Chapter 73
She must have fainted. When she came to, a familiar face was looking down at Angela with worry.
“Are you coming around?”
It was Yvonne. Her voice was filled with concern. Her lips looked chapped, as if she hadn’t taken a single sip of water while waiting for Angela to wake up. Yet, the moment Angela opened her eyes, Yvonne poured her a glass of lukewarm water.
Angela drank about half of it and handed it back. Then she wondered why it wasn’t Kalian there instead.
It wasn’t that he absolutely had to be there, but it was only natural to think that way, since Kalian would never leave the side of a collapsed Angela.
As if reading her thoughts, Yvonne provided the answer.
“He’s gone to His Grace’s room. It seems they have something to discuss.”
Angela nodded and lay back down after briefly sitting up to drink the water. It wasn’t because she felt particularly tired, but because her startled heart hadn’t yet settled. She wanted to rest her body and mind.
Turning her head in the direction where Kalian had gone, what she noticed were the marks of scratches, gouges, and dents from nails—like the aftermath of a brutal attack. They were the traces Grace had left behind.
Her body, which would heal on its own even if scarred, couldn’t hide Grace’s remnants. Angela stared blankly at them until her consciousness faded again.
The wounds, tangled like a spider’s web, were unsightly. But that wasn’t why she had lost consciousness. It was because those indelible traces of Grace felt like the marks of abuse still lingering inside her.
No matter how much she erased, removed, covered over, or recovered, they ultimately remained.
Unable to bring herself to check near her chest, Angela curled up on her side. As she did, Yvonne straightened the disheveled blanket over her. The patting hand touched one arm and then withdrew, repeating the motion.
“Yvonne.”
At Angela’s call, Yvonne responded, “Yes, miss.” To anyone else, it might have sounded impassive, but it was a voice from a very distant past that Angela remembered.
“Will you sing me a lullaby?”
Angela said this and closed her eyes without waiting for a reply. The patting hand, which had hesitated for a moment, resumed, and a gentle song flowed from Yvonne’s lips.
Before Beatrice was born, on nights when Angela returned from being summoned by Grace, Yvonne would always put her to sleep like this.
It was a song sung out of worry that nightmares might invade the dreams of the young lady who had endured a grueling day.
When Angela heard this song, she felt like she could bravely overcome anything. Even if she had to go to Grace’s room again the next day when called, it gave her strength.
So, when she could no longer hear it, how sorrowful it had been.
She could have ordered it to be sung, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so, fearing it would shatter the time she remembered.
Hearing it again like this feels so good.
“Keep singing.”
Angela whined as she drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow, she would be able to go to Grace’s room again.
* * *
Dominic pulled out a box that hadn’t been touched in a long time. There was no accumulated dust, but the lock creaked as if it might snap the key, revealing just how long it had been neglected.
What Dominic took out from inside the box was a pass that allowed free entry to the Dawson ducal family’s estate. He handed it straight to Kalian.
“Thank you. I’ll make good use of it.”
Kalian glanced at the Dawson family crest engraved on the pass and then looked directly at Dominic.
The Dawson family hadn’t responded to Kalian’s letter. Waiting leisurely for that wasn’t feasible now, with such scars etched into Angela’s heart. That’s when this face suddenly came to mind.
After all, Dominic was the son-in-law of the Dawson ducal family, so he might have at least one pass, he thought. Fortunately, the guess was spot on.
“Angela too…!”
As Kalian turned to leave after a greeting, Dominic called out in a rough voice. No longer coughing and looking sickly as before, but with an uneasy glint in his eyes that reached Kalian as he turned back.
“Are you planning to take Angela there as well?”
There, meaning the Dawson ducal family’s territory. Kalian nodded calmly.
“She’ll want to go.”
Dominic let out a sigh with a displeased expression. Probably because he knew that Angela, based on appearance alone, was someone the Dawson family wouldn’t welcome.
