Duke Rotsilt's expression was incredibly captivating, and the faint scent of musk emanated from him, creating a strangely erotic atmosphere between them. His dangerous appearance, the epitome of decadence, left me breathless.
I tried to hide my embarrassed expression and leaned back.
“What do you mean? Even if you’re a hostage, you can’t do it like this!”
"You're the one who attacked me. What should I do? You're so pretty, I can't even resist."
I turned my head, my heart sinking at the sight of his deliberately vulnerable expression. He seemed to be a beast, perhaps, adoring a small rabbit.
What's so great about my looks? My appearance is far removed from the aesthetic standards of this place. And with no mirrors anywhere in the room, I'm gradually forgetting whether I'm pretty or not.
“There’s something I’d like to check.”
He spoke with a tone of anticipation, then rose. Our faces drew closer again, and as I held my breath, his soft hair brushed past my cheek.
“Suddenly?”
The Duke, sitting up, reached out his hand towards me, startling me. I hugged my arms protectively. What are you trying to confirm with me?
His hand, out of its intended path, reached for the coat next to me and pulled something out. In the man's hand, smiling gracefully, was a service pistol. The light reflected off the cold metal, turning directly toward me. A chill ran down my spine as I realized the gun's muzzle was pointed unequivocally at me. I hastily got up and retreated out of bed.
“...Are you checking to see if I’m dead or not?”
Are you crazy? Why are you pointing a gun at me? I backed up against the wall. My shoulders were hunched, showing my fear, but I tried to ask calmly. He tilted his head, keeping the gun pointed at me.
“You're going to die.”
“Who doesn’t know that getting shot will kill you?”
"Today's a normal reaction. The day I brought you here, well, what should I say?"
The Duke nodded slowly, lowered his gun, stood up, and strode toward me, closing the distance between us. His lips curved loosely, his voice trailing off in a wave of exclamation, before he finally found strength.
“You looked happy.”
It was a remark that hit the nail on the head without even thinking about it.
What the hell is this guy? My mouth goes dry. I swallow, I blink. Every little action of mine feels like it's being interpreted as a proposition. I try my best to keep my expression blank, but my gaze, unable to process the emotion, ends up tangled in the collar of his shirt.
“Here, take it, Princess.”
He placed the gun in my hand as if he were gifting me a precious jewel. I was confused. I couldn't fathom this man's intentions. I hesitated, holding the gun. He watched me silently, then offered me a favor.
“If you shoot me, you can run away.”
The calm tone and voice were still wonderful, which only made things more disconcerting.
There's no way I'd kill you, who's responsible for my food, clothing, and shelter for the time being. Oh, is this what you were trying to confirm?
He wondered if I really intended to run away. He must be trying to lure me in with an empty gun. This ominous object I was holding was a revolver. I'd only seen it in the media, but this was my first time handling it. I examined it carefully and pulled at the round cylinder with my fingers.
Click-.
It was the sound of the cylinder tilting to the side and opening. My mind went blank as soon as I saw six bullets loaded in the chamber. He handed me the magazine fully loaded, so this wasn't some Russian roulette game. This guy's seriously out of his mind. Or maybe he only has two lives.
The Duke, observing my bewildered state, lifted the corners of his mouth even higher. His playful eyes arched, making it difficult to tell whether he was serious or joking.
“Yes, hold it like this with both hands and pull here with your index finger.”
He even took my hand, holding the gun, and gently explained it to me in a gentle voice. The Duke then grabbed my wrist, holding the pistol and placing the muzzle against his forehead. Unlike me, who was stiffly aiming the gun at him, he smiled, something off about his expression.
“Just shoot me in the head.”
His voice, filled with his insane words, was relaxed, almost sly. My hands trembled slightly in panic. If I didn't shoot him, my intentions might be revealed. But I couldn't pull the trigger. I shook my head with a weak expression.
“I hate killing people.”
“You’re a pacifist.”
“It’s just the thoughts of an ordinary person.”
"Uh-hmmm."
