerful than any other family in the kingdom, save the royal family. Lily gave an exasperated sigh as she watched Scarlett. “You really are an idiot,” she said. “What did you just say?” “You have an excellent memory, but unfortunately, you lack the ability to piece together information. That’s what we call a wasted gift. Listen to me. If it were possible to secure your release, it would surely have already happened without the assistance of the Duke of Castiel, and moreover, you probably wouldn’t have been imprisoned to start with.” “…But they can’t keep me locked up here forever, can they? It’s not as if I actually poisoned that woman.” “Oh, I’m sure you didn’t. But that is precisely the problem. The problem is that an individual exists who is capable of entrapping a member of the Castiel family. And the even bigger problem is that after all this time, you still don’t know who that individual is.” Scarlett couldn’t contradict her. She had already been imprisoned for two weeks. By now, she understood her predicament—although she didn’t want to admit it. “I came today to say good-bye. I’m washing my hands of this affair. The situation is truly maddening, but it appears to be beyond me. I’m sorry, Scarlett. I really did want to help you, but…” Lily paused for a moment, tilting her head in consternation. “I care far more about saving my own neck than yours.” So saying, Lily Orlamunde flashed a smile lacking even the smallest hint of regret. “And that’s the whole truth. I certainly can’t imagine an impudent woman like her killing herself, can you?” Having listened to this account, Connie rested her hand against the wall of her room and let her head droop. “You say she did charitable work because she felt so much regret over my death? Ha. I’ll bet you anything she did it out of self-interest. After all, she’d been telling me since we were little how strange it was that girls and women couldn’t live in the same way as boys and men. She thought it made more sense to have a meritocracy, regardless of gender. I thought that was an odd thing to say, but in the end, she used me to get what she wanted. I don’t mind a little impudence, but she went too far!” For her whole life, Connie had idolized The White Lily of Charity—loyal to the wicked Scarlett, yet always filled with dignity and integrity. But now… “When it came to harassing Cecilia, that wicked creature was far worse than I was.” “Miss L-Lily was worse than you?” “Oh yes. But she never dirtied her own hands. For example, if Cecilia seemed to be enjoying a conversation with Crown Prince Enrique, I’d slap her silly then and there for not knowing her place. But that would be the end of it.” “…The end of it…?” “Lily, on the other hand, wouldn’t do anything. She would simply look down with a sad expression, then murmur something admirable like, ‘Poor Scarlett.’ And what do you think would happen next? Her admirers would act all on their own. And that’s not all—everyone present would begin to feel hostile toward Cecilia.” “Terrifying.” “It is! It’s very sly, don’t you think? Sly and scheming! She’s not the kind of person you would want as a friend, is she? Lily Orlamunde was a levelheaded, brilliant, infuriatingly careful girl.” Connie grimaced, but Scarlett already seemed to be thinking about something else. “…Yes, it’s very odd.” “Odd?” “Yes, odd. Odd and abnormal.” “…What is?” “I can’t imagine that Lily would kill herself. But if she did, it could only have been because something happened that she could not bring under her control.” Scarlett’s amethyst eyes shimmered as she mulled over the implications. “Try to imagine it. Does hail fall in the middle of summer? Yes, it may happen once in ten years. But it would never happen twice.” “…What do you mean?” “I mean this must have something to do with my revenge. You think so, too, don’t you, Constance Grail?!” No, I don’t, Connie thought to herself. But Queen Scarlett was brimming with so much confidence, Connie didn’t say a word. Several days later, Connie was standing in front of a certain orphanage, dressed in a maid’s uniform. There was a guardhouse near the front gate, so she stated her business there and asked for the doorkeeper. An elderly woman in a navy-blue nun’s habit appeared. Connie silently repeated the lines she had been made to practice over and over the night before. Would she be able to say them well enough? Her legs were shaking. But when she glanced at Scarlett beside her, she looked so utterly unruffled that Connie steeled her will and opened her mouth. “P-pardon me for coming without an appointment. I am a maid at the Marquess of Orlamunde’s house. My name is Lettie.” She told the elderly nun that her mistress, the Marchioness of Orlamunde, wanted to make an offering of letters from the children at the orphanage on the anniversary of her daughter Lily’s passing. In response, the woman smiled and readily agreed. “I’m sure the children would be delighted to do that. They simply adored Miss Lily.” She gave no sign of suspicion about Connie’s maid disguise, which stung a bit. Connie had borrowed the clothes from Marta, telling her that she was going to Kate’s house to make raspberry pie. Kate loved baking, and Connie’s role was to assist her in the Lorraine kitchen and taste test her creations. She often borrowed maid’s clothes that she could get dirty for this purpose, so she was able to leave home wearing the outfit without anyone suspecting her. Scarlett was the one who had come up with the name Lettie. Needless to say, Scarlett was also the one who’d devised the entire plan. The Maurice Home for Orphaned Children had originally been a public hospital. Many years of use finally rendered it too dilapidated to be a home for anyone, but after it closed, a church bought the