Chapter 84 (Side Story Episode – 4)

Riorem’s mistress was the most sought-after among the three daughters of the House of Peroa, receiving the highest number of marriage proposals.

Naturally, many suitors requested private meetings with her.

Her violent and cruel temperament didn’t deter them in the slightest.

In fact, some considered it a badge of honor—claiming that the more thorns a flower had, the more beautiful it was.

Prince Alpheios was one such person.

‘…Though he’s especially strange, even among them.’

Prince Alpheios seemed to grow more pleased the more violently Riorem’s mistress acted.

Each time, he would confess his love, breathlessly propose marriage.

Of course, even the Grand Duke of Peroa—who seemed more interested in selling off his daughters—refused such proposals without hesitation.

Most people would’ve taken that as an insult.

But Alpheios was clearly not in his right mind.

So his visits and proposals continued on a regular basis.

‘…Though it feels like he’s been coming more often lately.’

Riorem, with his head bowed to the floor, thought quietly.

He didn’t know how to read maps, but he understood that the Duchy of Peroa and the Kingdom of Arete weren’t exactly close in distance.

On top of that, Alpheios was known to be a madman who wandered battlefields just to indulge in unrestrained slaughter.

For such a man to return to the Felvice Palace barely a month after meeting his mistress again—

Wasn’t that strange?

Maybe others had the same thought.

As Riorem lay facedown on the floor, he heard two maids passing by, speaking in hushed voices.

“This many visits… it’s probably because of that, right?”

“You mean because the eldest lady got married?”

“Isn’t that it? The second daughter would be next, right?”

“Still, coming all the way here like this…”

“Shh, be careful. Others might hear.”

“But even the lady doesn’t stop people from insulting that bastard.”

“Well… She’s always been lenient when it comes to men’s faults.”

Their quiet conversation soon faded as they walked away.

Riorem remained motionless for a long time even after they were gone.

The marriage of the first daughter of House Peroa.

Indeed, ever since then, more people had come seeking an audience with his mistress.

Most likely, the next to be sold off would be the second daughter.

The third daughter was still too young for such talk. It would be a few more years before her turn came.

So for now, the only remaining “available option” was Riorem’s mistress.

It was no surprise that suitors were rushing to the palace.

‘But even that madman thinking the same way…’

After the servants had all left, the slaves lying facedown finally stood.

Riorem lifted his head as well.

Everyone else would now return to their grueling duties, spending their remaining hours either working or lying on the floor again.

But Riorem couldn’t hide like them.

No matter what, his mistress would summon him again today.

Although officially a foot-washing slave, Riorem was given far more duties than that.

He would be made to lie flat and serve as a footrest during tea time.

He would hold an umbrella for her on rainy days.

And when there was nothing else to do, he would be placed beside her like a living statue.

To put it kindly, Riorem was favored by his mistress.

But no slave envied him.

Because even on the days when important guests visited the separate palace, his burdens never changed.

Though he wasn’t brought into official meetings, she took him right up to the threshold.

Thanks to that, all her suitors knew of Riorem.

Most of them didn’t care about him.

No matter how striking his looks were, he was still just a lowly slave.

But some men found his presence extremely displeasing.

The reason was usually the same:

His mistress took Riorem everywhere.

For a mere slave—one who dared not even make eye contact—to be constantly at the side of the proud

Lady Peroa just because of a handsome face…

Men consumed by that jealousy often caused serious trouble.

It would’ve been easier if they had simply ignored or looked down on him.

‘At least Prince Alpheios isn’t one of those types.’

Thankfully, Alpheios had little interest in Riorem.

Of course, he did sometimes lash out for no reason, but that wasn’t something unique to Riorem.

Prince Alpheos treated everyone like a dog.

So Riorem figured if he got kicked around a little today too, the day would pass as usual.

With that in mind, he changed into his cleanest clothes.

He was headed to the rear garden of the Pelvice Palace.

