The Princess Imprint A Traitor - Chapter 32: The Nocturnal Salon (4)

That night, under the cover of darkness, the Geass—Oath of Subjugation was secretly performed on Rosenitte.

Eve, clad in a black robe, slipped into the Crimson Room.

Standing over her defenseless, sleeping half-sister, whispering an incantation of obedience, she felt eerily like the wicked sorceress from a fairy tale.

The binding ritual itself was completed without issue.

Unfortunately, whether it had actually worked was uncertain.

The culprit? Hibernation.

While Rosenitte’s dormant state allowed Eve to perform the ritual without resistance, it also meant there was no way to check for a reaction.

“We’ll have to wait until Rosie wakes up to assess her condition properly.”

“She is a regressor now. You must exercise the utmost caution.”

“Yes, Master. I’ll keep that in mind.”

If the ritual failed, things would become significantly more complicated.

If Rosenitte awoke with the will to resist, there would be no way to rush another binding ritual like this.

The moment of truth was still ahead.

“May fortune be with you.”

“Thank you, Master. Safe travels.”

Ignoring the autumn night’s cold dew, the sage departed without hesitation. Eve and Mikael saw her off together.

❇

The next morning, as soon as Eve opened her eyes, she received a special report from Sedella.

“Your Highness, Young Lord Alvin Redmond has requested an audience.”

“Oh? Bring him to the powder room.”

The powder room was deliberately chosen.

It was unconventional to admit an unrelated man there, making it the perfect place for discreet meetings.

Since Alvin had once been the subject of gossip with Eve, it was an easy cover for an urgent yet secretive conversation. Not to mention, Alvin himself had no romantic interest in her.

After finishing her preparations, Eve stepped out from behind the partition.

Alvin immediately rose from his seat and greeted her with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“Your Highness! Did you rest well? The sky is high, the livestock are fat—what a refreshing autumn morning!”

Eve chuckled and took her seat, sipping her tea.

“So? What good news do you bring me so early in the morning?”

As always, Alvin did not disappoint.

“Everything is ready. Tonight, Your Highness need only lift the scythe and reap the harvest.”

“Ah… at last.”

Eve’s gaze fell to the rippling tea in her cup.

Then, she smiled.

“It’s time to harvest the heads of the nobles.”

❇

The autumn night air was sharp and cold.

The sudden drop in temperature seemed like a warning of the harsh winter rains to come.

The moon hid behind thick clouds, casting the world into darkness.

In the 14th District, the hidden estate of Count Hadenfork appeared silent from the outside—but inside, it was bustling with activity.

Lavish yet unmarked carriages streamed through the front gates without pause.

Past the dense, forest-like garden, the great mansion loomed in darkness, with not a single light escaping its walls.

One after another, aristocrats clad in extravagant clothing and masks descended from their carriages.

None acknowledged one another.

Silently, they stepped inside.

Click.

“…….”

A woman stepped out of a carriage painted with pearl lacquer.

Her attire—daringly revealing—matched that of the other guests.

Adjusting her silver half-mask, she walked alone toward the entrance.

“Heh. Welcome, my lady.”

The doorman was a sorcerer.

Instead of verifying names or identities, he simply scanned each guest’s invitation with magic to ensure its authenticity.

He also checked for any artifacts or golems, ensuring nothing could be smuggled out. The security was on par with the imperial palace—an effort to prevent leaks of the event’s secrets.

Once satisfied, the doorman’s tongue flicked between his lips as he granted entry.

“Welcome to the Masquerade Ball. May you indulge in pleasures beyond mortal comprehension.”

“Oh, I fully intend to.”

Beneath her mask, Eve’s lips curled into a dark smile as she stepped inside.

The hallway she entered was dim and foreboding—like a tunnel leading to a cult’s hidden chamber.

But at the end of it, she was greeted by an entirely different world.

‘Wow… is this even legal?’

Eve barely held back a scoff.

Count Hadenfork had renovated and expanded the mansion countless times for the sake of the Midnight Society.

The entire east wing of the estate had been transformed into a grand ballroom—and it was larger and more extravagant than the imperial palace’s own great hall.

It was so gaudily decorated that Eve’s eyes hurt just looking at it.

‘Right. Let’s add ‘challenging the emperor’s authority’ to his list of crimes.’

When you despised someone, even minor offenses became justification for punishment.

Despite the ballroom’s dazzling beauty, its contents were utterly revolting.

The aristocrats were drunk on excess—indulging in a depraved orgy of gluttony, gambling, and sin.

They ate and drank lavishly, cigars trailing smoke through the air as dangerous bets were placed on the gambling tables.

The stakes?

Fortunes.

Their own bodies.

They clung to one another shamelessly, using the hanging drapes as thin partitions—but their silhouettes left little to the imagination.

And often, it wasn’t just two figures in those shadows.

In some corners, there were even screams—the sound of someone’s suffering twisted into laughter.

Eve felt the weight of sheer cultural shock press down on her.

‘Good gods.’

But that was only the beginning.

The hosts of the event were performing their own atrocities in the name of “entertainment.”

Half-naked dancers were forced to perform masked waltzes on the central stage.

For “specialty desserts,” they coated human bodies in cream and laid them out on tables.

And worst of all—

The guests didn’t even hesitate to drag dancers into the curtains mid-performance.

It didn’t take much for Eve to realize…

These weren’t professional performers.

They were victims—people trafficked from the underworld and sold to Count Hadenfork.

The realization made Eve grip the second-floor railing so tightly her knuckles turned white.

‘This is a damned demon’s gathering.’

Almost as if the world agreed with her, a servant carrying wine passed by, wearing a grotesque goat-horned mask—like the minion of some hellish god.

He offered her a drink.

Eve didn’t touch it.

Everything here was either spiked with drugs or dangerously strong liquor—she wasn’t foolish enough to accept anything.

‘I need to get upstairs.’

She had no intention of hunting or being hunted among these filthy nobles.

She turned toward the shadowed staircase—

And crashed into someone rounding the corner in a hurry.

“Kyaa!”

“Ow.”

The impact was minor, but the other person recoiled in terror the moment they saw Eve.

Then—they fell to their knees.

“F-Forgive me, my lady!”

“……!”

Eve was just as surprised. The voice was too familiar. The bowed head, the curly black hair—she recognized them immediately. When Eve didn’t respond, the other person hesitantly lifted their head, fear evident in their expression.

The person wasn’t wearing a full mask but rather a decorative one that only covered the area around their eyes. Thanks to that, Eve could recognize them right away.

“L-Lady?”

“……”

It was Rimona Lund.

‘Why? Why are you here, Rimona?’

It was obvious that receiving an invitation to a noble’s social gathering would boost her reputation as a singer. But hadn’t Eve made sure that the Pegasus Theater’s director blocked any invitations to obscene and dangerous parties like this?

‘Did the director succumb to greed and push Rimona into this? Or did the Count of Hadenfork force her?’

Regardless, it was Eve’s failure for not keeping a closer eye on Rimona’s situation. She had to bite her lower lip to stop herself from immediately asking how long Rimona had been attending such gatherings.

Seeing that, Rimona misunderstood and quickly lowered her head in panic.

“L-Lady, I’m truly sorry. Please, forgive me and have mercy.”