Chapter 86: Tangled Fates and Unruly Hearts

Rozally, who had been glaring venomously into the void, soon subdued her rising excitement and stood up. Clad in black mesh gloves, she gracefully gathered her hands below her waist, her red lips curving into a smile.

“I’m going to restore Elina II to her former self. I’ll chase that treacherous soul away! Ho ho ho!”

“Wait a minute. Possession isn’t a wicked spirit!”

“Let her go!!”

Shoving aside Elina I’s hand, Rozally struck Elina I’s right cheek. With a resounding smack, Elina I’s body crumbled as helplessly as a sandcastle before the tide.

“Now you expect me to stand by and let some other soul take her place? I can never accept this… Not me!!”

“Ah…”

Clutching her reddened cheek—marked with clear handprints—Elina I watched the departing back of the red-haired woman leaving the parlor.

“Diches… What am I supposed to do now?”

Like a heroine being coerced into abandoning the Male Lead, Elina I dropped her head in defeat.

Today, she longed for him more than ever. But he remained locked away in his cell. Even if she collapsed like a lovelorn damsel on the ground, he wouldn’t notice—he hadn’t come to her.

If he couldn’t come, then she would go to him. Without delay, Elina I readied herself, mounted her carriage, and headed for the Imperial City Prison. In a small visitation room inside the prison, she waited, hoping he would show up.

How long had she waited? Suddenly, a prison officer’s voice crackled over the iron gate.

“Prisoner number 254. Mr. Diches, your visiting time is ten minutes.”

The door swung open, and a man dressed in a blue uniform with tousled dark-green hair stepped in. His penetrating black eyes swept over her, stirring emotions in Elina I—after months, she was seeing his face again.

“I missed you. How have you been?”

Elina I rose and moved toward him, but a transparent glass barrier barred their approach. Instead, she pressed her face as close as possible against the perforated glass.

“Didn’t you miss me…?”

“Of course I did.”

Diches rested his hand on the glass. As his dark eyes scrutinized every detail of her face, one spot caught his attention.

“Your cheek is swollen… Whose fault is this?”

His calm demeanor dissolved into anger. Elina I hesitated before speaking; she had come before the swelling subsided, and now, confronted, she found herself lost for words.

“I-I… I accidentally fell on the stairs.”

“How on earth does a fall on the stairs cause a swollen cheek?!”

“Well… as I tumbled down, my cheek collided with the hand of someone waiting below.”

“Is that so.”

Diches accepted the explanation with surprising ease, his anger dissipating. Elina I had hoped he’d probe further, but when no more questions came, an awkward silence settled in.

Or perhaps he was secretly investigating, planning to quietly punish the real culprit once the truth emerged. If that happened, she would step in—she couldn’t let that woman suffer.

“…”

“I—I’m going to head out now.”

“Leaving so soon?”

“Yes, I’ll come back later.”

Elina I made way for his covert inquiries. As a key figure in the founding of the nation—a ducal who could command his minions even from prison—Diches wielded immense power and wealth.

Just as she was about to leave the visitation room, Diches’s deep, urgent voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Elina I!”

“…Diches?”

“Could you include some Choco pies and hot packs? And please ensure the hardtack has some candy in it.”

Her prince was dead.

* * *

On a quaint street lined with aristocratic mansions, a group of Demon Soldiers in military uniforms suddenly appeared. Leading them was a Demon in an ornate uniform, clearly the highest-ranking among them. They began ransacking every mansion in sight.

“Who are you?”

“There will be an estate search. Human.”

“Huh? Hey! What are you doing barging in…”

The Head Maid, powerless to stop the Demons from forcibly entering the mansion, could only watch as the Demon Soldiers invaded the kitchen. They meticulously searched every shelf filled with cooking utensils, ovens, and cabinets until they discovered two round frying pans, which they then carried out.

The Head Maid stared in disbelief at the retreating Demons. Had they really caused such a fuss over frying pans? What she didn’t know was that their true target wasn’t the pans, but their owner.

“Demon King, this is the twenty-fifth frying pan.”