It was time for his master’s usual walk.

She would likely stroll around until Prince Alpheos arrived, and then return to the drawing room once he got there.

When Riorem arrived, a maid handed him a parasol she had been carrying.

The sunlight wasn’t particularly strong, so the fact that she had brought a parasol meant this must have been the role assigned to Riorem today.

It wasn’t a difficult task, so he began walking in step with his master without much thought.

But then, a completely unexpected scene unfolded before Riorem’s eyes.

The early spring garden, just beginning to bloom.

In the middle of a flat, well-maintained clearing, there was a table and chairs that hadn’t been there before.

On a lace-covered table were some light refreshments, tea, and a bouquet of flowers.

Of course, what stunned Riorem wasn’t the tea set laid out outdoors.

It was the person sitting in one of the chairs.

A man, wearing a military uniform, was lounging in a chair.

His coat was draped loosely over his shoulders, revealing the undone buttons of his shirt.

At his feet lay a sword—still wet with blood. A sharp, deadly blade.

Just then, his master came to a stop.

“What have you done in my garden, Alpheo?”

Her voice mimicked kindness, but held not a shred of warmth or emotion.

Only then did the man turn to look back. His crimson eyes gleamed like the blood on his sword.

“One of your slaves looked pretty decent, so I tried fighting him. It’s okay if I kill one, right, Chernie?”

His red eyes curled into half-moons as he smirked.

“And if I said it wasn’t okay?”

“I’d think we understand each other well enough for you to let that slide.”

“Ha.”

His master let out a low laugh.

In that moment, Riorem did something disrespectful.

Despite holding the parasol and being unable to bow properly, he dared to lift his gaze to look at his master.

It was an arrogant act for a slave—but instinct made him do it.

Her expression was as always.

A soft and beautiful smile, crafted to look perfect, yet utterly devoid of sincerity.

But Riorem instantly recognized the chill in her golden eyes.

If the man before her had not been a prince or a suitor, she surely would have struck him with a whip.

That kind of cold gaze.

Realizing this, Riorem let go of the parasol in his hand.

The heavy parasol, with no thought for the bearer’s comfort, fell to the ground with a dull thud.

It rolled down the slight incline toward Prince Alpheos.

The prince tried to kick it, but it was too heavy to move—it only stopped where it landed.

Thus, a small barrier formed between the master and Prince Alpheos.

The prince furrowed his brows.

“What the hell is this?”

“Hey. What do you think you’re doing?”

Riorem bowed his head to the ground without answering.

Had he been a servant, perhaps he could have spoken.

But a mere slave could not ask for forgiveness for his mistakes.

“I didn’t ask for an apology. I asked for an answer. What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re not even going to make some excuse like your arm gave out?”

“Alpheo.”

At that moment, his master’s voice rang out—gentle, but chilling.

“If he answers, you’ll just get mad that a slave dared speak to you, won’t you?”

“Well, it’s his fault. Of all times, when you and I are having a pleasant chat, he can’t even hold a parasol properly.”

Neither of them said, This isn’t something to get that angry over.

Because a slave who couldn’t even hold a parasol properly deserved punishment.

So Riorem simply stayed where he was, head bowed—as if to silently endure whatever punishment was due.

Prince Alpheos might act rough, but if breaking up the conversation improved his master’s mood even slightly—at least it might stop the prince from swinging his sword.

…I didn’t think he’d react this violently though.

Was he really that offended that their conversation was interrupted?

Prince Alpheos was oddly worked up over something as trivial as a slave.

Even Riorem, who had served his master for a long time, found it strange.

And then, the prince said something that crossed the line.

“Now that I think of it, this one looks like he might be decent too.”

Prince Alpheos picked up the sword he had thrown carelessly to the ground.

Then he tossed it at Riorem’s feet.

“Pick it up. If you last longer than the last guy, I’ll forgive you.”