He hummed softly, repeating my words, and slowly nodded his straight chin.
It certainly wasn't an attempt to test my antisocial tendencies or courage. I lowered my head and glanced at him. My thoughts and gaze simultaneously turned toward the door. With the Duke in, it wouldn't be locked. I couldn't shoot the man, so I decided to pretend to run away for now. It would serve as a good argument for my desire to run away, but I lacked the courage to kill.
I approached the door, still aiming my gun at him, and hesitated for a moment, taking my time. Even so, the Duke simply stood there, smiling brightly.
I glanced around, then flung open the door and ran out. Contrary to my expectations of someone guarding the long hallway, it was empty.
I figured I'd just run aimlessly somewhere and pretend I lost and get caught. I started running, panting, to the end of the hallway.
Strange, no one's coming to catch me. No one. I ran down the stairs to the third floor, then stopped and gasped for breath.
“What am I doing now?”
I stood there, muttering to myself as I looked upstairs, then ran back up the stairs to the first-floor entrance. Passing through the main gate, I saw a large entrance archway, and no one came to catch me until I reached it.
The vast and magnificent mansion seemed empty and silent, enveloped in a dark silence.
Where should I go now? I wasn't planning on running away. I was caught in a realistic dilemma.
This is the enemy country of Frogen, and they don't have any passports or identification. They don't look like typical Belfordians, but it's hard to say they're from here.
Besides, this place is far from the city, so there's a high chance of me dying while trying to escape...I decided to pretend to hide in the nearby forest for now. Come catch me. You'll catch me easily!
I headed toward the dark forest nearby. I hoped someone would spot me and intervene, but no one followed me. Finally, relying solely on the moonlight, I crept deeper into the forest, filled with withered winter trees. The forest was silent, the only sound I could hear was the crunching of frozen leaves beneath my feet. It was so cold and scary. I stood there, feeling as if going any deeper would completely snap my already slender lifeline.
My nerves were on edge. Amidst the sound of my own gasping breathing, the hooting of an owl, and the fluttering of wings made my hair stand on end.
“What a surprise!”
The sound of something scurrying across the fallen leaves startled me, and I let out a shrill scream. A brown badger stood there, dumbfounded, as I aimed my pistol. The badger stared at me, its eyes wide, as if it were even more startled.
“Go on your way.”
I wiped my face as if washing my face, waving my hand. The badger, who had been staring at me with shame, disappeared into the darkness of the forest. Snowflakes began to fall one by one from the sky. The bitter midwinter north wind was gradually taking away my body temperature. I was shivering from my whole body, having come out in my pajamas. I should have brought a coat. How could I run away with just a gun? Perhaps he was trying to psychologically control me by tormenting me like this, or perhaps he was just tormenting me for fun. I crouched down on the tree stump and curled up.
I heard footsteps approaching from somewhere, striding at a moderate pace. I quickly picked up my gun. My fearful gaze overlapped with the sight of the Duke, his face facing me, his muzzle pointed at the end. His hair, bathed in the soft moonlight, shone a dazzling silver.
I put down my gun, my breath permeated with relief. The Duke of Rotsilt, his black Chesterfield coat draped over his shoulders, tilted his handsome face to one side and smiled kindly, even from afar.
“I think I’m lost. Can you help me?”
I asked, as if he were a knight coming to rescue me. I was reminded of a novel I was reading earlier, where the male protagonist rescues the female protagonist from danger. "Saving me from danger?" "That man is the one who put me in danger, isn't he? Perhaps because he's a villain? It feels so contrived." He twitched his finger at me, who didn't respond.
“Come here.”
He held a rifle with a long barrel in one hand. I stood up, my face absurd. Surely he wouldn't point a gun at me just because I was trying to run away? I'm not confident in a gunfight against an experienced opponent. And to give me a pistol and come back with something even more terrifying? Isn't that truly lethal?
A chilling wind blew through my pajama skirt. With my white pajamas, pale face, and jet-black bobbed hair, I must have looked like a ghost.
