Terror flooded the little girl’s eyes. A red ribbon sat askew in her hair, forgotten as tears welled and then spilled over. A moment later, she burst into desperate, wailing sobs, as though she had just come face-to-face with a monster.
Duke Leandro Bellatore’s brow furrowed in irritation. With a dismissive wave, he gestured the child away. An orphanage worker, who had been hovering anxiously by the door, scurried in to retrieve the girl and carry her out.
As the child’s wails faded down the hall, Leandro sighed.
“How long do I have to keep doing this?”
The sigh stirred his black bangs. His gaze, dull with boredom, flickered over the empty space the child had just occupied before drifting to a bottle of whiskey on the orphanage director’s desk.
“This was your decision, Your Grace,” his secretary, Silas, reminded him from just behind his shoulder.
“A new record, I believe,” Silas added dryly.
“The children start crying the moment they see your face.”
This was the fifth orphanage Leandro Bellatore had visited.
“The instant they lay eyes on you, they’re terrified.”
“Now that you mention it,” Leandro mused, “my sword has been dry for quite some time.”
“...How rude of them, truly. It is a testament to their ignorance.”
To fail to recognize the greatness of the Duke.
Silas, quickly adjusting his stance, was just as exhausted as his master. They needed to return to the Bellatore territory, yet here they were, trudging from one orphanage to the next, extending a journey that was already long enough.
Silas’s gaze fell upon Leandro Bellatore. As the Duke of Bellatore, ruler of the harsh and perilous northern lands, Leandro had always been a man of striking features—both handsome and intimidating. His hair and eyes were a depthless, endless black. His lips, though faintly colored, were well-formed above a sharp nose and chiseled jaw that flowed into a strong, masculine throat. Even through his fine clothes, the powerful build of a body honed by years of relentless training was undeniable. As the head of one of the empire’s only two Ducal houses, he was, without question, its most eligible bachelor.
Yet his remarkable looks were utterly overshadowed by the sheer weight of his presence. He was born the living embodiment of his family’s moniker: the “Onyx Lion of the North.” He was a man who could kill with a look.
Even Silas, after years of service, still found himself flinching at times. What chance did a small child stand?
But why is he suddenly looking for a child?
The whole affair had begun just a few days ago. Upon his return from the imperial palace, Leandro Bellatore had tossed his coat to the butler and announced, as casually as if commenting on the weather, “I’m going to adopt a child.” And now here he was, personally touring the nation’s orphanages, leaving a trail of weeping children in his wake.
Wouldn’t it be easier to simply marry?
An heir of his own blood would follow in due course. Silas couldn’t fathom his master’s logic. No matter how intimidating the Duke was, he remained the empire’s most sought-after bachelor. There was never a shortage of noble houses eager to offer up their daughters. Silas recalled the previous winter, when the mere rumor of Leandro Bellatore considering marriage had sent the aristocracy into a frenzy. The deluge of letters and portraits had been enough to keep the mansion’s fireplaces roaring through the coldest months.
“Was that the last child?”
The Duke’s voice pulled Silas from his thoughts of blazing hearths.
“Yes, that was the eighteenth and final child.”
Silas signaled a nearby knight, who understood at once and stepped outside to prepare for their departure. As the large, imposing Bellatore carriage was readied, Leandro and Silas emerged from the orphanage.
“You’re leaving already?”
The orphanage director hurried after them, rubbing his hands together. Though a winter chill was settling in the air, his flushed face was slick with sweat and grease.
“I only regret that we couldn’t offer you a more fitting reception,” he added.
His tone was one of feigned disappointment, but his expression was pure relief. A flicker of greed shone in his eyes.
“The children here are truly beautiful and well-behaved. To meet Your Grace even once is the fortune of a lifetime. But, well… winter is coming. I fear how these poor children will survive…”
Silas felt a stab of skepticism. The other orphanages they had visited were not wealthy, but their children had warm winter clothes and the facilities were maintained. This place was different. The playground was broken, decorative flowerpots hid shattered windows, and cracks spiderwebbed the walls. The director clearly had no interest in the orphanage beyond what he could take from it.
The children’s behavior had been different, too. In other orphanages, the terrified children had run to their teachers for comfort. Here, they had flinched away from the staff members’ touch.
Leandro Bellatore was here to find a child, using the pretense of financial assessment as his cover. This orphanage, like the others, would receive Bellatore funding. But looking at the director’s grasping hands, Silas felt for the first time that it was a waste of his master’s wealth.
Though, compared to the Bellatore fortune, it’s less than dust.
A sharp cry cut through the air behind them.
Everyone turned. A startled teacher had a small child by the arm and was scolding her.
