The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 50: The Marks

Chapter 50: The Marks

With determination in his stride, Damien hurried inside the mansion, passing through the well-lit hallway with little awareness of his surroundings. Exhausted from the harrowing abduction ordeal and still dazed from the effects of the sleeping powder, Rosalie had remained fast asleep since the duke cradled her in his arms. After making all the necessary arrangements for the investigation of the border crossing case, Damien decided to personally escort his unconscious fiancee back to his mansion.

As he approached the girl’s bedroom with a resolute air, he noticed Richard catching up to him, his face displaying a mix of fear and concern upon realizing that Lady Ashter had once again lost consciousness.

"Your Grace! What in the world happened?"

"No time for explanations, Richard. Send a footman to fetch Revered Altair as soon as possible."

Finally, the butler paused as his hand reached for the bedroom door, and he offered his lord a somewhat awkward look.

"Revered Altair is already here, Your Grace."

Continuing on his path, Damien arched his eyebrows, demanding an explanation, which Richard provided without a moment’s hesitation, recounting every single event that preceded the unfortunate development.

"Revered Altair assisted Logan and the coachman in regaining consciousness after finding them on the road. He expressed his willingness to remain here in case his further assistance is needed, so accepting his offer seems to have been a wise decision."

Somehow, Damien did not find Richard’s words entirely reassuring. The fact that His Holiness’s disciple was so eager to stay at the mansion and await their return hardly felt like a mere coincidence. However, he had neither the time nor the emotional strength to contemplate that further. The presence of the Temple’s representative was all that mattered at the moment.

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Altair appeared right behind the duke, his towering height almost equaling Damien’s, approaching even closer.

"Your Grace, it is a relief that both of you have made a successful return."

Damien acknowledged the man with a courtly nod and spoke in a serious tone,

"Thank you for your continuous assistance, Revered Altair. I would appreciate it if you could also check on Lady Rosalie’s condition. I am aware of your own busy schedule, and I apologize for having to impose upon you in this manner."

Altair responded with a subtle, polite smile.

"Nonsense, Your Grace. The well-being of Her Ladyship is of utmost importance to me as well."

"Very well, then."

With utmost care, Damien gently placed Rosalie’s sleeping form upon the soft bed, tucking her in and adjusting his jacket to shield her delicate frame from his intense gaze. The sight of her pitiful state tugged at his heart, and he found himself clenching his fists, attempting to suppress the seething anger that threatened to consume him. He despised feeling so powerless, and the frustration only deepened his self-loathing.

Yet, as he continued to watch her serene face, the weight upon his chest seemed to lighten. Observing her breathe peacefully, taking each shallow breath, brought a sense of solace to his jaded soul. It was as if her very presence had the power to ease his own anguish and turmoil.

Unbeknownst to his own mind, the duke’s hand relaxed and tenderly brushed away the damp hair from his fiancée’s face, wiping off the dust and sweat that dared to mar her pristine beauty. As he caressed her delicate features, it seemed as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he let out a long, weary exhale. Speaking in a quiet, somewhat melancholic voice, Damien reassured her,

"Fear not, Rosalie. He will not hurt you anymore. No one will ever harm you again."

***

On his way out of Rosalie’s bedroom, Damien was halted by his aide, Felix, whose face displayed genuine concern as he peeked inside the room.

"Felix, I must return to resume the investigation. Ensure that Lady Rosalie receives the proper care, and dispatch a messenger immediately if I am required back here."

Felix nodded solemnly and stepped aside, creating space for Altair, who patiently awaited his turn to enter the room. As Damien approached the revered figure, he placed a reassuring hand on Altair’s shoulder and leaned in close, their faces aligned.

"I would greatly appreciate your cooperation, Revered Altair."

A sly smirk gently tugged at the corners of Altair’s lips, followed by a slow, acknowledging nod.

’A man of the law seeking assistance from a man of the Temple to deceive... How intriguing.’

He watched Damien vanish behind the walls of the hallway, then turned to offer another courtly smile to Felix before stepping into the bedroom and softly closing its white wooden doors. Seating himself beside the slumbering Rosalie, he fixed his pale platinum eyes upon her serene countenance, observing every subtle movement of her features with a profound and unwavering gaze.

"Was it your Acme that roused you from sleep, Rosalie? The demonic power protects its vessel until the appointed moment to relinquish it. From now on, I shall also assist you in caring for yours. The King must care for his Queen, mustn’t he?"

***

Damien pushed open the heavy, barred metal door of the interrogation cell and stepped inside, adjusting the black gloves on his broad hands. His golden eyes scanned the room, taking in the sight of ten dazed figures lined up against the wall, still recovering from the effects of the sleeping powder. Approaching one of the men, who lay on the floor with bound hands and legs, he crouched down and carelessly brushed away his messy, greasy hair, revealing a small red mark resembling a broken triangle inside a circle on the back of his neck.

"A mark of the demonic cult. It’s been some time since I’ve seen one."

"All of them bear the same mark, Your Grace."

Sir Krystian interjected, pointing his sword at the others and furrowing his dark-brown eyebrows.

"All the marks are at the back of their necks."

In that moment, the two of them heard a faint rustling noise and turned their heads in its direction – one of the men was finally awakening.

Damien flinched, almost lunging towards the man, tightly gripping the collar of his soiled shirt, and glared intensely into his empty, dark eyes.

"Who is behind all of you? Where is your base beyond the border? Speak!"

His harsh, resonant voice seemed to reach the man’s ears, but he remained reluctant to talk. Instead, he glared back at the duke with a defiant gaze and scoffed, revealing his disgusting, rotting teeth.

"Dead men cannot speak."