I approached the Duke with a resigned expression and stood facing him. He gently grasped the ends of my hair and then ruffled them as if untangling them.
“Good job. Good job.”
“Didn’t you mean to tell me to go now?”
“Even if the opportunity comes, you can’t leave me behind. Do you understand?”
"You gave me the opportunity. But you also turned it into a crisis."
“You can’t die.”
He mutters the ending in a creepy, slurred voice and smiles faintly.
Was it to show that running away was useless? This man was definitely a beautiful lunatic.
The original story largely centers on Celine, imprisoned, plotting her escape or longing for Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal, whom she has secretly been in love with. Furthermore, the Duke is described as being uninterested in the protagonist. In fact, he is described as looking at her with "contempt."
He did appear somewhat later, appearing charmingly, before engaging in some crazy antics that drove the protagonist to despair. But he wasn't like that at all. He was just occasionally harassing her, then neglecting her, and then treating her a little better.
"I've only seen that indifference, that neglect, that comfortable living environment. This is difficult," I asked, as if to confirm.
“Still, are you going to run away? It’s dangerous; there are wolves in the forest.”
I gritted my teeth. Knowing that, you still lured me into the frigid forest where wolves roamed, telling me to run? Even if you didn't scare me, I wouldn't run. I couldn't bring myself to be angry at him, who draped his coat over my shoulders and wore a pitiful, hazy expression. It felt as if he was clinging to me, pleading. I was so captivated by this beautiful spirit standing under the moonlight that I felt dizzy.
“Are you really... scaring me? This dog, you know, training him all winter?”
I quickly came to my senses and spoke in a nervous voice.
“You’re not crying.”
He rubbed his lips with one hand and exclaimed in admiration, then his eyes curved again.
“Well, if it were easy, it wouldn’t be fun.”
The Duke, speaking somewhat nonchalantly, reached out and took my hand. I wanted to shake it off, but the rifle in his other hand gleamed menacingly, so I decided to maintain the gentle, underdog stance.
“Aren’t you cold? I think it would be better to go inside.”
You told me to get out. My breath rose whitely in the sub-zero weather. I should have been even more furious and rebellious, like a wildcat. But the damn cold wouldn't allow my pride and stubbornness to take over. I nodded, shivering, eager to quickly lie down on my warm bed in the room.
The Duke, who had come into the room with me from the forest, called Molly and ordered her to bring him some warm tea. Even with the fireplace, the chill that seeped into every nook and cranny of my body wouldn't go away. Exhausted from the sudden outing and the run, I buried myself in the blankets. He smiled at me.
“I was afraid you’d run away without me knowing and freeze to death. Are you mad?”
You caused all this trouble by warning me about that? You psycho!
I calmed my bubbling stomach and tried to persuade him calmly.
"From now on, let's have conversations like intellectuals. Mutual communication is important."
"Conversation? If that had happened, there wouldn't have been a war."
“Lack of communication may have played a part.”
“I see. But you don’t know until you experience it yourself.”
“I want to know without having to experience it, so please tell me in advance.”
"I'll give you everything you need. I'll talk to you often. So stay here."
Yeah, everything's great, but it would be perfect without you, that pitiful little thing. I was starting to get tired of talking, so I yawned, feigning sleepiness.
“I’m going to sleep now.”
"See you tomorrow."
“You’re coming again tomorrow?”
"No?"
A hint of regret flashed across the Duke's eyes, but he was still smiling.
"No..."
In the original, he didn't come often, so why on earth was he like this? I briefly worried about what I had designed so poorly.
By the way, the fact that the admiral shows no intention of rescuing me is another problem. They've probably already sent word that I'm being held hostage.
I recalled Duke Rotsilt's words, which I had no idea meant anything. "Easy is boring." It seemed he found me amusing and interesting, even beyond the hostage. Someone fun to tease—that might be me. So, was that why he brought me, who looked pitiful on the outside, instead of Celine?
If he loses interest, he might just shoot me dead or mercilessly chase me into the cold forest, telling me to walk home. It seems I'm faced with a difficult situation where I have to both appeal to the value of my negotiations and pique his interest in me.
