QOF 02

chapter 02

Ioret’s husband, the Count of Castlain, was an old man well past sixty.

He had a grotesque secret preference that he hid from others—he liked young, beautiful boys.

On top of that, he was a severe exhibitionist.

Whenever he was with those boys, he would always summon Ioret.

If she couldn’t bring herself to lift her head or closed her eyes, she would inevitably be met with blows and curses.

And that wasn’t the worst of it. Once or twice a week, as the countess, she had to lie in the same bed with him.

On nights when she had to tremble beside the repulsive old man and try to sleep, a maid would always bring her tea.

Even on her last day at the estate, Ioret drank the sleeping tea brought by the maid.

“Sleep well, my lady. There’s not much time left now.”

“Yes. Five years… it’s almost been five years already.”

The five years her sister had promised were nearly over, and the day she would return to the capital was close.

Clinging to that hope, Ioret fell asleep beside the count.

When she woke after a deep sleep, she was drenched in blood from head to toe.

Beside her lay the count, dead, his limbs sprawled out, a dagger embedded in his heart.

They say that when a person is overwhelmed by extreme terror, they can’t even scream.

As Ioret stood frozen before the corpse, the door burst open and the maid screamed.

“My lady killed the count! My lady killed him!”

Before she could even protest, Ioret was seized by the estate’s soldiers.

Thrown into the basement and later dragged to the capital, she desperately tried to piece together what had happened.

No matter how much she thought about it, no matter how many times she retraced her steps…

“Sleep well, my lady.”

The one who killed the count—

“Did you sleep well, Princess?”

A voice spoke by her bedside.

Ioret jolted awake. Air rushed harshly into her nose and mouth.

“Gasp…!”

The moment she realized she was breathing, her breath caught in her throat.

She rolled onto her side, coughing violently.

Breathing meant she was alive.

The memory of the dull blade striking the back of her neck was still horrifyingly vivid.

The same voice from her dream continued.

“Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?”

Through tear-filled eyes, Ioret looked up at the speaker—and froze in shock.

“…Lissy?”

“Princess?”

Lissy Keese.

The second daughter of Viscount Keese, and the maid who had served Ioret exclusively for fifteen years.

After being dragged away from the Castlain estate, Ioret had never seen her again.

With a trembling voice, Ioret asked,

“What… did you just call me?”

“What do you mean? I called you ‘Princess’…”

Lissy looked puzzled.

It had already been five years since Ioret had last been called a princess. From the moment she married the Count of Castlain, she had been a countess, not a princess.

No way…

Looking around again, everything felt strangely familiar.

The low ceiling, the cold stone walls, the once-grand but now worn wooden furniture, the frayed carpet…

There was no doubt. This was the tower where Ioret had once lived in the royal palace.

Her trembling hand moved to her neck.

Her fingers brushed against a thin gold chain. She felt the stone she had clenched tightly just before her execution.

Like a madwoman, she tore off the necklace.

The color changed!

The gem that had once shone with a brilliant red light was now dull and faded.

That meant the magic had worked.

“Always wear this, Ioret. I don’t know how much time I have left, but I’ll give it all to you.”

Her mother, Charlotte, had once poured the entirety of her remaining lifespan into that ruby necklace.

It was a forbidden spell secretly passed down in her homeland, the Kingdom of Revia.

As long as her mother’s lifespan remained in the ruby, Ioret would not die.

Even if she died, she would return to life.

She had only vaguely known about it before—but this was her first time experiencing it.

And she had gone back in time… by five whole years.

Gradually, focus returned to her tear-blurred eyes.

In the mirror across the room, she saw a girl who hadn’t even reached adulthood.

Young… and thin.

Even the one thing she had once considered decent—her appearance—now looked immature.

Ioret recalled her mother’s last words.

You must survive… even if you must abandon your humanity.

In a world ruled by Catherine, no matter how hard she struggled, she would inevitably end up on the execution platform again.

