In the Nest of the Fallen Serpent - Chapter 41

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Chapter 41

The woman, after squeezing her eyes shut and then opening them, fumbled with her necklace. Clutching the wooden pendant, she looked up at him. “C-Could I… ask what you plan to do with… the necklace?”

“Well now. That’s entirely up to me, isn’t it?” Benedict replied, tilting his head. “Burn it, toss it in the lake, smash it to pieces.” Keeping it intact wasn’t an option. As expected, tears welled up in her eyes.

Benedict smirked; this was the reaction he’d anticipated. The glistening tears in her eyes pleased him. They looked like dewdrops clinging to pink jewels.

“Master…” she whispered, her voice thick with desperation. Benedict prepared himself to savor the pleas he knew were coming. How sweet would her voice sound?

“Couldn’t you… just keep it? Perhaps… allow me to see it once in a while…?” Her pitiful voice, begging him not to destroy the necklace, was music to his ears.

As sweet as the taste of blood. He licked his lips unconsciously.

“N-No. I won’t ask to see it. Just please… don’t throw it away… or break it…” Her rising sobs only heightened Benedict’s pleasure. He considered thoroughly and completely breaking her, ensuring her absolute submission, so she would never defy him again. His tenacity in such matters was unparalleled.

But the moment was fleeting.

“Gasp…!” The woman’s face paled drastically, as if all the blood had been drained from her body. She began to tremble violently.

Sensing something was wrong, Benedict swiftly pulled her towards him, catching her around the waist. Damn it. She wasn’t breathing, as if her airway was blocked. He tapped her bony back a few times, his brow furrowing in concern. Then, he pressed his lips to hers, small and pale.

Deeply, he breathed air into her lungs. Once, twice, three times… He repeated the action until color returned to her waxen cheeks and her breathing evened out.

Some time later, Benedict lifted the unconscious woman into his arms. He noticed the necklace dangling precariously from her slender fingers. He stared at it for a moment before roughly snatching it into his own hand.

***

When the Duke entered the manor, the servants who saw him all questioned their own eyes. But no matter how many times they blinked, the sight remained the same. A woman was cradled in his arms. The woman they called a slave. Her face was buried against his chest, eyes closed as if in peaceful slumber, making it seem as though they had just returned from a leisurely stroll.

Only the Duke’s impassive face and somber aura hinted that nothing of the sort had transpired.

“Fetch the head maid.”

Greta, upon hearing the news, instantly sensed trouble. Hilde, who should have been in her room, was outside, and with the Duke, no less. She immediately headed to the Duke’s bedroom. As soon as she faced Benedict, she bowed deeply, bracing herself for a reprimand.

“My capable head maid has arrived.” It sounded like a compliment, but his tone was frigid. The atmosphere was heavy with tension.

“I was just pondering whether this was the fault of my head maid, who left the terrace door open, or the fault of the outside guards who were carelessly changing shifts at that very moment.”

Greta’s gaze shifted to the terrace. The door was indeed wide open. She bit her lip hard. It seemed the door leading to the terrace hadn’t been properly closed. And to make matters worse, it coincided with the guards’ shift change. It was incredibly unfortunate.

“…I apologize, Your Grace.” Even his gaze felt crushing.

“Did you not hear my instructions to properly educate the slave?”

“I did.”