building and turned it into an orphanage. The Orlamunde family had donated an immense sum of money to remodel the facility. That was one reason the orphanage had been the center of Lily’s activities until her death. Children were frolicking around the courtyard with its decorative fountain, the younger children shouting happily while the older ones wrote letters on the stationery Connie had brought. Apparently, Lily had taught the children at the orphanage to read and write. In one corner of the courtyard was a well-used blackboard and chalk. Connie had forgotten about this aspect of Lily’s work because the picture Scarlett had painted had made such an impact, but she really did think it was a wonderful endeavor. While she waited for the children to finish their letters, Connie played with the younger ones who couldn’t yet write. Of course, she put her all into it. When they played tag, she chased the children down and caught them up in her arms, then raced around holding them. When they played hopscotch, she showed off her trick of standing with her back turned and kicking the pebble with her heel into the square. In a matter of minutes, she had won the children’s admiring gazes and the nickname of Hero. Even Scarlett had to admit that Connie was good at this. When the children tired of playing, Connie asked them a question. “Was Miss Lily kind?” Connie had two important jobs to do at the orphanage. “Yes!” “Did she ever seem sad? You know, like she was worried about something?” “No, never!” “Really?” One was to try to find out what had happened to Lily. That mission had just ended in failure. As Connie sat with her shoulders slumped in disappointment, she noticed that several of the older children who had finished writing their letters were watching her. They looked somehow…scared. Strangely bothered by this, Connie was about to go over to them when Scarlett warned her against it. “We don’t have time to waste on distractions.” So the first mission was a fiasco. As for the second… Connie wiped the sweat from her face. Then, pretending to slip, she dove into the fountain. “I’m so sorry, but all we have are nun’s habits. Well, we do have clothes for small children, but…” “Oh, no, this is absolutely fine. I’m terribly sorry for causing you trouble.” In fact, that had been her aim to begin with—but she didn’t say that. She simply changed out of her drenched maid’s uniform and into the nun’s habit with the embroidered name of the Maurice Church, collected the thank-you note from the orphanage director and the letters from the children, said her thanks, and left. Although the sixth month of the year, Mars, was usually very rainy, the sun’s rays were growing stronger every day as summer approached. That was especially true on a clear day like this one, and Connie felt the humid heat beating down on her as she walked along clasping her package. “Now to buy the flowers.” Scarlett, on the other hand, looked cool as a cucumber. Connie guessed that she couldn’t sense the heat. “What? Right now?” The sopping wet maid’s outfit was bulkier and heavier than she’d expected, and she was worn out from playing with the children. The truth was, she wanted to go home. However, the young lady from the House of Castiel had other plans. “Listen to me. The more time passes, the easier it becomes to see through this sort of lie. The secret to success is to finish everything up and exit the scene before you’ve been found out.” She nodded knowingly, as if she was speaking from experience. “From the Maurice Orphanage, you say?” The man looked up and scowled suspiciously at Connie. She had come from the orphanage to the Orlamunde residence. More precisely, to the guardhouse where visitors without an appointment were received. As for the wet maid’s outfit, she’d hidden that in an alleyway across the street. “Y-yes. I’m a maid there. My name is Co—I mean, Lettie.” She held up an envelope with the Maurice Orphanage seal on it. It contained the thank-you note she’d just received from the orphanage director. She explained that the children had desperately wanted to write letters to their beloved Miss Lily and that today she hoped to offer up their letters along with a prayer for Miss Lily. She showed off the bouquet of white flowers she’d just bought as proof. The man took his time examining the envelope and Connie. The envelope was unmistakably from the orphanage, and the nun’s habit with the insignia embroidered on the sleeve was probably the same as the ones that other nuns had worn when visiting the estate. Still, Connie felt so nervous, she worried her heart might fly right out of her mouth. With measured movements, the guard took a bundle of notes from his desk and pulled one out. Then he carefully compared it to the envelope, using a magnifying glass. After a few moments, he looked up and asked Connie to wait while he went to fetch someone from the house. “…M-my heart was in my mouth the whole time.” Now that it seemed she would be safely admitted to the mansion, Connie—who had been sure a security officer was coming to arrest her at any moment—breathed a sigh of relief. But her heart was still pounding, and her whole body was covered in sweat. “That went very well, I’d say.” Oblivious to Connie’s emotions, Scarlett looked as excited as a child whose prank had succeeded. After a brief wait, a butler with salt-and-pepper hair arrived at the guardhouse. “The lady of the house is not well today and is unable to see you, but she sends her gratitude for your thoughtfulness in offering a prayer. I will show you to the chapel in her stead.” “Oh, it’s Clement!” Scarlett explained. “He looks well.” The butler led Connie into the estate of the Marquess of Orlamunde. The House of Orlamunde was among the most proper and pious