Ferreus Shuran Exaios picked up the presented frying pan. With disdain in his red eyes, he inspected it before passing it to one of his demon attendants.

“Present it.”

The attendant gently brushed Ferreus’s black hair aside and slowly brought the pan toward the deep scar visible on his nape. The pan was small, its bottom much tinier than the scar.

“This isn’t the pan we need.”

“…Not this one either…”

Ferreus’s lips curled into a chilling yet alluring smile as a menacing black aura emanated around him.

“I can’t wait any longer. I’ll go hunt down that human woman myself.”

“Your Highness, Demon King!”

“Do you intend to block my path? Hah, how amusing. Aren’t you curious to see what color your blood will be?”

Raising his hand, Ferreus licked his fingertips as if savoring the thought of slicing his throat and tasting the blood. The Demon Soldiers hesitated, then fell back into a submissive stance. They were repulsive.

Once no one else approached, Ferreus casually strolled along, surveying the human streets until he stopped before the mansion of Viscount Shumorud.

Ferreus kicked the gate with his foot, and the double doors swung open effortlessly—they weren’t locked. Occasionally, even the wind caused them to creak open.

Unaware of this, Ferreus smirked maliciously, reveling in the display of his overwhelming power. To him, humans were as insignificant as ants, weak and easily crushed. Standing at the main entrance, he swung his leg again.

With a loud bang, he forcefully kicked the door, but it refused to budge. When he raised his long leg once more and kicked with renewed force, the door finally cracked open with a clank. At that moment, a brown-haired woman in maid’s attire burst out, wielding a frying pan.

“What the hell! Who kicks someone else’s door like that? Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean doors?!”

Monica, determined to put an end to the intrusion, expected to confront a troublesome brat from the household. Instead, only a tall, dark-haired man—whose hair far surpassed her own in length—stood there.

Instantly, Monica recognized him. After all, she had once struck his head with a frying pan, killing him. How could she not recognize a returned corpse?

“…You, give me that frying pan.”

Whether trying to sound commanding or due to his halting foreign accent, the man reached out toward her. Monica slowly handed the frying pan over with both hands.

The man studied the pan with peculiar red eyes, then pressed it against the back of his head. The round underside fit perfectly over a scar, as if decreed by fate.

“Ha ha, ha ha! It’s you, woman…”

Laughter escaped his lips. Monica, thinking him a lunatic, hurried to lock the door inside, but before she could, a large hand reached out and gripped her chin.

“So you were the spineless human woman who attacked me? I expected someone bolder—yet you turn out rather ordinary.”

“You… I thought you were dead?”

With a mocking laugh, Ferreus sneered down at her, his twisted lips exuding a perverse pleasure mingled with madness.

“Human woman, you have caught the eye of Demon King Ferreus Shuran Exaios. From now on, you will be my bride—by force if necessary… Hahaha!”

“So does that mean I become the Demon Realm’s Queen? Fine by me.”

“Yes, struggle all you want! Panic and resist—though you can never escape my destiny!”

“No, I agree.”

“…What? You agree?”

“Yes, I’ll be the Demon Realm Queen. Wow, life’s taken a wild turn… just a moment. Wow.”

As Monica continued to spout meaningless exclamations, she tossed the maid headband from her head to the floor. Up until now, she had meekly worn it like a badge of her extra role—which was utterly absurd, since she was the true protagonist of her own life.

Throwing her flour-dusted apron high into the air, she strode toward the library where Viscount Shumorud and his wife resided.

“Hey Monica, who was that just now? And if you chased them off, bring some more tea.”

“Ha ha ha, why should I do that? I got hired here—not to fetch tea like an errand girl! If you’re so thirsty, go get it yourselves!”

“Hey Monica? I know you’re upset because Lara hasn’t returned yet…”

“I’m not a maid anymore! No one’s going to order me around! They work all day for almost nothing! Ha ha, I’m done with this miserable mansion—time to live a new life! Goodbye, everyone!”

With one final, emphatic farewell, Monica left the mansion. Her booming laughter echoed through the halls for a while before fading away—a perfect Cinderella story.