Chapter 2

The head maid, while handing Azriel several silver coins, issued a warning. Azriel deftly tucked the coins into the pocket of her apron and exited the estate. She harbored the knowledge that returning even slightly late would result in a scolding for her perceived laziness.

With haste, she traversed the garden and made her way toward the rear gate.

"Why the rush?" a man with lackluster blonde hair emerged from the drill hall and inquired. At the sight of her, a peculiar smile graced his features, and he advanced toward her.

Azriel instinctively lowered her head and replied, "I'm on an urgent errand, Young Master."

This man was Damon Colte, the heir to Count Colte's lineage and the sole brother of Deborah. His eyes gleamed as they roved over Azriel's form. Although she possessed a slender and petite figure, her sixteen-year-old body was maturing, with smooth curves starting to form.

Upon closer inspection, it became apparent that her visage was strikingly beautiful—perhaps even more so than his sister, who was regarded as the most beautiful in the land.

For this reason, Deborah treated Azriel with cruelty, often subjecting her to slaps across the face. It irked her to know that her whipping girl possessed an unnecessarily lovely countenance.

Given a bit of proper attire and a touch more maturity, she could become a breathtaking beauty.

Damon smacked his lips. "If you were to gain my favor, you wouldn't need to undertake such tasks. How about attending to me while I take my bath?"

"My apologies, but this errand is of utmost urgency."

"Is it more urgent than me?"

Azriel took a step backward, deftly evading Damon's encroaching hand, which prompted a furrowed brow from him. She offered a polite farewell while clutching the hem of her skirt.

"It's a matter of pressing importance, and I trust the generous Young Master will comprehend."

As she hastened toward the rear gate, Damon's lingering, lascivious gaze followed her, the very gaze she felt burning into her back, which still bore the marks of recent punishment. It ceased only when she had completely departed from the castle grounds.

An anxious cough escaped her lips, quickly suppressed by a hand pressed to her chest. Her uneasy heart throbbed noticeably beneath her fingertips.

Damon's demeanor toward her had grown increasingly peculiar as the days passed, and she understood its implications all too well. How long could an orphaned girl of slave origin elude the young master's advances?

I must find a way to escape.

But how?

And to where?

Although slavery had been abolished two years ago, a girl without a guardian and bearing a brand was vulnerable wherever she went. She had learned this harsh reality during her time as a slave.

In fact, Azriel considered herself fortunate; at least she had not been sold to nobles as a nightly plaything.

One couldn't trust people without caution either. There were few who would extend favors to a girl with no power or guardians to shield her without a motive.

She had come to this realization when she was sold off by the very guardians who had once smiled at her and claimed to be her parents.

Yet I cannot remain here indefinitely.

Even if she were to escape, even more harrowing trials might await her. She might end up regretting her decision and longing for the relative stability of life within the Colte family. The knowledge of the perils that befell those left alone in the world filled her with dread and fear.

Nevertheless, she had been preparing for this escape ever since she gave up hope that the one who had bestowed the name "Azriel Esthera" would come to her rescue.

Hidden amid a stack of straw and concealed beneath a tattered blanket in her room were the meager coins she had diligently saved over the past two years. Saving money was an arduous endeavor for someone like her—an underage girl with no income.

Yet, she had managed to accumulate a respectable sum, but more savings were required before she could escape and settle in a different territory.

Upon reaching the market, she purchased three blocks of butter as instructed by the head maid. While counting her change, she glanced at the clock hanging on the wall of the general store. Due to her haste, there was still some time left.

I can stop by the bookstore. Hopefully, there's an opportunity for work.

Clutching the paper bag containing the butter, she slipped into a more secluded alley within the market.

A bookstore with a weathered sign came into view, tucked away in an inconspicuous corner. At the entrance, old books were stacked perilously high, as if they might topple at any moment.

"Welcome, Azriel," greeted an elderly, bespectacled man as she navigated her way through the stacks of books.

"Hello, Grandpa Warden."

"You've arrived at just the right moment. I have a task for you."

A smile graced his weathered lips as Warden handed her a package and an aged tome. Azriel accepted them with a grin.

"I only need to transcribe it into Limble, correct?"

"Indeed. Return it once you're finished, and I'll compensate you with five silver coins."

Limble was the most widely used written language across the continent, primarily employed by commoners. Those of higher social standing typically utilized Lemm, an older form of language. Lemm was also used for official documents within the kingdom and as a lingua franca between nations with distinct languages.

Hence, valuable books were often written in Lemm instead of Limble.

Azriel had been saving the money she earned from translating Lemm texts into Limble. Since not many individuals were versed in Lemm, it was a well-paying gig. Five silver coins per book equated to the monthly wage typically set by Count Colte.

Under ordinary circumstances, her earnings should have amounted to at least a hundred silver coins, but there was no chance Count Colte would ever provide her with such remuneration.

"I'll return it within a week."

"So soon?" Warden raised an eyebrow.

"It's not even that thick," Azriel replied matter-of-factly, eyeing the book in her hand.

"Incredible," Warden marveled softly. "I've known you for quite some time, but I still can't believe it. Honestly, where did you learn Lemm?"

