Chapter 94
Rasill was striding down the palace corridors with lighter steps than usual. The nobles, who had been so eager to dissuade the war with Phaelon, were all on edge during today’s meeting, speaking of Phaelon’s emperor, Truga, as if he were the devil himself.
“Truga will come to trample the Kingdom of Taran.”
“We must strike first. We can’t just wait to be attacked.”
“At this rate, it’s only a matter of time before we’re swallowed by Phaelon.”
It was Grace’s doing. The result of infiltrating their feeble dreams and thoroughly scrambling their minds.
When she had handled the third prince in such a manner last time, Rasill had wondered if Grace had finally gone mad. But resolving it amicably had yielded such splendid results.
Smiling with satisfaction, Rasill directed his steps toward Grace’s room. Today, even the incessant heat from that infernal fireplace would feel merely warm. He could even toss in a log himself.
However, unlike the buoyant Rasill, Grace’s mood had hit rock bottom. She had thought she’d finally created a vulnerability in Angela by using Dominic, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t enter the woman’s dreams.
It should have shattered by now. That soft-hearted creature, cradling her childhood self in her arms and witnessing her father stab himself with a knife to protect it—there was no way she could endure that. And yet, somehow…
If anything, it felt even more fortified. Before, it had been tantalizingly close, almost within reach; now, even the trace was faint. Enough to stir the anxiety that she might lose Angela forever.
“Damn it!”
Grace hurled logs into the fireplace with a snarl. Even as the flames roared higher, her chilling heart raged for more intense heat.
She felt like she might go mad from the cold. That fireplace had become nearly her lifeline. If it went out, her heart would freeze solid, and she’d die.
To think her life depended on a mere fireplace. How had she fallen so low? No matter how she pondered it, it was all because of those wretched souls at the Bilton estate.
Grace clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. They were things she could erase in an instant if she chose. It was unbelievable that someone with a body as extraordinary as hers had to remain confined to this wretched room.
Just then, Rasill entered Grace’s chamber and frowned at the scene before him. He had thought he could tolerate the scorching heat today, but his enthusiasm evaporated entirely in the face of the room’s boiling temperature.
“At this rate, you’ll burn the whole room down.”
Rasill fanned the hot air in front of his face with waving motions as he approached Grace.
“Would that finally satisfy you?”
At Rasill’s words, Grace leaped from her seat and seized his throat. His sturdy neck yielded to the grip of a woman with merely sharpened nails, constricting tightly.
It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but lately Grace had been obeying orders quite well, so Rasill stared at her with the feeling of a man bitten by his own pet dog.
“Urk, let… go?”
In response to Rasill’s resistance, Grace shoved him away roughly. His words about satisfaction had ignited a surge of anger within her. It felt as if he knew her heart was like a block of ice and was mocking her for it.
She couldn’t leave this room yet, so killing this vulgar king would be problematic. Though, if it were up to her, she’d snap his neck right then and there.
“Cough! Cough!”
She hadn’t squeezed that hard, yet Rasill coughed dramatically.
“Get out. Now.”
Grace shot the words at him coldly.
Rasill gazed steadily at Grace, who was glaring back, before turning and leaving the room. He lingered briefly at the door, but soon his steps moved without hesitation. His destination was his own bedroom.
* * *
Dominic couldn’t snap out of it. Dreams always left him feeling a bit unhinged, but today’s was particularly strange. There was no chance to converse with Angela. He could only watch the scenes unfolding before him.
Over and over, Angela’s wounds were thrust into view. On some days, her nails were broken; on others, her calves were torn open. On still others, she lay curled up motionless, her body wracked with unseen pain.
The dream, which had been relentlessly showing Dominic these harrowing images for what felt like ages, suddenly halted in an abrupt silence.
There stood an extraordinary beauty with shimmering golden hair, green eyes that carried the scent of the forest, and lips tinted like a bitten red fruit. She was gazing silently at the closet.
In that moment, bang bang! From inside the closet came Angela’s voice, pounding on the door and pleading to be saved. Yet the woman didn’t budge. Despite the desperation, she made no move to open it, merely observing.
“Angela!”
So Dominic stepped forward to open it himself. He wanted to rescue his child, huddled inside, to shatter the closet door so it could never close again, and to hold his child in his arms, soothing her that everything was alright.
In no time, the child would stop her tears and smile. Being such a good child, she wouldn’t blame him for being late; instead, she’d nestle warmly against him, grateful that he’d come.
But the hand Dominic extended touched nothing. This had never happened before—as if he weren’t permitted to intrude upon their scene, forced merely to observe.
“Hurry up and get her out!”
All Dominic could do was vent his fury at the golden-haired woman. He screamed for her to pull his child from that dark, cramped space immediately.
But his voice didn’t seem to reach her either. No matter how he shouted, her expression remained unchanged.
With a face more devoid of emotion than mere blankness, she stood there, looking down at the closet containing Angela.
“Angela, my little one!”
Dominic shifted direction and called out to his child inside the closet. He tried to reassure her that her father was here, that she needn’t worry.
But that, too, was futile. From within came not relief, but continued pleas to be saved, to be let out. Gradually, the pounding grew fainter. The begging subsided bit by bit.
And still, there was nothing he could do. It was as Dominic sank to his knees in despair that a laugh escaped the woman’s lips in a fleeting instant.
“Ahaha.”
