When the Female Lead Went Off-Script, the Main Male Lead Became the Tyrant's Empress - Chapter 5.2
Haster sat before the fireplace and watched the shadows cast by the flames.
The firewood crackled as it scattered sparks and burned gently.
Warm red light flickered along the contours of the man’s face.
When Arden asked why he had stayed, Haster made the excuse that he still had work to do, but the sole reason he remained was Clary.
His cousin’s daughter was an exceedingly bold child.
At the same time, she was utterly terrified.
He had thought she was merely uncomfortable because she couldn’t adapt to her changed surroundings, but that misconception was shattered when he passed by Clary’s room.
As usual, Haster had been returning to his room after taking a walk at night when he passed by Clary’s door.
Although dawn was already approaching, yellow light spilled through the gap beneath the door.
Did she have a habit of staying up late?
Or had she accidentally fallen asleep with the lamp still lit?
The moment he passed before the door, the light shining through the gap was abruptly cut off in the middle by a blunt shadow.
Clary was standing before the door.
Curious about where she intended to go at this hour, he stopped walking and fixed his gaze upon it, but the door didn’t open.
Clary neither retreated farther into the room nor stepped out into the corridor.
A precarious tension emanated from beyond the closed door.
Haster resumed walking down the corridor at the same pace as before.
When he put some distance between himself and the room and looked back at the door, the shadow had disappeared.
Clary was someone who couldn’t sleep.
She always had to be prepared to resist an unwelcome visitor who might burst into her room in the middle of the night.
The imperial guards protected the palace, but Clary believed that the only person protecting her room was herself.
A sudden wave of fatigue and helplessness overcame Haster, and he rubbed his eyes with one hand.
‘What in the world did that man who called himself her uncle do to her?’
Far away, the faint sound of a door opening and closing echoed through the empty corridor.
Haster rose from his seat and went outside.
The imperial palace at night was both the same as it was beneath the sun and different.
A black forest draped in mist like a cloak surrounded the palace like a wall topped with sharp iron bars.
Dew upon the grass shimmered silver beneath the clear, cold blue moonlight pouring down.
The wind brushed and scraped against the leaves, creating an eerie and somber melody.
The biting night air was as cold as ice, but the small shadow moved diligently without pausing for even a moment.
After walking for quite some time, the shadow arrived at the tower where prisoners were confined.
When a figure whose face was skillfully concealed beneath a robe appeared without warning, the guard stationed at the tower hardened his expression warily.
However, when the stranger removed the hood, his face quickly relaxed.
The two argued briefly.
It wasn’t long before the guard was the one who surrendered.
He glanced around with anxious eyes, then soon assumed a solemn expression.
When the guard issued some kind of warning, the visitor obediently nodded.
By the time the robed figure had climbed halfway up the stairs, Haster appeared at the tower entrance.
The guard gasped in surprise at the Grand Duke’s appearance.
Haster raised his index finger to his lips.
“Send no one upstairs until I call for you.”
At the man’s quiet command, the guard pressed his lips together and nodded.
Haster silently climbed the stairs without making even the sound of his clothes brushing together.
When he entered the corridor, the murmuring voices of a young woman and an older man drifted from beyond the corner.
After turning the corner and walking a little farther, he saw a man and woman facing each other through a set of iron bars.
Arthur Lurie was inside the cell.
The greasy, smooth-faced middle-aged man now looked more exhausted and weathered than the prison’s aged stone walls.
If Arthur was a withering, bare tree, then the niece standing opposite him was a plant that had only just begun to sprout.
“Why in the world did you do that to me?”
Astonishingly, Arthur Lurie felt not the slightest trace of shame.
His thin lips twisted into an ugly smile, and venomous words spilled from them like filth.
Clary’s face burned bright red as she listened in silence.
It was impossible to tell whether the color came from the torchlight in the prison or from her fury.
She suddenly raised both arms over her head.
A metal fireplace poker was gripped firmly in her pale hands.
Clary swung the iron rod down at the prisoner with all her strength.
“Die!”
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