"Well… Honestly, I'm not sure."

"You say that every time. Psshh. Just admit you don't want to tell me."

"It's the truth. I've been able to read it for a while now."

"Hmm. It's not a language one picks up so easily. I can't wrap my head around the fact that a young woman like you, who isn't a wizard or an aristocrat, knows it."

"I know," she replied with a vague smile. "Isn't it astonishing?"

Lemm was a complex language, notoriously challenging to learn. It had existed since ancient times, even predating Iskam the Great, and had nearly faded into obscurity as a spoken language, making it even more difficult to acquire. Only its written form remained in use today.

Even Count Colte, an aristocrat, struggled with it, relying on a dictionary. The Countess and Damon had only managed to memorize its alphabet, and Deborah had long given up on learning Lemm. In contrast, Azriel had been able to read Lemm since she was young. Not only could she read it, but she could use it as effortlessly as Limble. To be precise, she realized her fluency at the age of ten.

Considering I didn't even know how to read Limble when I was younger, I probably mastered it during those three years I can't recall. What in the world happened to me? Azriel wondered, her thoughts briefly drifting to the mystery.

However, she had more pressing concerns than dwelling on this enigma. She concealed the book and package in the inner pocket of her apron's lining.

"I should be on my way now. Thank you so much, Grandpa Warden."

"I should be the one thanking you. Stay safe on your journey back."

Azriel closed the door behind her as she maneuvered through the stacks of books. Though she had been looking down at her feet as she left, she glanced up, feeling a strange presence. She locked eyes with someone standing among the bookshelves, a figure taller than her.

Those eyes belonged to a pale man with long, shimmering silver hair that gleamed even in the alley's shadows. His skin was pale, and his tall frame was draped in a pristine white robe, devoid of any dirt or stains. His gray eyes resembled a cloudy sky, and his flawless face seemed to be a work of perfection in every way.

He appeared utterly out of place in the unkempt surroundings, as if plucked from the pages of one of Deborah's fairy tale books and dropped into the alley. The stark contrast between him and his environment was accentuated by his exceptional beauty.

He seemed almost as if he inhabited a different world despite sharing the same space with Azriel.

A shiver ran down her spine, and she involuntarily took a step back, causing her knee to collide with a pile of books.

"Ah…!"

As she stumbled backward, the stacks of books collapsed in a cacophonous cascade. Fortunately, she wasn't seriously hurt because nearby books bore much of the weight, but the pain was still excruciating.

The fallen books pressed against her back, which had yet to heal from the morning's punishment, intensifying her agony. The pain was so intense that she couldn't even manage a groan.

"What's happening? My goodness!"

Warden, alerted by the commotion, hurriedly emerged and was taken aback by the chaos that had unfolded. Extending a hand, he offered assistance to Azriel as she struggled to regain her footing.

"Are you unhurt?" he inquired.

"I'm fine, but it's my fault your books…"

"Books can be stacked again, but how did you end up falling like this?"

Azriel started to explain, "Over there…"

But her words trailed off as she raised her head, her voice falling silent. The spot where the pale man had stood moments ago now lay empty. Nothing remained. He had unquestionably been there. Could it all have been her imagination?

"Over there?" Warden repeated.

"No, it's nothing. I must have been mistaken."

Shaking her head, she retrieved the bag of butter, which had tumbled to the ground. A sigh escaped her lips as she contemplated how the head maid would be incensed with her.

"It must have been quite the stress to make you hallucinate," Warden clicked his tongue as he patted Azriel's fragile shoulder. It was a bony and feeble shoulder, evoking sympathy. "Be more careful."

"Alright," Azriel nodded, offering a smile as she began picking up the scattered books. "I will."

However, as soon as she initiated the process of restacking the books, the elderly man gestured for her to cease.

"You're on an errand, aren't you? I know you're pressed for time. You can continue on your way."

"I'm the one who caused this mess. I have the time to fix it."

"I was planning to reorganize them anyway. Consider this an opportunity for me to sort them out. Go on, quickly."

"But…"

"Say no more, little girl. Go on now, or you'll receive more scolding."

"…I'm sorry, Grandpa Warden."

"No need to apologize."

Azriel bid her farewell to Warden, who waved her off, and exited the bookstore. Her back still throbbed, but she could endure it.

Oh, I'm running late. I'm in trouble.

As she hurriedly turned a corner, her feet stumbled over a stone protruding from the pavement. Her body lurched forward as the sole of her worn shoe caught and tore on the stone. With both hands occupied by the bag of butter, she couldn't use them to break her fall.

Thinking that it was indeed a wretched day, she closed her eyes.

In that instant, a gentle and airy breeze brushed against her, tickling her cheek. Her descent came to a sudden halt. Then, a pair of arms encircled her from behind, grasping her waist and lifting her upright.

Once she was back on her feet, the arms withdrew. A fragrance reminiscent of birch wafted into her nose. Azriel turned her head around, her gaze meeting the pale man's.

I wasn't mistaken, that's for sure.

The tall figure of the pale man she had seen earlier stood right behind her. He was so tall that Azriel had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.