Even so, he had no right to block Angela’s path. Knowing that, Dominic soon nodded in understanding.
“Come back safely.”
He left just those words. Kalian knew they were entirely sincere. Yet, as he left Dominic’s room, Kalian smirked bitterly.
After urging her to drink poison, now he’s talking about her safety?
On the way back to Angela’s room, Kalian imagined wildly smashing every statue in the hallway and tearing the ornate paintings to shreds before burning them.
Then, he would boast to Angela that he had destroyed the Bilton mansion that had crushed her. Maybe then she would forgive him, at least as much as she was part of this mansion.
It was a pathetic and calculating thought, especially considering Angela would undoubtedly pat his head and say he did well.
* * *
The next morning.
Angela and Kalian, who had returned to the Florence mansion early, packed their things and set off immediately for the Dawson ducal family’s territory. It wasn’t far. It was a distance that took about half a day by carriage.
The fact that no reply had come from such a nearby place meant it was likely avoidance—they didn’t want to get involved with the Grace issue.
Even so, there was nothing to be done. Respecting others’ wishes, but on this side, the matter was urgent.
“I’m sorry, because of me.”
Inside the jolting carriage, Angela offered an out-of-the-blue apology. Kalian furrowed his entire face from forehead to chin. At the intense reaction, Angela quickly added,
“For making you move around like this when you’re injured.”
The corner of her eye subtly pointed to Kalian’s abdomen. It was the wound from being cut by Alcyone’s beak yesterday. He had gotten stitches—Kalian recalled the fact he had even forgotten.
Now that he thought about it, it did throb, but on the battlefield, an injury like this wasn’t even an excuse for discomfort. Pouring alcohol into torn flesh for disinfection was routine, after all.
“I’d even forgotten I was injured.”
He stated the fact, but Angela still seemed concerned. After hesitating, she lowered her head slightly and blew a soft “hoo” toward his waist area. Even from a distance, it felt like a ticklish breath touching him.
“Get better soon.”
At Angela’s words, Kalian abruptly began patting himself down. He started inspecting his hands and arms this way and that. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he extended his right hand toward her.
There was a scratch on the back of it, no bigger than a fingernail. Angela let out a soft chuckle and blew another gentle “hoo” over it.
* * *
An unusual visitor had arrived at the empress’s palace. Or rather, calling him a visitor felt absurd. After all, he was the master of this entire imperial palace.
The one most frozen by Truga’s arrival wasn’t Anette, but her maids. They seemed determined to stay on high alert, their every movement precise—even the way they set down the teacups carried an air of strict propriety. It was clear they were resolved to ensure the empress faced no blame from the emperor on their account.
Yet Truga wasn’t the sort to nitpick at a maid’s behavior and take the empress to task over it. It wasn’t a matter of generosity; he simply didn’t care. Unless the maids harbored some insolence and deliberately spilled tea on him, Truga clearly wouldn’t spare it a second thought.
That very indifference made his visit all the more puzzling.
“I heard about the attack on the Bilton mansion yesterday—the one by Alcyone.”
Anette had been startled half to death, but she was unharmed. Most of the injured were the knights who had faced Alcyone directly, not the guests.
It was regrettable damage incurred from fighting while trying to protect both the building and the people, which had restricted their movements. Even so, she’d heard none of them had suffered life-threatening wounds.
Truga couldn’t possibly be unaware of that. Which made his personal visit to the empress’s palace all the harder to fathom.
“I’m fine. It was the knights who followed me who got caught up and took the brunt of it.”
Truga, who had been gazing at Anette, lowered his voice as if broaching the true purpose of his visit.
“If it’s Alcyone, that’s the species that inhabits the borderlands between Phaelon and the Taran Kingdom.”
Ah, so that’s why he’s come. Anette finally thought she understood the reason for this unexpected call. He was inquiring whether this incident might be the work of the Taran Kingdom.
“It’s beyond my purview.”