I tried to hide my embarrassed expression and leaned back.
“What do you mean? Even if you’re a hostage, you can’t do it like this!”
"You're the one who attacked me. What should I do? You're so pretty, I can't even resist."
I turned my head, my heart sinking at the sight of his deliberately vulnerable expression. He seemed to be a beast, perhaps, adoring a small rabbit.
What's so great about my looks? My appearance is far removed from the aesthetic standards of this place. And with no mirrors anywhere in the room, I'm gradually forgetting whether I'm pretty or not.
“There’s something I’d like to check.”
He spoke with a tone of anticipation, then rose. Our faces drew closer again, and as I held my breath, his soft hair brushed past my cheek.
“Suddenly?”
The Duke, sitting up, reached out his hand towards me, startling me. I hugged my arms protectively. What are you trying to confirm with me?
His hand, out of its intended path, reached for the coat next to me and pulled something out. In the man's hand, smiling gracefully, was a service pistol. The light reflected off the cold metal, turning directly toward me. A chill ran down my spine as I realized the gun's muzzle was pointed unequivocally at me. I hastily got up and retreated out of bed.
“...Are you checking to see if I’m dead or not?”
Are you crazy? Why are you pointing a gun at me? I backed up against the wall. My shoulders were hunched, showing my fear, but I tried to ask calmly. He tilted his head, keeping the gun pointed at me.
“You're going to die.”
“Who doesn’t know that getting shot will kill you?”
"Today's a normal reaction. The day I brought you here, well, what should I say?"
The Duke nodded slowly, lowered his gun, stood up, and strode toward me, closing the distance between us. His lips curved loosely, his voice trailing off in a wave of exclamation, before he finally found strength.
“You looked happy.”
It was a remark that hit the nail on the head without even thinking about it.
What the hell is this guy? My mouth goes dry. I swallow, I blink. Every little action of mine feels like it's being interpreted as a proposition. I try my best to keep my expression blank, but my gaze, unable to process the emotion, ends up tangled in the collar of his shirt.
“Here, take it, Princess.”
He placed the gun in my hand as if he were gifting me a precious jewel. I was confused. I couldn't fathom this man's intentions. I hesitated, holding the gun. He watched me silently, then offered me a favor.
“If you shoot me, you can run away.”
The calm tone and voice were still wonderful, which only made things more disconcerting.
There's no way I'd kill you, who's responsible for my food, clothing, and shelter for the time being. Oh, is this what you were trying to confirm?
He wondered if I really intended to run away. He must be trying to lure me in with an empty gun. This ominous object I was holding was a revolver. I'd only seen it in the media, but this was my first time handling it. I examined it carefully and pulled at the round cylinder with my fingers.
Click-.
It was the sound of the cylinder tilting to the side and opening. My mind went blank as soon as I saw six bullets loaded in the chamber. He handed me the magazine fully loaded, so this wasn't some Russian roulette game. This guy's seriously out of his mind. Or maybe he only has two lives.
The Duke, observing my bewildered state, lifted the corners of his mouth even higher. His playful eyes arched, making it difficult to tell whether he was serious or joking.
“Yes, hold it like this with both hands and pull here with your index finger.”
He even took my hand, holding the gun, and gently explained it to me in a gentle voice. The Duke then grabbed my wrist, holding the pistol and placing the muzzle against his forehead. Unlike me, who was stiffly aiming the gun at him, he smiled, something off about his expression.
“Just shoot me in the head.”
His voice, filled with his insane words, was relaxed, almost sly. My hands trembled slightly in panic. If I didn't shoot him, my intentions might be revealed. But I couldn't pull the trigger. I shook my head with a weak expression.
“I hate killing people.”
“You’re a pacifist.”
“It’s just the thoughts of an ordinary person.”
"Uh-hmmm."
He hummed softly, repeating my words, and slowly nodded his straight chin.
