Ugh, damn it!
For the third time, Yulianna cursed under her breath as she slowly peeled away the bandages wrapped around her arm. No matter how careful she was not to touch the wound, the throbbing pain continued to torment her.
Sweat dripped down her forehead by the time she finished unwrapping it. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, wincing at the sight of blackened veins crawling along her arm.
One day. I only rested for one goddamn day, and this curse already started acting up again!
Somehow, she had forgotten that her life was not only threatened by the people trying to kill her—but also by the wound she carried. This curse could be lethal. She never knew when it would fully consume her.
She kept fighting and enduring the pain because she wanted to live. And because she wanted to prove something—to a saint who insisted she was hopeless—that she would survive and beat the odds.
"I know your wound isn't getting any better, my lady."
The memory resurfaced unbidden.
It had been Saint Alaric, approaching her the moment she finished the ceremony. She hadn't even had the chance to catch her breath. The endless stairs alone had nearly drained what little strength she had left.
The man had smiled playfully. "I do have a suggestion that might help. But first—let me say, that robe suits you quite well. I almost mistook you for a real saint during the march. Why not consider joining me in sainthood instead?"
This motherfucker.
Yulianna exhaled slowly, trying to steady her breathing. "Get out of my sight while I'm still being nice, saint."
She hadn't even had the strength to process that the man standing before her was one of the Holy Temple's most revered figures—the same one she had encountered in the garden. And now he was back, deliberately testing her patience.
"Come on," he insisted, his grin widening. "There's no way you wouldn't want this solution."
Already exhausted, Yulianna gave up resisting. "Fine. Let's hear it. What is it?"
"Become a saint like myself," Saint Alaric replied. "It would only take a few years of meditation, prayer, and fasting. I'm sure you'd do wonderfully, and—"
She stopped listening.
Her ears burned as her blood surged. By the time her senses returned, Saint Alaric was on the floor, clutching his left cheek.
And that was how she ended up punching a saint in the face.
Recalling the incident, Yulianna shook her head. Unbelievable. I'm never seeing that man again.
In fact, everything related to the Holy Temple had been forcibly erased from her thoughts. She didn't want to remember the moment she nearly lost control. Now that she was back home, she planned to keep herself busy—anything to forget.
Especially Duke Caspien.
"But this goddamn wound is such a pain in the ass," she muttered, examining the affected area. "Looks like I'll be wearing long-sleeved dresses for a while."
She sanitized the wound carefully before rewrapping it with fresh bandages. Once her arm was fully covered, she collapsed onto the plush bed and stared at the ceiling.
There were too many unanswered questions. Everything had happened too quickly—too strangely. Waking up in someone else's body, in a distant era, was still the most baffling part of all.
She also didn't understand why, the moment she woke up, her mind had screamed at her to find someone named Vien. It was as if her thoughts had been pulled toward him instinctively. That was why she searched for him that night—only to fail.
The river incident… it wasn't just an accident. Someone had orchestrated it.
But who? And why?
Those questions itched relentlessly at her mind. Yet waking up with fragmented memories left her grasping at shadows. If she wanted answers, she would have to investigate on her own.
"Lady Yulianna? Are you already awake?"
Mira's voice from outside snapped her back to the present.
Startled, Yulianna jumped up and grabbed a long-sleeved purple dress from the wardrobe. She slipped into it just as the door handle turned.
Panting, she faced her maid with an awkward smile. "What is it, Mira? Is it really that important this early in the morning?"
"My lady," Mira said calmly, "it's already eight o'clock."
"Oh. Is that so?" Yulianna ran a hand through her messy hair. "I didn't realize I slept that long."
Mira studied her with an unwavering gaze, as if she could see straight through her. "You're sweating, my lady. What were you doing so early in the morning?"
She's getting scarier by the day.
Yulianna chuckled awkwardly and patted Mira's head. "What are you talking about? Why do you always find me suspicious? It's not like I cause trouble every time you see me."
Mira paused. "For someone who just woke up, you shouldn't be panting like you were in a hurry."
"Well, I had a bad dream," Yulianna reasoned. "I was being chased by bad guys and woke up out of breath."
Mira raised an eyebrow. "You've already bathed and changed clothes, my lady. Stop fooling me."
Defeated, Yulianna sighed. "Fine. I was planning to trim my hair."
"As if dyeing it wasn't enough," Mira replied warily. "Now you want to do something new? You're unbelievable, my lady."
Yulianna felt a twinge of guilt. But telling the truth would only make Mira worry—and invite a never-ending lecture.
She shrugged. "What can I say? I like trying new things." She smiled. "It gets my blood pumping."
Mira smiled knowingly. "That's good to hear. I was worried you might not like what I'm about to tell you."
Yulianna frowned. "What is it?"
"His Grace arrived earlier than expected and ordered me to fetch you as soon as you woke up."
Yulianna froze.
The duke? Already?
She must have misheard—but Mira's serious expression said otherwise.
"What's wrong, my lady?" Mira added with a grin. "Seeing His Grace with your new appearance should be exciting. I wonder how he'll react."
She really knows how to flip the situation.
"It's just sooner than I expected," Yulianna muttered.
She had known this day would come, but that didn't ease her nerves. Duke Rohane's cold presence alone was intimidating. Speaking to him again made her stomach twist.
"It was inevitable," Mira said. "Why are you so stressed? I thought you were prepared the moment you changed your appearance."
Yulianna hissed and shot her a glare. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Why didn't you tell me sooner?
"Well, I would have," Mira replied calmly, "if you hadn't gone and disrupted your stepmother's dinner last night. I tried to tell you, but you said it could wait."
Damn it. She really did turn the tables.
"What do I do, Mira?" Yulianna groaned. "I used up all my courage last night. I'll need a whole new supply to face him."
Mira sighed and rubbed her temples. "Why do you even need courage? You're just talking to him. He's your father."
Why does it feel like I'm back at the beginning again?
"My lady," Mira said sternly, "His Grace is waiting in his office. Whatever you're feeling can wait. This is not the time to hesitate."
Ah—damn it all!
Yulianna bit the inside of her cheek. Trapped, she had no choice.
"Fine!" she exclaimed. "I'll go. It's now or never!"
She rushed out of the room, leaving Mira behind, staring after her in disbelief.
Sometimes, Mira wondered if the person she was watching was truly Lady Yulianna—or someone else entirely.