Anette responded with calm composure. It was nothing but the truth, after all.
Seated in Phaelon’s empress palace, all she knew of the Taran Kingdom came from the intelligence Tristan had brought her not long ago. It was news that Rasil’s movements seemed off.
He was ruthless by nature, but what could be more off about him? Yet the signs pointed to him preparing for war. Anette was here precisely to avoid bloodshed—another war would be unthinkable.
Before things escalated, the brothers’ opinion was to depose Rasil. Anette agreed with them entirely.
Truga rubbed his chin lightly, then spoke again.
“I wasn’t suspecting the empress. I was just curious whether your brother—the crown prince of Taran—has the power to unleash something like that.”
“…It’s true he was so brutal he wasn’t welcomed even among his siblings, but… well. The idea that he has the strength to move a beast like that all the way to Ron? That’s news to me as well.”
Anette shook her head. Yet Truga still seemed to harbor suspicions about Rasil. And truthfully, so did she.
Unless it was some schemer’s plot, what reason would there be for a monster to appear out of nowhere in the heart of Ron? It was as she regarded him with wary eyes that he spoke.
“I heard a man named Tristan came to see you…”
Sensing that Anette knew nothing of this incident, Truga shifted to another topic.
“Is he trustworthy?”
Anette, who had long since heard the rumors of Tristan’s audience with Phaelon’s emperor, gave Truga a casual glance, prompting him to continue.
It was an utterly out-of-the-blue question.
She couldn’t very well say to trust him if told to, or distrust him if ordered not to. Pondering how best to respond, Anette soon opened her mouth.
“He was a man in my employ back in Taran. If Your Majesty trusts my word, then trusting him would be a show of faith in this neglected wife of yours, wouldn’t it?”
* * *
Leaning her head against Kalian’s arm, Angela gazed at the passing scenery outside the carriage. Then, with a soft “ah,” she parted her lips and leaned toward the window.
Kalian’s eyes followed her. In the distance, the Dawson ducal castle came into view. It was still no larger than a thumbnail, yet Angela clung to the window like a child brimming with equal parts excitement and trepidation.
“The road winds quite a bit from here. It’ll take another three or four hours to arrive.”
Even at Kalian’s words, Angela couldn’t tear her gaze from the far-off sight. How long had it been like that? Her lips parted slowly.
“When I was little…”
Kalian tensed his shoulders. Whenever she spoke of her childhood, it always dredged up the worst of memories, so steeling oneself was essential just to listen.
“I once wrote a letter to my maternal grandparents.”
It had been on a day when Beatrice was born, when Yvonne had turned away from her, and Grace’s persecution weighed heaviest. In her young heart, she had desperately wanted to escape the Bilton mansion, if only for a fleeting moment. Even an instant would do.
So she wrote to a grandmother whose face she didn’t know, begging to visit the Dawson castle. In the letter, she tried to keep it light, lest anyone discover her attempt to run away, but the desperation was vivid—clear only to Angela herself.
The reply that came back was the letter itself, unopened. No rejection could have been more unequivocal.
Angela had stood there, dazed, clutching the returned envelope before racing to her room to burn it. She was mortified at the thought that someone might find out she had sent such a thing.
“And yet here I am, arriving uninvited.”
From behind, Kalian pulled Angela into an embrace. He drew her away from the carriage window and trapped her in his arms. As if to say she shouldn’t even look at that wretched place, he buried his lips against the nape of her neck and whispered.
“I should have come armed.”
It was an intrusion without permission anyway—rather than flashing a pass, he should have torn down the walls and stormed in. He’d chosen far too gentlemanly a path.
“Shall I summon the knights even now?”
His words were so absurd that Angela’s eyes crinkled in laughter. She wondered if he might actually be a warmonger at heart.
Anything tied to her, and Kalian cast aside even the values he held dear. Seeing that, Angela quickly forgot the child she had been—clutching that returned letter, unsure what to do.
