Chapter 1
The girl awoke.
She pushed herself up from the canopied bed, her gaze darting restlessly around the room. The walls were adorned, as always, with countless paintings. She wiped the sweat from her brow.
“That was... a dream...”
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood and strode briskly to the window, as though trying to shake off the lingering dread of a nightmare. From the castle window, she looked down upon the garden below.
A small white castle nestled on the riverside, far from the royal capital of the Kingdom of Tranlene. In the garden, where red roses bloomed in extravagant profusion, three women in gaudy dresses had gathered for a garden party. Servants bustled about, bringing colorful confections one after another, stacking them high on the dessert tower atop a white iron table with cabriole legs. It was a scene bursting with vivid color and life.
The sound of their cheerful laughter finally allowed the girl to breathe easier.
A girl of barely sixteen—Josée.
Mistress of the white castle known as Château Fournier.
Her hair was an unusual blend of gold and black. When pinned up by her maid’s skilled hands, it formed a striking gradient—from the glint of sunlight to the sheen of polished jet, like freshly unearthed black crystal. Soft curls were secured in place with pearl pins, shaping a graceful, undulating chignon. Josée loved this dazzling hairstyle.
Her appearance was exotic, her origins a mystery. Large black eyes, a small nose and delicate lips, and skin so pale it seemed almost translucent.
She always dressed in black.
As if perpetually in mourning—
After a late breakfast, part of her daily routine, Josée unfolded the newspaper the butler had prepared. Lately, the pages had been filled with grim headlines.
Headless Body Found in Rubton River—Identified as Florist Employee.
Josée inhaled sharply, her expression tightening.
“That’s the third headless corpse this year... What are the police even doing?”
Just then—
“I’ve brought the wine.”
A servant boy entered, bottle in hand. As he uncorked it, Josée turned to look at him, her eyes narrowing. She suddenly rushed to the window and stopped the boy’s hand as he reached for a glass.
“Wait, Marc.”
She took the cork he had removed and held it to her nose, murmuring softly.
“This cork… isn’t from Château Gallois. And—”
The moment she caught the scent, her brow furrowed.
“The wine’s been poisoned. This jasmine-like aroma—it’s yellow jasmine poison.”
Marc went pale, his gaze flicking nervously to the cork. It had absorbed the deep red of the wine, showing no visible signs of tampering.
“Did you get this directly from Château Gallois?”
“Yes.”
“Then it must’ve been swapped during transport. Any suspicions?”
“…We stopped a few times to rest along the way.”
“Then that’s when it happened. I’ll speak with the coachman too. Either way, it’s a good thing we caught it in time.”
Josée turned back to the window. Marc, still shaken, re-corked the bottle with trembling hands.
“That wine was meant to be served to your mothers as well.”
Outside, in the blooming garden, three women basked in the height of spring—the actress Lisette, the singer Michelle, and the dancer Anaïs. All three were courtesans, and Anaïs was Marc’s mother.
“Listen, Marc. If you hadn’t noticed, not just me—even Anaïs could’ve died. Get rid of this immediately, would you?”
Marc nodded and hurried out, bottle in hand.
Josée moved to another window and watched quietly as the boy made his way to the riverside behind the castle.
There, Marc poured out the wine. Moments later, the gray carp in the river floated to the surface, bloated and lifeless. His face twisted with horror. With a cry of rage, he smashed the empty bottle on the stones, glass shattering at his feet.
Josée turned from the window, pacing the room with growing unease.
“I have a bad feeling... What if... the poison wasn’t meant for me, but for today’s guest?”
She was expecting a visitor.
“Could our information have leaked...?”
When Marc returned—his face still pale—Josée issued her next instructions.
“Tell the kitchen: for drinks, bring the half-empty bottle of Château Roscoe’s three-year vintage. It might be rude to serve an opened bottle, but safety is more important.”
“Understood…”
Josée looked once more out the window.
Across the river, a carriage was approaching the bridge.
As it crossed and arrived at the castle gates, Josée stepped out to greet her guest.
From the carriage stepped a young nobleman—broad-shouldered and well-postured, his long black hair tied neatly behind him. He wore a black frock coat that matched his refined, upright bearing. Emerging into the sunlight, he squinted slightly, his expression cool.
Serge de Baradur.
A young politician who had recently won his first election in Donis’s 1st District. The second son of the Baradur Count family, he was known for his strict, upright character—so much so that there were no rumors at all of him visiting brothels.
Which made this meeting all the more unusual.
The visit had been arranged at Serge’s personal insistence.
The catalyst—a single letter.