The child responded by biting down hard on the man’s hand.
He yelped and let go. The girl didn’t hesitate. She darted forward and planted herself directly in the Duke’s path, arms and legs spread wide to block his way.
Leandro Bellatore, the only one who hadn’t turned at the sound, slowly lowered his gaze to the defiant little thing before him.
The first thing he noticed was her filthy clothes and greasy, unkempt hair. Every other child he had seen today had at least been clean. This one looked as though she hadn't washed in days, her clothes little better than the rags used by mansion maids.
But for all her filth, her eyes sparkled like gold flecks in mud.
A collective gasp went through the onlookers.
Silas and the knights went pale at her audacity. Calling Leandro Bellatore “mister”? It was an offense beyond excuse. Several of the knights looked as if they expected to be beheaded on the spot.
Silas, struggling to compose himself, was simply astonished. She was the first child not to cry at the sight of Leandro Bellatore. But that wasn’t what shocked him most.
Her hair and eyes…!
They were the same pitch-black as the Duke’s.
“M-My apologies! I’ll handle this at once—”
The director rushed forward, but Leandro Bellatore raised a single hand, stopping him. The director froze, his body trembling under the Duke’s cold, black gaze.
At a silent command from the Duke, Silas quickly scanned the orphanage’s records.
“She is not on the list, Your Grace.”
The director stammered out an explanation.
“Th-That one is unruly, always causing trouble, so—”
“So you ignored the Duke’s order?” Silas’s voice was like ice. “I made it perfectly clear that His Grace wished to see every child in this orphanage.”
“M-My apologies! Please forgive me!”
The director and the other staff members fell to their knees, bowing their heads in terror. The child simply watched them, her expression one of utter disinterest.
“And what,” Leandro Bellatore said, his voice low, “is your name?”
“Even orphans have names.”
“The adults here call me ‘Mina.’ But I hate it.”
They usually just yelled ‘Hey!’ at her. It was only when they were hitting her that they seemed to remember she had a name. She’d hated it even before she learned it was stolen from a prostitute in one of the director’s smutty novels.
Leandro Bellatore stared into her glittering black eyes.
“...You’re not afraid.”
His sharp black eyes narrowed, and a savage, crimson light flickered in their depths. A crushing pressure filled the air. The child’s shoulders hunched instinctively, but she did not retreat or lower her arms.
“Do you have any idea whose path you are blocking?”
He laced his voice with a hint of menace, and at last, the child’s arms began to tremble. For the first time, fear crossed the face that had been so bold. Her dark eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“I could take your head from your shoulders right now, and not a soul would question it.”
As Leandro took a step forward, the child flinched back. But still, she did not yield. Gritting her teeth, she held her ground on pure stubbornness.
Then, Leandro Bellatore stopped.
He looked down at the child, at the black eyes that were the mirror of his own. For just an instant, her gaze shimmered, like gold dust scattered across a starless night.
The words were leaving his mouth before he’d consciously formed them.
He ran a hand over his jaw, studying the small creature who barely reached his thigh. She was bold and unafraid—or rather, she was terrified and refused to back down. It was… interesting.
“That name doesn’t suit you.”
‘Mina’ was far too soft a name for this wild, fearless cub.
The dangerous red gleam faded from Leandro’s eyes, leaving them a deep, pure black. He would give her a name that fit.
The child’s mouth fell open.
“…That’s too long.”
“Bellatrix is your name, you fool.”
“When we return to the territory, I’ll need to hire a tutor.”
Muttering to himself about all the things she needed to be taught, Leandro effortlessly lifted Bellatrix and tossed her into the waiting carriage.
She landed on a plush seat with a soft thud, then let out a shriek of outrage.
Behind them, Silas and the knights could only stare, their faces blank with shock.
Snapping out of it, Silas lunged for the carriage door.
“Your Grace, wait! What is—?!”
He stopped short, met with an even more absurd sight.
The Onyx Lion of the North, the infamous Leandro Bellatore, was holding the tiny, furious Bellatrix at bay with a single finger pressed to her forehead. And he was smirking.
Bellatrix seethed, glaring up at him.
“Do you get some kind of sick thrill from messing with kids? Is this fun for you?”
“More fun than I expected.”
“Ugh, you’re a pervert!”
“Such language…”
So this was why old men sighed when they talked about their children.
Amused by the thought, Leandro lowered his hand.
Bellatrix narrowed her big, round eyes and growled at him like a cornered animal.
For the first time, Leandro Bellatore called her by her new name.
On the side of the carriage, the crest of House Bellatore gleamed in the dimming light—a roaring black lion.
A lion that roars—Leandro.
No name could be more fitting for the daughter of House Bellatore.