Devil Swan - Chapter 1: A Suspicious Request (8)

Armion was hastily flipping through the ledgers from another domain, regretting the two whole hours he had wasted watching that impudent country girl—who dared to call him eccentric and try to feed him a filthy apple from her pocket.

In front of him, instead of a meal, sat neatly sliced apples arranged on a gold-rimmed plate. Though he had thrown away the apple Elise had offered, apples were his favorite fruit.

Even as he bit into the crisp fruit and swallowed, his eyes never stopped scanning the text.

With spring sowing season approaching, letters were frequently arriving from the stewards managing his estates under false names.

Would it kill them to just do their jobs properly?

But he had experienced it countless times over centuries—most stewards, instead of being grateful, tried to embezzle his wealth. So he had to check everything thoroughly.

And he couldn’t exactly dump it all on Dane, who was already overworked.

Since he could only work at night, time was especially precious to him—and watching that country girl made it impossible to concentrate.

He knew it was petty, but he had summoned Elise to his study via Rebecca just to bother the penniless girl who might be that one’s descendant. Assigning her the bath task had been to gauge her reaction.

There were crueler ways to torment her, but perhaps because of the way she treated the swan—me—he couldn’t bring himself to go beyond simple cleaning.

Ironically, it was he who had become flustered by her flushed cheeks and clumsy hands as she wiped things down. The more he tried to torment her, the more unsettled he felt.

The sight of her ragged underwear and emaciated body he’d glimpsed yesterday drew a deep sigh from him. And going barefoot while cleaning, no less.

Damn it.

Why did everything about her have to be so miserable?

Of course, she was here to earn money—but seeing that frail, skinny body in person had deflated his motivation.

And still, she smiled so easily?

Armion muttered in disbelief, recalling the bright smile she had shown the swan.

That’s why, without realizing it, he had blurted out yesterday—asking if Rebecca had been starving her, and ordering her to be given proper food and clothes.

What a foolish thing to do after summoning her just to mess with her.

He’d spent all night trying to take back those words but ultimately convinced himself it was just to keep her eyes on him.

Today, he had resolved to torment her properly—made her clean this and that, nitpicked endlessly.

But watching her kneeling on the floor in shabby clothes, cleaning in front of him, he didn’t feel triumphant. He had called her in to play the villain, but when it really looked like that… it didn’t feel good at all.

Seeing her calmly nod at every word and carry out her tasks without a single protest made his insides twist. Did she have no pride?

He had secretly watched her at the lakeside, jumping around joyfully in her new skirt, and she had seemed even more childish and immature to him.

Yet somehow, he didn’t hate the sight. No, what annoyed him was that it looked… good on her.

And that wasn’t all.

Just remembering her dirt-smudged face from earlier in the day made him send her soap under the excuse of the smell—soap with a scent he liked.

Even though he was the one who gave it to her, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been taken from him. He constantly felt like he was being outmaneuvered by that country girl.

Was it all part of some elaborate strategy?

Tsk.

He clicked his tongue as he signed a document, accidentally tearing the paper.

“I’ll reprint it.”

“It’s fine. I’ve already read it.”

His aide Dane was carefully monitoring Armion’s unusually foul mood when a knock came at the door.

“It’s Rebecca.”

“Come in.”

Upon receiving permission, Rebecca cautiously entered the room.

“What is it?”

Like Dane, Rebecca came from a long line of head maids and was well aware of how difficult Armion could be. But that never stopped her from saying what needed to be said—just like now.

“It’s about Miss Elise…”

“What about her? Speak.”

“Miss Elise’s purpose here is to make your clothing. I’m concerned she may decide to quit if she’s treated like this.”

It was a polite way of asking him to stop tormenting her before she ran off.

“So you’re telling me not to harass her?”

“She’s diligent and kind. Not frivolous at all. This time… something feels different.”

Armion, who knew just how picky his head maid could be, raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Do you really think she’ll succeed? At something no one’s ever managed?”

“Maybe.”

“You seem to like this little country girl quite a bit, huh?”

“She even kept a handkerchief in her mouth just to stop herself from speaking.”

He had seen her at the lake with something in her mouth for days—but he hadn’t realized it was to silence herself. Was that innocent… or just foolish?

With a dry chuckle, Armion pulled a cigar from his desk drawer. Dane quickly stepped in, slicing the tip and lighting it with practiced hands.

White smoke, filled with more sedative herbs than tobacco, spread through the study. It had a short-lived effect and left no lingering scent—but his close aides still watched him anxiously as he inhaled.

“Relax. I’m not going to die. You know I’m a demon.”

“A demon?!”

“I’ve lived for centuries without aging or dying—what else would you call it? You think some lousy tobacco could kill a monster like me?”

Amid the haze of smoke, Armion let out a faint smile—so subtle his teeth barely showed. It was the only kind of smile his closest aides ever got to see.

“You were cursed unjustly, Duke. You’re not a demon.”

“Well, the Church thinks I am. That’s why they keep sending inquisitors after me. Isn’t that right?”

He replied with indifferent sarcasm.

“To clear up those misunderstandings, you need to break the curse and regain your full form. Even if that means pushing Miss Elise harder.”

And just like that, the conversation circled back to Elise.

“I’ll handle that. Stay out of it.”

Armion knew his actions seemed childish even to others. But the way that girl resembled her, the way she tried to give him things despite having nothing herself—it all felt like misguided pity, and he resented it.

