A figure stood in the shadows at the corner of the corridor for a long time.
Only after the sound of Megrie's footsteps had completely faded did he finally step forward.
"What were you just doing?"
The voice was low and controlled, calm yet carrying a weight that could not be ignored.
Loya startled and instinctively turned around.
"…Big brother?"
Gray stood at the far end of the corridor, arms crossed, his expression half-obscured by shadow. It was obvious—he had heard every word of the conversation earlier.
"I asked you," Gray stepped closer, lowering his voice, "what were you doing with Megrie?"
Loya frowned. "I was just—"
"Just what?"
Gray cut him off coldly.
"Just starting to care about her? Or just trying to make sure she's still within something you can control?"
Loya's expression changed. "It's not what you think."
Gray stared at him, eyes icy.
"Then what is it?"
Silence spread between them.
After a moment, Gray spoke again, his voice low, each word falling like a heavy iron weight.
"I'm warning you, Loya."
"You are not allowed to fall for her."
"You are not allowed to like her."
"And you are absolutely not allowed to see her as a woman."
Loya looked up sharply.
"She already is—"
"She is the enemy's daughter."
The words were delivered without emotion, yet they cut like a blade, severing every possibility.
Loya's breath caught.
"…What do you mean?"
Gray didn't answer immediately. He turned away, his gaze settling on the window at the end of the corridor.
"How do you think our stepfather, the lord of this castle, died?"
His voice was calm, heavy.
"A strange illness?"
Loya's chest tightened.
"Wasn't it?"
Gray let out a cold laugh.
"The lord's illness didn't come suddenly."
"It was fed to him—slowly."
Loya's eyes widened.
"What are you talking about?"
Gray continued, his voice sharp and merciless:
"Do you remember the cup of tea you carried to Mother's study every morning?"
"You always said it was to help Father stay alert."
He scoffed.
"…You were the one who personally sent him to his grave."
A loud ringing filled Loya's ears. Gray's words were like a rusted saw, prying open a sealed box in his memories.
The images began to rewind, distorted.
He remembered countless dim afternoons—Mother sitting in her rocking chair, carefully stirring a thick bowl of almond oatmeal with a silver spoon. Steam rose gently, her face serene, sorrowful, almost sacred.
"Loya," she would say softly,
"the lord is exhausted today. Take this to him. Make sure he drinks every drop—this is what keeps him alive."
How proud he had felt then, carefully carrying that gilded porcelain bowl into the study.
He remembered how his stepfather's withered hands accepted it, how the man had patted his head weakly and said,
"What a good child you are…"
"—Ugh."
A violent wave of nausea surged through Loya.
He remembered it now.
The ashen shadow beneath the lord's fingernails.
The way he had clutched Loya's collar near the end, gasping like a broken bellows.
That wasn't pain from illness.
That was a desperate plea—for help, or for truth.
What Loya had fed him wasn't medicine.
It was death.
All this time, he believed he had been filial.
That he had been protecting his family.
In reality, he had been the cleanest, most ignorant weapon in his mother's and Gray's hands.
Gray finally turned back to face him, speaking slowly, deliberately.
"Mother's first husband—our real father—died because of the lord."
"It wasn't an accident."
"He was forced into a dead end."
Loya's world collapsed in an instant.
"So… then…"
"So Mother approached the lord," Gray continued,
"not by coincidence."
"Marrying him wasn't love."
"It was a plan."
"And Megrie's very existence is part of that plan."
His voice hardened.
"She's alive only because she's still useful."
Loya's throat went dry.
"…Then the way she is now—is because—"
"Because Mother hasn't decided to let her die yet," Gray cut in coldly.
"The title of 'lord's daughter' still has value."
"Alive—but never allowed to live well."
"Loya," he stepped closer, lowering his voice,
"you can feel sorry for her."
"You can think she's changed."
"But you must never forget—"
His gaze was sharp as a blade.
"She is the enemy's daughter."
"And we are standing here today, on the blood of that enemy."
A long silence followed.
At last, Gray left him with one final warning:
"If you waver,"
"it won't just be her who gets hurt."
"You will too."
With that, he turned and walked away.
The corridor was left with only Loya.
—
As expected, Megrie was once again sent out to haul cargo.
To the other maids, it was grueling work.
To her, it was the opposite.
She liked carrying goods.
Not because of the heavy crates.
Not because of the rough ropes biting into her palms.
But because it meant she could leave.
Leaving the castle meant leaving Natta's sight.
Leaving the fake concern that was really surveillance.
Leaving a place where even breathing felt regulated.
The marketplace air was always mixed—
spices, bread, sweat, livestock.
Noisy, chaotic, but real.
Between loads, she could lift her head and watch the stalls.
Watch people bargain.
Watch how this world truly functioned.
The cargo was genuinely heavy.
Wooden crates pressed into her shoulders, bones aching faintly.
But she could endure it.
Because at Kai's place, she could eat her fill.
Not the kind of fullness that merely keeps you alive—
but the kind that truly restores the body.
Just as she placed a crate onto a wagon and wiped the sweat from her brow—
A familiar figure suddenly appeared at the edge of her vision.
"…Kai?"
He arrived quietly, as if merely passing by.
He said nothing, didn't even come too close.
In the brief moment when the five burly servants weren't paying attention, he quickly slipped something into her hand.
A small piece of bread wrapped in coarse paper.
Still warm.
Kai raised a finger to his lips.
"Shh."
His voice was barely audible.
"Don't go hungry."
Megrie froze—then understood.
He knew her situation.
He knew those five men were there under the lady's orders to "watch over" her.
Under such circumstances, he couldn't openly give her food.
This was the only way.
A quiet warmth, left behind in a gray zone.
Megrie clenched the bread, looked up at him, genuine gratitude flashing in her eyes.
"…Thank you," she said softly.
Kai didn't reply.
He only blinked at her—
as if to say:
No need to say more.
I understand.
The next moment, he had already turned and walked away, his steps natural, as if he truly had just been passing by.
Megrie stood there, watching his back disappear into the crowd, warmth spreading quietly in her chest.
Since coming to this world, she had lost so much—
her identity, her dignity, her former life.
But at least—
She had met Kai.
Met Chino.
And met Aaron.
These three didn't treat her as someone to be ignored or consumed.
Without realizing it,
she had already begun to think of them as friends.
Not dependence.
Not gratitude born of humility.
But that feeling of—
in this unfamiliar world,
finally having someone
standing on the same ground as her.
Megrie lowered her head and took a bite of the bread.
Warmth spread through her mouth.
And suddenly she felt—
Even if the road ahead remained difficult,
at least in this moment,
she was not alone.