The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 125: Bloodied Feet

Chapter 125: Bloodied Feet

Desperation surged through Rosalie as she sprinted down the dimly lit corridor. Her bare feet pounded the cold floor, sending sharp jolts of sensation up her ankles. She raced onward, navigating the labyrinthine twists and turns of the seemingly endless passageway, yet an escape route remained elusive. It was as though she had stumbled into a surreal maze designed to ensnare its prey indefinitely.

Eventually, exhaustion began to gnaw at her body, and her lungs fought for each labored breath.

’I can’t sustain this pace much longer. If Rosalie regains consciousness, I will be forced back into my own body, and that can’t happen just yet. First, I must find a way to free her from this place.’

The duchess cast a wary glance around, her attention drawn by an unusual crackling sound creeping closer from behind.

’The fire is advancing rapidly. If the flames encroach upon me too swiftly, leaping from the window might become my only viable option.

Abruptly, another noise emanated from within the walls, resembling the faint echo of footsteps accompanied by subdued commotion. With no luxury of time for meticulous deliberation, Rosalie swiftly sought refuge behind one of the towering marble statues positioned along the opposing wall. From this concealed vantage point, she cautiously peered out.

To her astonishment, the wall on the opposite side unexpectedly swung open, revealing a hidden chamber concealed within. From its depths, several servants emerged in haste, their presence unveiling a hidden secret space previously concealed from view.

’A hidden staircase. I now understand why I could not locate the exit; it was concealed behind the wall all along. And now, it is merely a matter of speed.’

As the mansion’s servants rushed toward the engulfed section, their frantic focus solely on quelling the blaze, Lady Ashter seized her fortuitous opportunity. She deftly slipped away from her sanctuary behind the marble statue and dashed toward the still-open wall, her nimble feet making contact with the chilly wooden steps.

Halting briefly, she turned, her large gray eyes fixated on the lever that had served to seal the wall. Her frantic mind teetered on the precipice of a chilling decision: whether to lock the wall behind her, consigning the others within the mansion to a terrible fate in the encroaching fire. Yet, in the next fleeting moment, a more rational thought prevailed in her restless mind.

’The Prosecution Office will undoubtedly launch an investigation into this incident, even in the Chief Prosecutor’s absence. Rosalie cannot be the sole survivor... If anyone manages to survive, I will need to manipulate their memories later.’

With determination etched across her face, the lady pivoted and descended the stairs, putting the harrowing scene of the escalating fire in her wake.

Finally, as her fleet-footed steps led her out of yet another labyrinthine corridor, salvation came into view. Rosalie sprinted toward it, exerting herself to thrust the ponderous mansion doors aside. Emerging from the building, she felt the frigid embrace of the February snow beneath her bare feet, a stark contrast to the unforgiving heat of the flames she had narrowly escaped.

’I must return to my own body to finally leave hers.’

Once more, she set off, the delicate skin of her bare feet now marred by the icy, unforgiving terrain, each step drawing droplets of crimson from the cuts. The ruthless winter path of the surrounding gardens stretched ahead.

The cold night air seared her lungs and numbed her exposed shoulders, casting a faint, translucent sheen over her gentle, pallid skin. Her pace began to wane, as if she were pushing through an intangible, invisible cobweb determined to restrain her. Still, she pressed on relentlessly; her sole recourse was to keep running.

’No, I must persevere. I will mend her body later, but my paramount goal is to escape.’

At last, Rosalie came to a halt before the imposing frozen oak tree. She slowly crouched before the lifeless male figure clad in the immaculate Temple attire. His once ebony locks now bore a silver sheen, kissed by the icy tendrils of the wintry night air.

Briefly, her gaze shifted to the large white horse concealed behind the tree, and a protracted sigh of relief escaped her lips.

"Excellent, the horse remains. It’s time to return."

In a heartbeat, the duchess’s lifeless form crumpled to the ground, while the man’s profound, crimson eyes flickered open, aglow with a fiery intensity.

A moment later, his hair underwent a transformation, shifting from its previous black hue back to its familiar platinum shade. His once-frantic eyes now settled on Rosalie’s prone form, nestled beside him on the icy quilt of snow.

Altair swiftly removed his jacket, enveloping the girl in its thick fabric to shield her from the biting cold. He cradled her close against his broad chest, deftly mounting the white horse. With a firm pull of the reins and a command, they embarked on their journey forward.

The horse emitted a brisk exhale, its sinewy form giving a slight, reflexive shake as it sought to dispel the tension from its muscles. Then, with purpose, it surged forward, galloping vehemently through the desolate forest of dead black trees.

