Rosavelle remained silent for several seconds.
Areth's words had fallen into the room like a heavy stone. As a slave, the sentences she had heard throughout her life were usually commands, threats, or insults. But what she had just heard… resembled none of those.
The fingers holding the goblet trembled slightly.
"My potential?" she finally whispered.
There was clear astonishment in her voice.
Areth gave a slight nod. Leaning back in his chair, he continued watching her. He had no intention of cornering her. People like this, when they felt trapped, either shut down completely or broke apart.
He did not want Rosavelle to break.
"Yes, your potential."
Rosavelle's gaze slowly drifted down to the table. In the red wine inside the goblet, she saw her own reflection. For a few seconds, she seemed to stare at it as if thinking.
Then she gently shook her head.
"I think you must be mistaking me for someone else, my lord."
Her voice carried a shy tone, but it was not entirely uncertain. It sounded more like… a familiar denial.
Areth raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Really?"
Rosavelle lowered her head further. Her long pink hair slid over her shoulder, partially hiding her face. Her fingers were still wrapped around the goblet, though she had not taken a single sip.
"I am only… a slave."
There was a strange calmness in her voice as she said it. As if she had told those same words to herself hundreds of times. Perhaps she truly had.
Areth remained silent for a few seconds. As he watched her, scenes from the novel passed through his mind. The same woman… yet in a completely different state. Back then, there had been cold determination in her eyes instead of fear. Her hands had been stained with blood. And people had feared her.
But the person sitting before him now looked almost like a timid girl.
It was strange to see how time and circumstances could change a person.
Areth finally spoke.
"It is true that you are a slave."
Rosavelle's shoulders stiffened slightly. But Areth immediately finished the sentence.
"For now."
Rosavelle lifted her head.
This time, her eyes showed clear surprise.
Areth placed his elbows on the table and clasped his fingers together. He was not speaking randomly.
"Rosavelle… I am going to ask you a question."
The girl lowered her head slightly.
"Yes, my lord."
Areth studied her for several seconds. He was genuinely curious about how she would respond.
"Up until now… have you ever experienced something strange?"
Rosavelle's brows knitted together slightly.
"Strange…?"
Areth nodded.
"Yes. Things that are difficult to explain."
He paused for a moment, then spoke more clearly.
"For example, hearing things that people never said."
Rosavelle suddenly bit her lip. Areth noticed it immediately. For a few seconds, her face looked completely frozen. Then she quickly lowered her head. Her long hair fell forward, hiding her face entirely.
"I… don't understand what you mean, my lord."
Areth instantly knew it was a lie. The girl was not a terrible liar. But her body betrayed her. Areth exhaled quietly. So he had remembered correctly. Rosavelle could hear people's thoughts. Or at the very least… their emotions and intentions.
The novel had never clearly explained how this ability first manifested, but one thing was certain: the power had been within her for years. More precisely, she had been born with it.
The problem was that Rosavelle saw it as a curse. Since she was not fully aware of her talent, she never tried to learn. Because she had no idea how the ability had come to her.
Areth leaned slightly forward in his chair.
"Rosavelle."
The girl slowly raised her head. Her eyes were more tense this time. Areth looked directly into them.
"Everyone knows who your father was, yet no one knows who your mother was. Do you know who your mother is?"
Rosavelle's eyes widened instantly.
It was as if Areth had just touched an invisible wound. Her back straightened involuntarily, and her fingers tightened further around the goblet. The wine inside rippled slightly.
"…my mother?" she whispered.
The word carried a strange tone as it left her lips. Rosavelle sounded like someone who had rarely used it.
Areth did not answer. He simply watched her.
Rosavelle's gaze drifted back down to the table. She remained silent for several seconds. The expression on her face clearly showed that she was thinking. She seemed to be searching for something in her memories… and when she found it, a smile as beautiful as she was spread across her face, even if only for a moment.
Finally, she slowly shook her head.
"Not exactly, my lord."
Her voice was quite calm.
But it was the calmness of someone who had long accepted something.
Rosavelle relaxed her fingers. She carefully placed the goblet on the table, though she still had not drunk from it. It seemed as if she had only been holding it to keep her hands occupied.
"When I was a child, I asked a few times," she continued.
Her voice dropped slightly.
"My mother changed the subject every time. All I can say is that she was an elf and the two of us were quite similar to each other.… I know that pink hair is rare among elves. But after a while… I stopped asking."
Areth had expected that answer. He lightly tapped his fingers against the table. The sound echoed faintly between the stone walls.
"Then one more thing."
Rosavelle raised her head.
Areth's gaze had sharpened, though his tone remained calm.
"When you were a child… did you ever notice that sometimes what people said to you and what they were thinking while looking at you were different?"
