While Simon headed from the reception room toward the central hall, Barbara turned toward the dressing room.
Today was the day of the State Council meeting. Although Oscar disliked frequent visits to the royal palace, he could not avoid attending in his capacity as Marquis Reinhardt.
With practiced hands, Barbara gathered the jacket and vest that matched the trousers Oscar was wearing, along with his gloves. She then took a box containing a comb and pomade and headed to the office.
Oscar was reviewing documents. Barbara placed the clothes and the box she had brought in a corner of the office. Then, from a safe set into the wall, she retrieved another box—the one containing the insignia of the Marquis of Reinhardt.
Inside the dark red box lay the family crest, passed down through generations. Barbara brushed the already well-pressed jacket once with the back of her hand, then began attaching the insignia one by one. Her movements were extremely precise. The distance between each insignia was measured as if with a ruler, and she checked repeatedly to ensure nothing was even slightly misaligned. When she finished, she returned the empty box to the safe and spoke.
“Everything is ready, Your Excellency.”
Oscar, who had been reviewing documents while standing, turned from the desk. His gaze fell on the clothes and the comb box Barbara had prepared. Her intention was obvious. The young Marquis Reinhardt, though fully aware of it, remained unsparing even toward the efforts of the wolf who had raised him.
“It’s all done. Just the jacket.”
“But it’s the State Council—”
“……”
“Understood.”
Faced with his perfectly composed expression, Barbara did not press further. She left the vest, gloves, and other items as they were, handing him only the jacket bearing the insignia.
Even with just that, a striking presence was completed. The suit, tailored to his build, revealed a lean, unadorned frame, and the slight incompleteness of his attire, paired with his natural hair, only drew more attention.
Oscar rinsed his mouth with water one final time and then moved with a decisive stride. Barbara opened the door a step ahead, and Oscar passed through it, instantly appearing in the central hall.
As he emerged, the wolves waiting there straightened their postures and bowed deeply to their departing master.
Behind the slender black wolf, footsteps followed.
The procession—Oscar, Barbara, and Simon at its head—circled the central staircase and crossed the main floor of the building. Beyond the main entrance, opened wide for their master, a sturdy black carriage awaited.
Oscar walked without hesitation toward the pouring sunlight. The light, sharp against his eyes, seemed unaware of the heavy rain that had fallen the night before. Yet the breeze flowing through the open doorway unmistakably carried the scent of rain. As he passed through the entrance, that scent enveloped him more fully.
The air was thick with moisture, the colors of the world deepened by water.
In other words, the appearance of the sun had not erased the rain of the previous night.
The wolves lined up at the entrance turned toward him, and the man standing before the carriage opened the door.
Today would be a tiresome day. He could wager everything he owned that it would be unbearably long.
Before it even began, he felt the urge for a cigarette.
Oscar walked briskly toward the carriage, took one out, and placed it between his lips. He paused to light it before stepping inside, and a nearby wolf respectfully offered him a flame.
However, the fire, which seemed about to catch the tip, flickered uselessly, producing only dry soot.
The wolf who had offered the light glanced up.
“……”
“……”
Oscar, the cigarette still hanging from his lips, appeared to be lost in a sudden thought. The wavering flame reflected in his lowered eyes, but it was was easy to tell he was not looking at the fire.
Eventually, the match flame offered to Oscar failed to achieve its purpose and died out. The wolf who had offered the light discarded the spent stick and took out another. Just as he was about to strike it, a presence was felt from inside the main building.
A heavy, measured stride—followed by a much lighter one, running alongside.
The paired footsteps , which felt like a set, drew the wolves’ gazes discreetly towards them. A few sinister smiles appeared.
Abel Sting. Didn’t they say he was finished? They say the target glared at him as if her eyes were about to pop out.
He did, but who knows. I saw him dressed from head to toe; he’s not called the top snake for nothing.
It felt as if the wolves’ sinister murmurs brushed against his ears, which had lifted of their own accord. Just as the wolf who had offered the light was about to turn his gaze toward the inside of the main building, forgetting his task—
“Light.”
The sharp command snapped the head back before it could turn.
The wolf’s startled eyes widened as he met Oscar’s gaze.
“I’m sorry, Your Excellency!”
Pale with fear, he hurriedly struck the match. At once, the wolves who had been exchanging those murmurs straightened their postures as well.
Meanwhile, the footsteps drew closer.
Oscar tilted his head slightly and brought the cigarette to the flame. Fire transferred in an instant, seeping into the filter tip before threatening to die out. He inhaled.
Acrid smoke slid down his throat and filled his lungs. The sensation of soot lodging there—followed by the cold burn spreading into his bloodstream—
Seo-ah.
That cursed name surfaced without warning.
The taste of the cigarette vanished.
The carriage door stood wide open. Yet that single name caught one of his legs, while the other was held fast by a question that should not have mattered enough to stop him.
Does it hurt a lot?
Oscar’s jaw tightened.
Even so, his frayed nerves brushed against the faint presence behind him. He wished, absurdly, that he could scrape every last nerve away.
At that moment, the wolf who had offered the light bowed respectfully towards him. The gesture spread like a signal, seemed to act as a primer, spreading to the other wolves. Behind Oscar, dozens of bodies followed suit.
With it, the weight he always carried across his back seemed to lift—if only for a moment. That invisible weight had been holding his gaze as well.
Oscar’s head, which had been angled toward the darkness inside the carriage, finally turned.
Smoke mingled with his breath, blurring his vision. But it did not prevent him from seeing her.
While everyone else bowed, she stood there, flustered, unable to move.
She had missed the moment. Had she bowed with the others, his eyes would not have found hers.
“Did you cry?”
“No.”
Not at all.
Seeing her reddened eyes and pale face made his insides churn. Something cruel stirred again, rising with sick familiarity. At the same time, a throbbing sensation sparked low in his abdomen and spread along every nerve, climbing toward his head and fingertips.
Is it still not enough, even after you’ve had your fill?
Even as he recoiled from himself, the urge to lean close and whisper into her soft, white ear flared like a flame.
You kept falling over because you couldn’t even hold your knees up. Where do you think you’re going like that?
Though she could not possibly have heard those thoughts, she bit her lip again.
Just meeting his eyes made her do that—worsening the wound. He thought, with cold certainty, that the day those lips healed completely would be the day the woman left this mansion.
At last, unable to endure the weight of his gaze, she finally seemed to cautiously lower her head.
Only then did she seem to feel the other gazes—the wolves still bent at the waist. Oscar’s eyes lingered for a fraction longer before turning away.
And then, as if he had never stopped, it was time to board the carriage.
“When will you return?”
A small voice drifted on the breeze, as though it had merely brushed past her.
“……”
Oscar drew deeply on his cigarette.
He stepped into the carriage and sat down, inhaling until his chest protested. Through the window, which was naturally visible, he saw Simon glance back at the woman. Beyond him, she stood frozen in place, while Abel looked down at her with an expression of exasperation.
Oscar exhaled smoke and spoke coldly.
“Depart.”
The wolves, held in a strange suspension, finally moved.
Simon boarded the carriage. His direct wolves loaded the necessary documents. The door shut, and the carriage began to roll as if it had been waiting for the command.
The bows to their departing master resumed.
This time, the woman lowered her head without delay.
—