Swan Grave - Chapter 8

Unlike the mansion’s notorious reputation, the maids here were all good people. Thanks to them, Anna had managed to endure until now. Lying in bed, Anna closed her eyes tightly.

She tried with all her might to erase from her memory Rothbart’s touch, the pain, his whispers, one by one.

But the more she tried, the deeper his traces clung to her mind. As though mocking her attempts.

As if Rothbart had driven a stake through her heart.

***

“You’re always like this. You only ever think of yourself.”

Bathed in streaming light, a woman standing with the window at her back spoke softly to Rothbart. The quiet, gentle voice he had always longed for, like a whisper. Though Rothbart knew this was a dream, he gladly drowned himself in her voice. Even if the words she spoke were reproach.

“You never care how I feel.”

“That’s not true, Ianna. How can you say that? All I need is you.”

“Lies.”

Rothbart’s only love, Ianna, smiled bitterly. She stretched out her pale, slender hand and caressed Rothbart’s cheek as he clung to her waist.

“Roth, you’ll live just fine without me. Won’t you? In the end… I was only chosen to bear your child.”

“No. If I don’t have you…”

Rothbart shook his head roughly, but Ianna looked unconvinced. A faint smile spread across her lips. A fragile smile that seemed it might vanish at any moment.

“I kept my promise, Roth. I bore your child… Now you must keep yours. I… must return to my original world. There is someone I left behind. I can’t leave that person alone… That person has only me.”

“No… Ianna! Don’t go, don’t abandon me!”

Cruelly, she began to fade from Rothbart’s arms. He held her tighter, but his hands grasped only empty air.

“Ianna!”

In the darkness, Rothbart’s eyes flew open as he shouted. His crimson eyes glowed vividly even in the pitch black. At last awakened from his dream, Rothbart drew ragged breaths.

“You try to escape me not only in reality, but in dreams as well.”

Cruel woman. Even though he had longed for her so much, she hadn’t visited his dreams even once.

Perhaps that was why, though he felt as though he were endlessly plummeting in the rare dream of her, he also felt a small satisfaction that he had seen her at all.

Turning over the dual feelings in his mind, Rothbart sat up. His perfect, muscular body was drenched in sweat.

The reason for the sudden dream was obvious.

That maid.

He had been drugged, yes, but not to the point of losing his memory. The rotten, debauched fragrance left lingering in the room from yesterday stabbed his nose as if to remind him.

Rothbart recalled the way she had writhed beneath him. Her slender, delicate body glowing pale in the dark. Tight, clumsy… Remembering the woman who looked exactly like his wife made him ache below once again.

She carried an unfamiliar scent. A scent no human of this world could possess, one that only his wife had ever given off.

His thoughts were still in disarray, but his decision came swiftly.

“Barrett!”

Rothbart called out. He could command his sworn servants from afar. It was one of the petty tricks granted to him by the blood of a demon.

His loyal butler, Barrett, gladly answered his summons. Before long, a knock sounded from beyond the door.

“You called for me, master.”

“That maid.”

Even before Barrett had fully entered the room, Rothbart came straight to the point.

“Assign that maid as my personal maid.”

“But.”

Rothbart had only said “that maid,” yet Barrett naturally thought of one person. There was only one woman Rothbart could possibly mean.

Barrett had already intended to report about her. When she had first come asking to work at the mansion, his heart had nearly leapt out of his chest.

The world believed the Marchioness to be dead, but that was only half the truth. The funeral had been conducted by Rothbart’s father, Duke Albert, yet Rothbart still refused to acknowledge her death and continued searching for her.

The truth remained unknown, but one fact could not be denied: the maid resembled the Marchioness, whose life or death was uncertain. Whether she truly was the Marchioness or not would be judged by Rothbart, so Barrett had urgently sent a telegram. Though it had never reached Rothbart, fate seemed to bring him home early, and on that very day he encountered her.

Yet judging from Rothbart’s attitude toward her, he had no intention of treating her as the Marchioness. Barrett wondered whether this was Rothbart’s fickleness or a firm decision already made.

At the end of his gaze, Rothbart showed no wavering. Though it had happened suddenly, the decision to make her his personal maid was neither a whim nor a reckless impulse. The corners of his lips lifted, revealing sharp teeth.

“The last experiment. It clearly failed.”

“…Yes.”

“It was the first experiment Svanhild interfered in.”

“Yes.”

Rothbart lowered his head, his shoulders shaking as he let out a silent laugh for a long time. It was a laugh that sounded both self-mocking and resentful.

The haze clouding his head from sleep and drugs gradually cleared as exhilaration surged.

Not only was her age wrong, but a woman who had once borne a child now had the body of a virgin. On top of that, she had no memory…

Because of these strange circumstances, Barrett could not be certain whether the maid Anna truly was the Marchioness. But Rothbart was different.

The moment he met her, his soul trembled with rapture.

Summoning a being from another world always carried countless variables. To summon a specific one was near miraculous. This experiment’s result had undeniably been a success… not perfect, but close.

Perhaps she hadn’t truly lost her memories. Perhaps, unable to face him shamelessly, she only pretended to have forgotten in order to begin a new relationship. Living in this world as a swan, and as someone from the eastern continent, was no easy feat.

As a human, it was the worst choice, but Rothbart would rather she remember their past, even if she had to feign amnesia.

Because then it would torment her all the more.

“Fine, whatever the reason… She must have had something to gain, crawling back here with that innocent face. Whether it was her intention or not… I won’t let this chance slip away. I’ll play along.”

Rothbart intended to toy with her for a long time, pushing her into corner after corner until she was dried up and forced to reveal her true heart.

And if she truly remembered nothing… it changed nothing. She would still have to pay for her sins.

At Rothbart’s vengeful murmur, Barrett let out a sigh. To his limited judgment, it did not seem a wise course, but the hatred and obsession Rothbart had nurtured for over ten years was beyond anything Barrett could comment on. Since the Marquess had decided, he could only obey.

Barrett cautiously added, “She had a companion.”

“A companion?”

“Yes. A man who appeared to be from the eastern continent as well. They claim to be siblings, but… the way the man treated her was far too much for mere siblings… It may be worth confirming yourself, master.”

Barrett trailed off.

Even if Rothbart did not treat the maid as the Marchioness, that didn’t mean she was ordinary. The very fact that he had named her his personal maid proved otherwise.

Would Rothbart truly tolerate a man hanging around such a woman? Barrett expected him to explode with rage.

But Rothbart only asked calmly, “How far? Did they kiss?”

“No, not that much! Just that the man held her hand, or touched her in ways too intimate…”