It certainly wasn't an attempt to test my antisocial tendencies or courage. I lowered my head and glanced at him. My thoughts and gaze simultaneously turned toward the door. With the Duke in, it wouldn't be locked. I couldn't shoot the man, so I decided to pretend to run away for now. It would serve as a good argument for my desire to run away, but I lacked the courage to kill.
I approached the door, still aiming my gun at him, and hesitated for a moment, taking my time. Even so, the Duke simply stood there, smiling brightly.
I glanced around, then flung open the door and ran out. Contrary to my expectations of someone guarding the long hallway, it was empty.
I figured I'd just run aimlessly somewhere and pretend I lost and get caught. I started running, panting, to the end of the hallway.
Strange, no one's coming to catch me. No one. I ran down the stairs to the third floor, then stopped and gasped for breath.
“What am I doing now?”
I stood there, muttering to myself as I looked upstairs, then ran back up the stairs to the first-floor entrance. Passing through the main gate, I saw a large entrance archway, and no one came to catch me until I reached it.
The vast and magnificent mansion seemed empty and silent, enveloped in a dark silence.
Where should I go now? I wasn't planning on running away. I was caught in a realistic dilemma.
This is the enemy country of Frogen, and they don't have any passports or identification. They don't look like typical Belfordians, but it's hard to say they're from here.
Besides, this place is far from the city, so there's a high chance of me dying while trying to escape...I decided to pretend to hide in the nearby forest for now. Come catch me. You'll catch me easily!
I headed toward the dark forest nearby. I hoped someone would spot me and intervene, but no one followed me. Finally, relying solely on the moonlight, I crept deeper into the forest, filled with withered winter trees. The forest was silent, the only sound I could hear was the crunching of frozen leaves beneath my feet. It was so cold and scary. I stood there, feeling as if going any deeper would completely snap my already slender lifeline.
My nerves were on edge. Amidst the sound of my own gasping breathing, the hooting of an owl, and the fluttering of wings made my hair stand on end.
“What a surprise!”
The sound of something scurrying across the fallen leaves startled me, and I let out a shrill scream. A brown badger stood there, dumbfounded, as I aimed my pistol. The badger stared at me, its eyes wide, as if it were even more startled.
“Go on your way.”
I wiped my face as if washing my face, waving my hand. The badger, who had been staring at me with shame, disappeared into the darkness of the forest. Snowflakes began to fall one by one from the sky. The bitter midwinter north wind was gradually taking away my body temperature. I was shivering from my whole body, having come out in my pajamas. I should have brought a coat. How could I run away with just a gun? Perhaps he was trying to psychologically control me by tormenting me like this, or perhaps he was just tormenting me for fun. I crouched down on the tree stump and curled up.
I heard footsteps approaching from somewhere, striding at a moderate pace. I quickly picked up my gun. My fearful gaze overlapped with the sight of the Duke, his face facing me, his muzzle pointed at the end. His hair, bathed in the soft moonlight, shone a dazzling silver.
I put down my gun, my breath permeated with relief. The Duke of Rotsilt, his black Chesterfield coat draped over his shoulders, tilted his handsome face to one side and smiled kindly, even from afar.
“I think I’m lost. Can you help me?”
I asked, as if he were a knight coming to rescue me. I was reminded of a novel I was reading earlier, where the male protagonist rescues the female protagonist from danger. "Saving me from danger?" "That man is the one who put me in danger, isn't he? Perhaps because he's a villain? It feels so contrived." He twitched his finger at me, who didn't respond.
“Come here.”
He held a rifle with a long barrel in one hand. I stood up, my face absurd. Surely he wouldn't point a gun at me just because I was trying to run away? I'm not confident in a gunfight against an experienced opponent. And to give me a pistol and come back with something even more terrifying? Isn't that truly lethal?
A chilling wind blew through my pajama skirt. With my white pajamas, pale face, and jet-black bobbed hair, I must have looked like a ghost.
I approached the Duke with a resigned expression and stood facing him. He gently grasped the ends of my hair and then ruffled them as if untangling them.