As the horse, now on the open road, slowed down, Altair issued a command to cease. He cast one last lingering gaze at the blazing remnants of the Xarden mansion smoldering in his wake. Then, his attention shifted down to the slumbering Rosalie cradled in his arms. His pale eyes, usually serene, now flickered with an inner fire, an unseen rage simmering within.

"I would set the entire world ablaze if necessary. No one shall ever lay a hand on you, Rosalie. No one."

***

When the white horse finally halted in front of the Dio mansion, Altair was met by the familiar, perpetually concerned trio composed of Richard, Sir Logan, and Aurora. Their expressions bore genuine worry and apprehension as their eyes fixated upon their lady, swathed in the Temple coat held securely by the man. Their pupils dilated with astonishment.

Before a barrage of questions could descend upon him, Altair advanced another step, positioning himself squarely before Sir Logan. His pale platinum eyes narrowed, engaging in an unyielding stare-down with the knight’s reddish gaze.

"Why did you return to the mansion, leaving your lady behind?"

Altair’s voice exuded an icy chill that seemed to plummet the ambient temperature even further, enshrouding them in an entirely new level of bone-chilling coldness, eliciting spine-tingling shivers.

Logan swallowed hard, grappling with the unseen lump lodged in his throat, and responded in hushed tones,

"It was Her Ladyship’s directive, Your Holiness. Lady Rosalie specifically instructed me to return home because Lord Xarden himself had planned to accompany her back following their dinner."

As Altair wrestled to contain his anger, the butler drew nearer, his anxious gaze fixed upon their lady’s disheveled state. Then, he lifted his gaze to meet Altair’s and ventured to inquire,

"Your Holiness... Has something happened?"

Altair released a weary, slightly irritated sigh before responding, his voice retaining its frosty, annoyed edge,

"There was a fire at Lord Xarden’s mansion."

"A fire?!"

Aurora gasped, her hands instinctively flying to cover her mouth, her eyes expanding in sheer disbelief.

Altair shook his head, resuming his path through the wide-open doors of the building, his words hanging in the air as he continued,

"When I was informed that Her Grace had departed to rendezvous with Lord Xarden at his mansion, a deep worry gripped my heart. Her condition was far from robust enough for such nocturnal journeys through the merciless winter air. Therefore, I assumed the responsibility of shadowing her. Upon my arrival, a harrowing sight awaited me—a raging inferno consuming Lord Theodore’s mansion, with Lady Rosalie unconscious, sprawled on the frigid earth before it."

He momentarily gauged the shift in the servants’ reactions, observing the transition from mere shock to a profound mix of concern and fear. Unwilling to squander more time on superfluous inquiries, he cradled Rosalie’s form closer to his chest and continued, his tone resolute,

"Regrettably, the moment I spotted Her Grace amidst the wintry landscape, I could spare no thought for anything else. My immediate focus was her safety. I promptly rescued her and made haste toward her residence. Consequently, I am unaware of the fate that befell Lord Xarden or his household. Sir Logan,"

He nodded at the knight, followed by a decisive command,

"I beseech you to dispatch someone to investigate the incident thoroughly. It is imperative that this matter be addressed with due diligence."

"Yes, Your Holiness."

Logan replied with a brisk bow, promptly exiting the mansion. Altair then pivoted to once again address Richard,

"I will escort Her Grace to her bedroom if that is alright. She requires my immediate care."

"Certainly, Your Holiness! Please do not hesitate to call upon us if you require any assistance."

The butler nodded, his eyes filled with concern never wavering from Rosalie. Acknowledging with a muted "Thank you," Altair ascended the staircase and proceeded toward the lady’s room. As he crossed the threshold into her chambers, he closed the door with a nearly imperceptible hush, enveloping them both in a cocoon of privacy.

With tender care, he lowered the duchess onto her bed and covered her with a thick, comforting blanket, the gesture reminiscent of tucking in a cherished child. Then, he knelt at the foot of the bed, cradling Rosalie’s grimy, bloodied feet in his hands. His dry lips met her damaged skin, delivering a series of gentle, restorative kisses, accompanied by a radiant white glow emanating from his fingertips. This ethereal touch meticulously mended the blemished porcelain skin of the young lady.

When her external wounds had been completely healed, Altair positioned himself on the bed beside the duchess’s head. He gently placed his large palm atop her forehead, a subtle smile playing upon his lips as the warmth of Rosalie’s face was perceptibly transferred to his skin.

He paused briefly, pondering his choices, his unwavering platinum gaze fixated upon the lady’s tranquil countenance. Then, he released a hushed sigh, his thoughts delving further into his turbulent consciousness.

’I cannot permit you to retain any recollection of these events, Rosalie. You have endured more than your share. Simply relinquish these memories, find solace, and allow yourself to rest. Everything else, I shall handle.’