Tok! Tok! Tok!
The silence of the night fractured with the sound of knocking. Lucard stirred on his narrow bed, his nap abruptly cut short. Bleary-eyed and groggy, he turned toward the door just as it creaked open. The dimness parted for her—the tall, graceful silhouette of a woman stepped inside with the poise of royalty.
Even clad in a blue nightgown that traced her curves too perfectly to be decent, she remained dignified, a vision of refined sensuality.
Recognizing her, Lucard sprang from the bed, head lowered, one hand pressed over his chest in a practiced display of reverence.
"Greetings, Lady Diona," he said, his voice level, but tight with unease.
It was not common—no, not proper—for a direct descendant of the Grimon bloodline to visit someone like him. Her presence alone was a riddle wrapped in discomfort.
Diona Hecate Grimon, younger sister to the matriarch, carried the Olympian bloodline with undeniable potency. Her hair, a sleek bob of dark purple silk, shimmered in the low light. Her eyes, almond-shaped and positively tilted, gleamed orange with a golden undertone—a feline allure that made her every glance linger in the mind. Her figure, statuesque and voluptuous, commanded the kind of attention that stirred admiration and stirred temptation in equal measure.
"Drop the formalities, Lucard," she said, her voice as smooth as it was commanding.
With a mere gesture, a conjured orb of light floated to the ceiling and bathed the room in warm illumination. Her gaze, sharp and unflinching, moved over him—his wrinkled uniform, the faded bloodstains near the collar. She said nothing, but her jaw tensed. She understood.
Someone had bullied him again.
"Here. Take this."
In her outstretched hand were two envelopes—one brown, one black. Lucard hesitated, glancing from them to her face, as if silently questioning her intent.
A small smile curved her lips, regal yet surprisingly gentle, as she pressed the envelopes into his hands. Then, with the poise of someone who owned every space she entered, she moved to sit on the edge of his bed. Crossing her long legs, the fabric of her gown slid back, revealing thighs sculpted like marble, sinuous and strong.
Her eyes never left him.
But Lucard, ever composed, showed no reaction to her allure. No blush. No stammer. Just a calm, unreadable gaze.
It disappointed her. And yet... it intrigued her more.
He was unlike the others.
With a quiet breath, Lucard opened the brown envelope first. Inside were official documents—his acceptance and registration papers for the Royal Academy. The black envelope held something more unusual: a sleek grey card, engraved with the crest of Diona's personal corporation. His name was carved into its surface in pristine lettering.
"Lady Diona…" His voice held restraint, tinged with concern.
"What? It's for your extra expenses," she replied smoothly.
"I… Forgive me, but I can't accept this. What would the other nobles say if they knew of your generosity toward a plebian like me?"
"They can say what they like. None of them can question my decisions," she replied, her tone sharpening with that signature noble arrogance. It was less pride and more power—an unspoken reminder of her untouchable status.
Still, Lucard knelt, pressing one knee to the floor and raising his arm in formality.
"I meant no offense, Lady Diona—"
"Forget it."
Her voice softened. Diona knelt beside him, lifting his chin with delicate fingers. A subtle golden-green glow shimmered around them, soft particles drifting through the air as her healing magic began its work, closing small wounds he didn't even notice anymore.
"Just this once, will you stop pretending?" she whispered. "I know how clever you are, Lucard. I know you're already thinking about leaving this house."
His eyes flickered, but he said nothing.
She already knew—knew the hatred he buried under polite smiles and quiet servitude. He may have been born noble, but his treatment as a plebian left scars too deep for courtesy to hide.
"You don't need to humble yourself to me," she murmured. "I'm not blind to what you are."
"I cannot accept the card, Lady Diona," Lucard said at last, pushing it gently back into her hand. "But the rest—I will accept."
He stood slowly, but the moment he straightened, a strange heaviness overcame him. His body resisted; his limbs betrayed him. Sleep crept in like mist on the sea.
Diona caught him effortlessly as he slumped forward, his head landing softly against her chest.
The spell had worked.
She had laced her healing with a mild enchantment of rest—a gentle coaxing of his weary soul toward sleep. Lucard would resist no more tonight.
With strength belying her elegance, she lifted him and laid him carefully upon the bed. Then, curiosity won over restraint.
Her fingers reached for the zipper at his mask. The design was strange—practical, even clever, with goggles and a slot for food and drink without revealing the face. But it was made to hide, not protect.
When she peeled it away, she froze.
His face… She could hardly breathe.
Even with strands of his black hair clinging to his cheeks, the sight of Lucard's features struck her like a spell. His skin, unblemished and pale; his lips, naturally tinted with a pink hue more vivid than any pigment; his nose, his lashes, his symmetry—everything was otherworldly.
She tucked the hair behind his ear, revealing him fully.
He was beautiful—too beautiful.
Not in the fragile way of dolls, nor the chiseled sharpness of noble statues. No, his beauty was a balance of masculine strength and feminine softness, perfectly poised. If Aphrodite had ever borne a son to walk among mortals, he would wear this face.
Her fingers brushed against his lips.
A jolt struck her chest, her breath catching.
The rumors had lied. There was no scar. No deformity. Just a face so divine it had to be hidden, lest it provoke envy… or desire. She now understood why his sisters forced him to wear the mask. Why nobles despised him. Why he bore bruises not from accidents, but from cruelty—a plebian, they said, had no right to such a face.
"I never imagined… no wonder your sisters are still chasing you," she whispered.
Lucard, fast asleep, did not stir.
It had been a year since he became a butler in House Grimon. A mere servant. A lowborn. Yet she had always sensed something more. His mystery, his calm, his subtle defiance—it all pulled at her like a song half-remembered.
Now, she knew.
An hour passed in silence. The room grew still again.
Reluctantly, Diona rose. She placed the envelopes neatly on his desk, doused the floating light orb with a single snap of her fingers, and glanced back once more.
Her expression softened.
"Sleep well, Lucard," she murmured into the dark.
Then she closed the door behind her, leaving the enigma of a man behind—masked once more by night's shadow.