“Good job. Good job.”
“Didn’t you mean to tell me to go now?”
“Even if the opportunity comes, you can’t leave me behind. Do you understand?”
"You gave me the opportunity. But you also turned it into a crisis."
“You can’t die.”
He mutters the ending in a creepy, slurred voice and smiles faintly.
Was it to show that running away was useless? This man was definitely a beautiful lunatic.
The original story largely centers on Celine, imprisoned, plotting her escape or longing for Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal, whom she has secretly been in love with. Furthermore, the Duke is described as being uninterested in the protagonist. In fact, he is described as looking at her with "contempt."
He did appear somewhat later, appearing charmingly, before engaging in some crazy antics that drove the protagonist to despair. But he wasn't like that at all. He was just occasionally harassing her, then neglecting her, and then treating her a little better.
"I've only seen that indifference, that neglect, that comfortable living environment. This is difficult," I asked, as if to confirm.
“Still, are you going to run away? It’s dangerous; there are wolves in the forest.”
I gritted my teeth. Knowing that, you still lured me into the frigid forest where wolves roamed, telling me to run? Even if you didn't scare me, I wouldn't run. I couldn't bring myself to be angry at him, who draped his coat over my shoulders and wore a pitiful, hazy expression. It felt as if he was clinging to me, pleading. I was so captivated by this beautiful spirit standing under the moonlight that I felt dizzy.
“Are you really... scaring me? This dog, you know, training him all winter?”
I quickly came to my senses and spoke in a nervous voice.
“You’re not crying.”
He rubbed his lips with one hand and exclaimed in admiration, then his eyes curved again.
“Well, if it were easy, it wouldn’t be fun.”
The Duke, speaking somewhat nonchalantly, reached out and took my hand. I wanted to shake it off, but the rifle in his other hand gleamed menacingly, so I decided to maintain the gentle, underdog stance.
“Aren’t you cold? I think it would be better to go inside.”
You told me to get out. My breath rose whitely in the sub-zero weather. I should have been even more furious and rebellious, like a wildcat. But the damn cold wouldn't allow my pride and stubbornness to take over. I nodded, shivering, eager to quickly lie down on my warm bed in the room.
The Duke, who had come into the room with me from the forest, called Molly and ordered her to bring him some warm tea. Even with the fireplace, the chill that seeped into every nook and cranny of my body wouldn't go away. Exhausted from the sudden outing and the run, I buried myself in the blankets. He smiled at me.
“I was afraid you’d run away without me knowing and freeze to death. Are you mad?”
You caused all this trouble by warning me about that? You psycho!
I calmed my bubbling stomach and tried to persuade him calmly.
"From now on, let's have conversations like intellectuals. Mutual communication is important."
"Conversation? If that had happened, there wouldn't have been a war."
“Lack of communication may have played a part.”
“I see. But you don’t know until you experience it yourself.”
“I want to know without having to experience it, so please tell me in advance.”
"I'll give you everything you need. I'll talk to you often. So stay here."
Yeah, everything's great, but it would be perfect without you, that pitiful little thing. I was starting to get tired of talking, so I yawned, feigning sleepiness.
“I’m going to sleep now.”
"See you tomorrow."
“You’re coming again tomorrow?”
"No?"
A hint of regret flashed across the Duke's eyes, but he was still smiling.
"No..."
In the original, he didn't come often, so why on earth was he like this? I briefly worried about what I had designed so poorly.
By the way, the fact that the admiral shows no intention of rescuing me is another problem. They've probably already sent word that I'm being held hostage.
I recalled Duke Rotsilt's words, which I had no idea meant anything. "Easy is boring." It seemed he found me amusing and interesting, even beyond the hostage. Someone fun to tease—that might be me. So, was that why he brought me, who looked pitiful on the outside, instead of Celine?
If he loses interest, he might just shoot me dead or mercilessly chase me into the cold forest, telling me to walk home. It seems I'm faced with a difficult situation where I have to both appeal to the value of my negotiations and pique his interest in me.
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