“We’ve been expecting you, Lord Serge,” said Josée.
The nobleman blinked, taken aback by the girl before him—the mistress of both the castle and the brothel.
“You are... Lady Josée?”
“Yes. I am Josée, mistress of the brothel Lirondelle and of Château Fournier.”
“…I’m surprised. I’d heard you were young, but not this—”
“This?” Josée tilted her head, pouting slightly.
Serge gave a faint smile. “It’s like a doll has come out to greet me.”
Draped in her somber black dress, standing before a castle bursting with roses, Josée smiled. She didn’t seem displeased by the comparison.
“Well then,” she said. “Shall we talk inside first? We can negotiate there.”
The two entered the castle.
In the parlor, the butler brought out the three-year vintage—already opened. Josée chose not to mention the earlier attempt at poisoning.
They sat across from each other. The butler poured wine into Serge’s glass, but he ignored it, getting straight to the point.
“Thank you for your prompt reply. I apologize for the sudden visit—this matter couldn’t be entrusted to my secretary.”
“No need to apologize. I support the policies you’re advocating. I just wanted to help however I could, even in a small way.”
Serge’s shoulders relaxed slightly as he leaned forward.
“You’re referring to women’s suffrage?”
Josée nodded.
“Yes. You’re practically the only one speaking up about it openly right now, aren’t you?”
“Well... most of the older politicians are against it. Only a few younger ones are on board.”
“I believe courtesans deserve a voice in shaping the country. Isn’t that only right? Regardless of gender or profession, we’re all human. Men—even slavers—get the vote simply for being men. Meanwhile, women—be they courtesans or noblewives—are denied that right. It’s absurd.”
“I agree. It’s just common sense. Half of Tranlene’s population is women. But I think the fear runs deep—men are terrified that smarter women will rise up and challenge their hold on power. Even the military uses female spies and communicators, but they’re excluded from politics. There’s no lack of capable women.”
Despite his stern façade, Serge spoke plainly and well—what one might expect from a politician.
Josée cut to the heart of the matter.
“So, Lord Serge. What sort of ‘information’ are you looking to ‘purchase’ from me?”
At that, Serge lowered his voice.
“…Are you familiar with a congressman named Frédéric de Fédor?”
Josée’s breath caught, though she quickly masked her reaction with a calm nod. Frédéric was a regular at Lirondelle—a portly middle-aged nobleman.
“…I know of him.”
“I want everything you have on him. Even the smallest detail.”
“What kind of information, exactly?”
Serge looked her in the eye and spoke clearly.
“Congressman Fédor is suspected of espionage—collusion with a foreign power. Treason.”
The air in the room grew noticeably colder.
“We don’t have enough evidence for the police to act. That’s why I want to plant someone at your brothel—a honeytrap—to gather whatever information we can.”
“A honeytrap...”
“The operation would take about a year. I’ll pay part in advance. We may need an extension depending on what turns up.”
Josée was silent for a moment, considering.
“…What kind of intel are you looking for? This would be my first time managing a honeytrap.”
Serge looked momentarily surprised.
“Your first?”
“Yes.”
“I came here because of the rumors.”
“Rumors?”
“That you joined Lirondelle and quickly unraveled countless underworld scandals. That you rose to control both the brothel and this castle through sheer intelligence and cunning. Too young to be called a ‘Queen of the Underworld,’ you’ve earned a different name—‘The Princess of the Underworld.’”
Josée let out an exasperated scoff.
“The police are useless when it comes to the underworld, so I just gave them a hand a few times. Don’t go putting me on a pedestal—it’s a pain. Even if the underworld holds me in high regard, I’m actually just a fragile, delicate maiden, you know?”
“...Is that so?”
“But if Frédéric-sama really is a spy, staying in contact with him could put us in danger too,” she added, her brow furrowing.
Her mind drifted back to the news article about the headless corpse, and the faint, sickly-sweet scent of poison that had lingered in the air that morning.
By the time she crossed paths with this Serge, it seemed the danger was already circling.
Still... in for a penny, in for a pound.
“Very well, I’ll cooperate. But if we're going to steer clear of political messes and keep my girls safe, I want you to hire guards to protect them. Can you do that?”
“Understood. I’ll see to it immediately.”
“Um... Then, before we move forward with the honeytrap plan, I’d like to introduce you to everyone on the staff. Is that alright?”
“Of course. I don’t mind.”
“Then let’s head to the garden. We’ll have lunch there while you meet the others.”
With that, Josée turned and led Serge out of the reception room.
Behind them, the untouched wine sat silently on the table, forgotten.