of all the old high-noble families. Many popes hailed from their distinguished lineage, and it was said that several generations earlier, the Marquess of Orlamunde had experienced a surge of religious faith and ordered a chapel built on the grounds of the mansion, which was highly unusual. There were several small gardens partitioned by hedges on either side of the stone pathway leading to the main building. The butler led Connie along a stream flanked by a carpet of grape hyacinths to the chapel on the edge of the gardens. The main building was farther down the same path. Everything was just as Scarlett had said it would be: The current marchioness was very fastidious about purity and never fraternized with the so-called lower classes if she didn’t have to. She would probably come up with some excuse to avoid receiving Connie in person. However, she would most likely allow her to enter the chapel on the edge of the gardens. She was as famous for her compassion as for her fastidiousness. She wasn’t likely to harm her reputation by chasing off a nun who had come to offer prayers for her daughter. When they arrived in front of the chapel, the butler sifted through the bundle of keys hanging at his waist, selected one, and opened the door. A cool breeze drifted from inside. “May I offer up these flowers as well?” Connie asked. “Of course. I’m sure the young mistress will be admiring them from heaven.” He told her to stop by the guardhouse on her way out, then left. The chapel was small and dim. There was an altar but only enough room for a few people to worship there. Sunlight streamed in through a round stained glass skylight overhead. Dust glittered in the shaft of light. A painting of the Moirai, symbols of the church, hung on one wall. It depicted the famous myth of the three Fates. Clothos spun the thread of life, Lachesis wove it, and Atropos cut it. In other words, human fate was all a matter of the Moirai’s whims. The painting was faded in places, but it made masterful use of light and shadow. No one who saw it could help but feel overwhelmed by its magnificence. Connie, too, reflexively brought her hands to her chest and bowed her head. So this was where Lily Orlamunde had taken her own life. “It’s probably behind the memorial frame—Hey, what are you doing?” Scarlett asked, interrupting Connie’s prayer. Connie looked up and was met by an exasperated stare. “Tell me, why do you think we came all the way here?” Obviously, to find out the truth about Lily’s suicide. But wouldn’t it be heartless to come to the place where she’d ended her life and not even offer a prayer? When Connie brought up that point with Scarlett, she snorted dismissively. “Idiot. Praying won’t make Lily happy. If she were here, she’d probably snap at you to hurry up and figure out what really happened. I know Lily. I’m certain she left a clue here somewhere. And she probably hid it in some spiteful place no one would think of.” “You mean, like behind the memorial picture frame…?” “Yes. After all, who would think to flip over and expose this side of the people’s saint?” Scarlett laughed boldly. She was right—but… “This must be some kind of sin…” “Just as she would have liked it.” Scarlett shrugged. Takes one to know one, Connie thought and grimaced, but Scarlett ordered her to pull down the picture immediately. The blood drained from her face in earnest this time. She’d come this far, though, so she didn’t have much choice. Saying no had never been an option—in fact, it hadn’t been an option since the moment she met Scarlett at the Grand Merillian. She steeled herself. Thankfully, the picture was small enough for her to be able to grasp both sides of the frame. Still, her hands were shaking at the irreverence of it. What she was about to do felt somehow outrageous. Actually, since it was a crime, it was outrageous. Her face pale, she reversed the painting. Her eyes widened. “This is…” A yellowed envelope was stuck to the back. Her heart thudded unpleasantly in her ears. What was going on? Was it really a clue left behind by Lily Orlamunde? Maybe it was just a suicide note or even some sort of appraisal of the painting. Whatever it was, Connie hesitated to touch it, given she was a complete stranger. Her heart beat faster. As she hesitated, she heard a noise outside. She jumped. The footsteps did not pass by but drew closer to the chapel. Someone’s coming! The door creaked. What should I do? Her mind went blank. What should I do? What should I do? She couldn’t move. She had no idea how to get out of her predicament. “Hide it! Hurry!” Scarlett screamed. Connie’s hand jumped to yank the glued-on envelope off the frame and slip it down her dress. She practically threw the picture back onto the wall just as the door creaked open. She gasped when she saw who it was. The man was solidly built and so tall, she had to look up to see his face. He had ocean blue eyes and hair trimmed short. His skin was deeply tanned. His shoulders were broad and muscular, and his face showed no trace of softness. His presence was so overpowering, she physically shrank from him. This frightening figure looked down on Connie with an ill-tempered expression. “You?!” she heard Scarlett exclaim. “What are you doing here, Randolph Ulster?!” Scarlett asked in a high-pitched voice as she took in the young man. Randolph Ulster? Lord Ulster? Otherwise known as His Highness the Grim Reaper? The Randolph Ulster who was a friend of the crown prince and therefore had been at odds with Scarlett? The one who had then married Lily Orlamunde? The blood drained once again from Connie’s face. Had he seen her putting the picture back? No, she didn’t think so. Her eyes darted around, panicking. She unconsciously glanced at the picture.
Chapter 5
45 min read