Who was she to try and give anything?

Even when he’d first seen the real Elise enter the palace holding her witch mother’s hand, he had found her repulsive.

Still, later on, he’d opened up to her more than anyone—and in the end, she had betrayed him.

If she hadn’t made a fuss about marrying that prince, she could’ve finished his clothing in time. He knew this was unfair resentment, but he couldn’t help being bitter about being the only one left behind as a swan.

This fake Elise also showed interest in him, the swan—but she too could betray him at any time. Especially those who had nothing were the easiest to sway—never to be trusted.

“Still…”

“Still, what? She’s going to fail anyway. Look—aren’t they saying the imperial family is sending people again? They don’t want the curse broken. How could she succeed?”

He pulled out a red envelope with the imperial seal—buried at the very bottom of the stack of letters piled high on his tray. As the letter, delicately hanging from the tips of his long, elegant fingers, caught the light like an invitation from hell, Rebecca’s face stiffened.

Dane, who had personally delivered the letter to Armion, wore an equally grim expression.

“Is someone coming from the imperial court?”

The head maid’s face, which had remained emotionless, trembled with unease.

“Yes. Looks like you’re in for a hard time, Rebecca. A prince himself is making the visit. Apparently, he’s ‘just passing through’ during a nearby tour—but more likely, he’s hoping to uncover some hidden treasure in this backwoods castle. Be sure to welcome him with as little hospitality as possible. So he never dares set foot here again.”

A crooked smile played at the corner of Armion’s lips.

“This new emperor seems particularly wary. The fact that he sent a prince personally suggests he’s getting anxious. Maybe he’s figured out rebellion is drawing near?”

Dane’s voice dropped conspiratorially.

“No. If he were that perceptive, he wouldn’t be acting like this. The current emperor and his sons are so blatantly crude, the nobles are reaching their limits. They’re not even trueborn heirs to the imperial bloodline, and the old families aren’t the kind to tolerate that for long. Even if I do nothing, the situation will resolve itself soon enough.”

It was obvious why the imperial court would come calling at such a time.

They feared the day Armion might break his curse and become human. And they were hoping to snatch some crumbs from the fallout if it ever happened.

After all, about ten years ago, a plague had reached even the palace and wiped out the direct royal line that had endured for centuries. Even before that, the imperial family had never had many heirs, so a distant branch was elevated to the throne.

The emperor who’d taken that seat by sheer chance turned out to be greedy and constantly anxious about losing his power.

Then, a few years ago, they discovered Armion—the cursed royal hidden away in some rural corner. To them, Armion was a direct-blooded royal who could take the throne at any moment.

At one point, the emperor had considered sending an army to kill him, but after reading records left by an emperor from centuries past, he changed his mind.

[Protect the royal body of Armion of Balzac. If Armion dies, the great witch’s curse upon him will be passed to the imperial bloodline.]

It was a decree left by Armion’s eldest brother, who had been emperor at the time. Perhaps divinely inspired, he left this record fearing someone might one day harm his poor younger brother—left behind as a beast, unable to break the curse.

Armion himself knew the curse didn’t actually transfer—but because others believed in that record, he had survived through dozens of emperors over the centuries.

Even the current emperor was afraid to kill him, lest he become the next cursed swan. Instead, he feared Armion might break the curse and come for the throne—so he sent agents to monitor the castle regularly.

Armion had long suspected that the women who came to sew for him and disappeared without a word had been removed by them. The current emperor was just more persistent; the previous ones had also obstructed any chance of him becoming human.

They were all terrified—afraid that if Armion became human again, the curse would fall on them instead.

Because of these interferences, Armion had taken to bringing his contractees along winding, unpaved routes, avoiding the main roads. In the castle, he gave them quarters in the most secluded basement, far from any prying eyes.

None of the regular staff even knew who the girl was.

And despite all that precaution, not a single one had succeeded for various reasons.

Most had been fragile women—just the nettles and the basement alone were enough to drive them to madness.

After so many failures, he gave up on breaking the curse altogether. Instead, he quietly purchased noble titles and lands in several other countries so he could leave at any time. It was a time of frequent wars, so creating a new identity wasn’t difficult. He had long since built up his strength in secret.

In truth, with the wealth he had amassed, overthrowing the emperor would have been easy—but he’d never seen the need.

However, lately, the emperor, the church that branded him a heretic, and even the forest had begun to stir. Armion sensed the time to leave this place was approaching.

It wasn’t like the old days when wars were fought with swords. Now that guns existed, even flying wasn’t safe.

Just in case, he had only a minimal number of soldiers stationed at the castle—most were garrisoned in a nearby village. If yellow smoke was released, they could reach the castle in minutes.

“Should we confine Miss Elise somewhere during the sewing process, to keep them from getting to her?”

Even those who had once defended Elise now turned cold in the face of their lord’s safety. This was why Armion couldn’t truly hate them.

He shook his head.

“Leave her be. If she’s the type to give in that easily, she won’t succeed anyway. Don’t help her.”

“But if we lock her up—”

“I said that’s enough.”

She was a disposable piece anyway, but Armion suddenly found himself curious.

Would that country girl actually keep her word? Or would she, like the others, falter and run?

He didn’t expect much—but there was always the slightest possibility.

He leisurely crossed his arms and let the tension leave his body. His long lashes lifted, gaze drifting beyond the dark castle walls.

A few days later…

Before the imperial guest from the palace could arrive, an uninvited visitor found him first.