She couldn’t survive as the “good younger sister,” nor as the powerless, exiled princess.

If I want to live, I have to become the queen. Not Catherine—me.

Survival was directly tied to power.

In her past life, she had foolishly failed to understand such a simple truth.

Just then, Lissy firmly pulled her up.

“You must have slept too deeply, Princess. If you don’t get ready soon, you’ll be late for lunch. You shouldn’t keep your future husband waiting.”

Ioret roughly shook off her hand.

“Let go. I never gave you permission to touch me.”

The freckle-faced maid stared at her in disbelief.

Yes—she remembered clearly.

A watchdog of Catherine, who maintained the bare minimum of courtesy while monitoring and controlling her.

And the only maid who had access to the couple’s bedroom in the Castlain estate.

The one who killed the count…

…was undoubtedly this maid.

* * *

“The Count of Castlain has arrived.”

At the butler’s announcement, made without waiting for permission as he flung the door open, Ioret was forced out of her room.

Lissy glared at her and warned,

“You don’t have the right to refuse, Princess. If you continue to reject meeting the count, we’ll have no choice but to call the knights.”

Reluctantly, Ioret put on the dress Lissy brought.

It was a thin evening gown with a deeply plunging neckline—disgustingly revealing.

As she walked toward the dining room, Ioret quickly sorted through her memories.

It’s the spring of the year 1058.

The exact time when she had been married off and driven out to the Castlain estate.

Fortunately, Catherine was not yet queen.

Her ascension would happen about four years later, right after their father, the king, suddenly died.

She had to overturn everything before that.

Five days until the wedding.

This time, she would not be dragged away quietly.

But there was little she could do right now.

She had no allies, no loyal subordinates, and Lissy was constantly by her side, watching her.

Enemies were everywhere, yet she had no weapon.

I need to secure a trustworthy guard. But first… get rid of the spy.

Walking behind her, Lissy spoke in a low warning tone.

“Be careful in front of the count. If you start crying like last time, Her Highness the Crown Princess will be very disappointed.”

Now that she looked closely, there was a faint sneer on the maid’s lips—something Ioret had never noticed before.

Ioret let out a quiet laugh.

“Is that so?”

As if Catherine would be sad. She would probably be clapping and laughing.

But starting today, she wouldn’t be laughing anymore.

You’re the first, Lissy.

A chill settled over Ioret’s face.

When they arrived in front of the modest dining room in the tower, Ioret gave an order.

“Oh, I left the count’s gift in my room. Go fetch it. It’s a brooch in a velvet box.”

Lissy looked suspicious but nodded and left.

After confirming she was out of sight, Ioret opened the dining room door.

A heavy scent of perfume hit her nose.

The Count of Castlain sat at the table, his belly protruding.

“Your Highness?”

The count narrowed his eyes upon seeing her, attempting what he likely thought was a charming smile—but it was only repulsive.

“Oh my, you’ve grown since I last saw you.”

His face, greasy between the wrinkles, and his bloated body made him look grotesque.

His belly was so large that he couldn’t even stand up.

His gaze slid over her body lewdly.

It made her feel like vomiting.

“You’ll be nineteen soon. It would’ve been better if you were four or five years younger… tsk.”

At the sight of his thick fists, Ioret’s shoulders flinched reflexively.

Before violence, status meant nothing.

Ioret had always been the weaker one.

In the past.

“I apologize for being late, Count.”

“Hoho. Since I’ll soon be your husband, you should fix your tone and manner of address in advance. I’d hate for others to think poorly of Your Highness.”

“…You’re right.”

Ioret circled the table slowly, glancing over the silverware and candlesticks.

She moved closer to him.

“I was rude, Count. Please forgive me.”

As she lowered herself submissively, the count grinned.

“That’s right. And it’s also rude to keep your husband waiting—especially one as experienced as I am—”

Before he could finish his nonsense—

Ioret grabbed the silver candlestick from the table—

—and smashed it into the back of his head.

Thud!