The laugh was so innocently bright it tickled the ears, but tangled with the circumstances, it only sent chills down his spine. It was in that moment, as Dominic glared at the woman in rage.
As if yanked by something, his awareness snapped back sharply.
Looking around, he saw it was pitch-black night. He was in his own bed in his room, with no daughter pleading to be saved. The wicked woman who had stood by was gone as well.
Instead of the dazed eyes lost in a dream, Dominic fixed a sharp gaze on the empty air. His eyes held the clarity of someone who had realized exactly what he needed to do.
There were things trying to steal his child from him. Things obstructing his reach. It was time to eliminate them, one by one.
* * *
After Rasill departed, Grace immediately invaded Dominic’s consciousness and toyed with him as a way to vent her frustration. She bombarded him ceaselessly with scenes designed to torment.
Then, suddenly, she recalled the image from the previous night: when she had tried to pry Angela away from him as she clung, Dominic had swung his sword at his real daughter without a moment’s hesitation.
Ah… perhaps she could make use of that.
If a stabbing in a dream couldn’t create a crack, what about one in reality? After all, Angela wouldn’t die from being slashed and torn a few times by Dominic’s blade.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than Grace conjured an illusion. Planting a delusion in the mind of someone whose spirit was crumbling was among the most trivial of her abilities.
The corners of Grace’s lips, previously twisted in frustration, now curved into a pleased arc.
* * *
“What? I think I misheard you, my lady. Could you say that again?”
Mary’s eyes, which had been fixed on Angela like a broken machine, were now drenched in tears. The moment Angela announced she would be departing for the battlefield and could not take Mary with her, the tears had begun to fall.
Like raindrops pouring heavily without a single storm cloud, they showed no sign of stopping. Angela, too weary to scold her to stop, simply gazed at Mary.
It was only after a long while, with her lips trembling and clogged with sobs, that Mary finally managed to speak.
“I… I really can’t go?”
Her voice, hiccupping through the question, carried a tender whine. But there was no helping it. Angela had no desire to bring Mary to such a perilous place. She shook her head firmly.
“No, it’s not a place for a child.”
“But I… I…!”
At that, Mary raised one arm dramatically, as if making a grand announcement.
“I’ve grown so much taller! My maid’s uniform got too small… so, um, I had a new one made just recently…”
Mary’s voice, bold at first, dwindled under Angela’s unwavering gaze. With a whimper, she crumpled her face and began wiping her tears again.
Angela knew well that Mary had shot up in height recently. But growing taller didn’t suddenly make a child an adult. And even if Mary reached twenty or thirty, to Angela, she would never cease being a child.
On this matter, Angela would not yield.
“If you wait here patiently, I’ll take you to every party held in Lon when I return.”
At those words, Mary lifted her head from where it had been buried in her hands and looked at Angela. Her tear-soaked eyes seemed to ask if she meant it.
When Angela gave a brisk nod, Mary swallowed the sob caught in her throat and flung her arms wide. It was an impudent gesture for a maid to show her mistress, but if Angela didn’t mind, that was enough.
Angela enveloped Mary in her arms, gently stroking her curly hair.
“So wait here like a good girl. And don’t let Jorah or Hilda teach you anything naughty.”
No sooner had Angela finished speaking than Mary peeked up at her. Those chestnut eyes were so clear they could have been pure white, their innocence reflected in her words.
“They only teach me good things, so you don’t have to worry.”
Hmm, that’s exactly why I’m telling you not to learn those “good” things so carelessly.
Angela murmured this to herself, continuing to stroke Mary’s hair. Oblivious, Mary lingered in Angela’s embrace, as if trying to commit her scent to memory.
* * *
“What in the world are you wearing?”
Returning to the room late, Kalian furrowed his brow as he looked at Angela. It wasn’t an irritated expression but one of genuine shock at her unexpected attire.
And no wonder. Angela in trousers? Even when she’d learned archery from Kalian as a child, she’d never dressed like this.
Angela ran her fingers along a slightly twisted suspender, straightening it, then spread her arms to show Kalian.
“My battle fashion. I heard this is all the rage on the battlefield these days.”
Fashion on a battlefield? If that were trendy, blood-soaked armor would be too. Though her shrug was playful, Kalian asked anyway.
“Who in the world told you that?”
Angela tilted her head toward Mary, who was slumped on the sofa, fast asleep from exhaustion.
After crying for hours, Mary had suddenly remembered something important and dashed off with a friendly servant, returning with an armful of trousers and shirts in every color and design.
She’d insisted that dresses were too cumbersome and impractical, then proceeded to dress Angela in nearly twenty different outfits, putting them on and taking them off.
“Wow, they all fit perfectly! You’re going to shine the brightest on the battlefield, my lady.”
“Mary.”
“Yes?”
“If I shine the brightest on the battlefield, I’ll be a target. And then your lady will be the first to die.”
That had been Angela’s plea to end the dress-up game. But Mary, crestfallen, had brought out an entirely black outfit, fretting that even then Angela might still stand out. Then she’d anxiously muttered about finding the least flattering clothes until she collapsed from exhaustion.
Hearing Angela’s weary explanation, Kalian let out a short laugh.
“Sometimes it feels like you’re raising a child.”
“Raising a child?”
Angela’s gaze shifted from Mary, who was smacking her lips as if dreaming of something delicious, and she muttered.
“I barely grew up properly myself. How could I raise anyone?”