Rosavelle's breath halted for a moment. This time she did not deny it. But she did not answer immediately either. Her shoulders tensed slightly. Her eyes moved across Areth's face, as if trying to determine how much he truly knew.
Finally, she parted her lips.
"…sometimes," she said very quietly.
Rosavelle remained silent for a few more seconds. Then the words began to slip out of her mouth as if unwillingly.
"Sometimes… when people smiled at me…" she said.
Her fingers interlocked.
"…I could feel that they were thinking different things inside."
She lowered her head further.
"At first I thought it was just my imagination."
Her voice was growing quieter.
"Then… sometimes I realized I could actually hear the words."
Areth listened carefully.
Rosavelle closed her eyes.
"It didn't last long," she continued. "It was like someone speaking from very far away."
She opened her eyes again.
"Sometimes just a single word. Sometimes a sentence."
She took a deep breath.
"…most of the time they were bad things."
This time, a faint, broken smile appeared on her lips.
"But I didn't tell anyone… I didn't want them to think I had lost my mind or that something was haunting me. Because I thought my mother would be upset if she found out."
Areth slowly leaned back in his chair. This confession was important. Because Rosavelle looked as though she was telling someone about it for the very first time. Rosavelle was quiet for a moment before timidly breaking the silence.
"But… how… do you know this?"
There was still fear in her voice. But alongside that fear, there was now a strong curiosity.
Areth did not answer immediately. For several seconds he simply looked into Rosavelle's eyes. He could clearly see the suppressed fear and shame inside her. Because for years she had believed this was a curse.
"I can't tell you how I know right now, but I can tell you it isn't a curse. It's a talent."
Rosavelle's eyes widened again.
Areth paused briefly. Then he added,
"And if you learn how to use it properly… it could become one of the most dangerous abilities in the world."
Rosavelle stared at him for several moments. As if trying to understand the sentence. Then an almost inaudible question slipped from her lips.
"…how could someone like me… be dangerous?"
Areth sighed as if he was a little overwhelmed, rolled his eyes, and then spoke, looking directly into her blue eyes.
"Rosavelle, why do you belittle yourself so much? Your father was a legendary sorcerer-king who once killed two powerful assassins sent to kill him at the height of his power. As for your mother… I think it's still too early to speak about her. But she was certainly no ordinary person. Believe me, your mother was at least as extraordinary as your father. When your parents were that abnormal, why would you be normal?"
Hearing these words, particularly the part about her mother, Rosavelle turned her full attention to Areth Her mind could not immediately accept what Areth had said.
Of course, she had heard the legends about her father. As a child, there had always been whispers in the palace corridors, stories exchanged between guards about battles and victories. None of that was unfamiliar to her.
But no one had ever told him stories about his mother.
Yet Areth was speaking of it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Rosavelle's gaze slowly lowered to the table. Her fingers intertwined again. She said nothing for a while.
"…my father…" she finally whispered.
The word left her mouth with difficulty. She paused for a moment.
"My father was truly powerful. He rarely spoke. People were afraid of him… but he never treated me badly."
Then she mentioned her mother.
"And my mother… she…"
A beautiful smile bloomed across her face.
"She was the most perfect person I have ever known. Someone who hated no one and always smiled…"
Rosavelle's eyes drifted toward a distant point. The stone walls of the room seemed to lose their meaning for her. She was pulling something from the depths of her memory. Then a faint shadow appeared on her lips.
Then she slowly shook her head.
"Even so… that doesn't mean I'm special, my lord."
Her voice had returned to that familiar shy tone.
"I'm just…"
Her sentence trailed off.
Rosavelle seemed to be searching for the right word.
"…an unlucky girl."
Rosavelle's greatest problem was not her ability.
Her greatest problem… was how she saw herself.
After suffering years of bullying from her step-siblings, after being dragged through slave markets for months, bought, sold, and humiliated by strangers, how could someone like that possibly see herself as different?
It was not easy.
"Rosavelle."
The girl immediately lifted her head.
Areth's gaze was calm, but his words came sharply.
"Unlucky people are not sold for eight hundred gold at a slave market. Unlucky people aren't this beautiful. Unlucky people cannot hear other people's thoughts. And talent does not flow through the veins of unlucky people."
Rosavelle's cheeks flushed, turning the same shade as her pink hair. No one except her mother had ever praised her so much. She felt a little embarrassed, but Areth continued speaking.
"Rosavelle, most people are ordinary. But some people… are not born ordinary. And some people are born with the potential to change the world."
Rosavelle's eyes met his again. This time, her gaze held a mix of hope and doubt, but also the tension that came from the potential for disappointment. But she still shook her head slightly.
"…I'm not someone like that, my lord."
Her words were gentle, yet carried a familiar stubbornness.
Areth smiled faintly when he saw it.
"No, not yet."