Chapter 108: A Visit to the Sickbed
“The Hugo family, you say?”
“Yes, they said they’re coming to visit.”
At those words, Damian’s expression stiffened. His Adam’s apple bobbed slowly as he swallowed dryly.
Aracila had already been forthright with her family about how she’d been injured. She’d decided there was no point in concocting flimsy excuses—once the culprit was uncovered, the truth would inevitably surface. Lying to her family would only complicate things, so she’d chosen honesty.
Damian, aware of this, felt a knot of tension in his chest.
Aracila had been hurt because she’d taken an attack meant for him, and from the perspective of the Hugo family, he was undoubtedly the object of their resentment and anger. They might even grab him by the collar the moment they laid eyes on him.
He couldn’t fathom what words of apology could possibly suffice.
With a heavy heart, Damian had barely begun to set aside his book when Audrey entered to announce the arrival of the Hugo family.
“Madam, Master, the Hugo family is here. Shall I show them to the room?”
“Yes, Audrey,” Aracila replied with a gentle nod.
Damian, his face slightly pale, rose from his chair and stepped aside to the small table by the window.
Moments later, the door to the bedroom swung open with a bang, and the Hugo family burst in.
“Good heavens, what in the world happened, Aracila?!”
“Oh, my poor girl! Are you all right?”
“Ari! Are you badly hurt?”
The Marchioness, Marquis Hugo, and Iris spilled into the room, their voices tumbling over one another in a frantic cascade.
“Big sister!”
Adrian, his face on the verge of tears, rushed to Aracila and threw his arms around her.
In an instant, the bedroom was filled with clamor. Aracila, gently stroking Adrian’s head as he clung to her, looked around at her family.
“Thank you all for coming to see me. But I’m fine, really. It’s just a broken right arm and leg—I only need to rest for a couple of weeks.”
Her calm, soft-spoken response prompted the Marchioness to press a hand to her forehead.
“Oh, you foolish girl! Didn’t I tell you to be more careful?”
Unable to hold back, she landed a sharp swat on her second daughter’s back. Aracila, caught off guard, twisted slightly in pain.
“Mom, that hurts!”
“What, did you think I was trying to tickle you? Honestly, how do you manage to drive me up the wall like this, then and now—!”
The Marchioness’s voice cracked with emotion as she recalled how Aracila, even before her marriage, would constantly dash off on mage tower missions to slay magical beasts, returning each time with minor cuts and bruises. Of course, she knew this injury stemmed from different circumstances, but hadn’t Aracila insisted on joining the western beast-slaying campaign in the first place?
The sight of her daughter, still chasing glory by battling beasts after marriage only to return injured, made the Marchioness’s blood boil. She raised her hand again, ready to deliver another swat.
Smack!
A crisp sound of flesh meeting flesh rang out.
But it wasn’t Aracila who’d been struck. The Marchioness, startled, looked at the figure who had stepped in to shield Aracila’s back.
“Sir Vandemir…?”
“It’s my fault she’s injured, so if you’re going to hit anyone, hit me,” Damian said earnestly, his arm outstretched to protect Aracila.
Aracila looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise.
“No, Sir, I couldn’t possibly—”
“It’s all right. Strike me. I’ll take it, even if it’s a slap to the face.”
“No, no, I don’t want to slap you!”
Flustered by her son-in-law’s sudden offer to take the blow, the Marchioness waved her hands in protest.
But Damian, clearly serious, remained motionless, his head bowed respectfully. He was desperate to atone, even in this small way.
Aracila, realizing the depth of his sincerity, grabbed his sleeve and tugged.
“Damian, my mother doesn’t hit other people’s precious children.”
The Marchioness nodded vigorously in agreement with her daughter’s words.
But Damian, still bowing, refused to relax his posture.
“Didn’t I cause your precious daughter to get hurt?”
“Did you attack me? No, you didn’t. So why do you keep saying it’s your fault?”
“If you hadn’t stepped in to save me, you wouldn’t be in this state.”
The heavy guilt in his voice made Aracila’s face twist into a scowl. Apparently, a day of tending to her hadn’t been enough to ease his conscience.
“If you’re going to put it that way, I jumped in on my own—you didn’t ask me to save you.”
“If I’d handled things properly, you wouldn’t have needed to step in. It’s all my fault.”
“Damian, are you going to keep this up?”
Damian said nothing, his silence speaking volumes.
Frustrated, Aracila opened her mouth to say something sharp, but just then—
“Enough, Ari. If you go on like this, you’ll end up fighting with Sir Vandemir.”
Marquis Hugo stepped in at the right moment to mediate. Aracila’s lips twitched, but she closed her mouth at her father’s words.
The room fell into a sudden, heavy silence.
Adrian peeked up from his sister’s embrace, gauging the mood. The Marquis, his face stern, turned to Damian.
“I was hoping to have a word with you about this incident. Do you have a moment?”
So, the moment had come. With that fleeting thought, Damian nodded.
“Yes, I do.”
“Then come with me. Iris, Adrian, stay here and keep Aracila company.”
Without waiting for a response, the Marquis and Marchioness led Damian out of the bedroom. Aracila didn’t have time to stop them.
At the end of a quiet corridor, the two figures came to a halt. Damian stopped alongside them.
“I heard the assassination attempt that injured Aracila was actually aimed at you,” Marquis Hugo began, his voice heavy.
Damian’s face clouded with shame, and he bowed his head once more.
“I’m deeply sorry. It’s all my fault. I failed to protect her, and because of me, she was hurt. I’m reflecting deeply on this and will do everything in my power to ensure it never happens again.”
No response came from the Marquis or the Marchioness.
Damian was prepared to apologize as much as they demanded, even if they couldn’t forgive him, ready to bow his head indefinitely.
From his lowered gaze, he saw the Marquis take a step forward, his hand extending.
Was he about to strike him, now that Aracila wasn’t here?
If so, Damian resolved to take it silently, even if it meant ten blows. He didn’t flinch.
“Sir Vandemir.”
But the low voice that called his name wasn’t followed by a fist. Instead, the Marquis placed a gentle hand on Damian’s shoulder.
“We didn’t call you out here to scold you. As Aracila said, this wasn’t your fault.”
“Exactly,” the Marchioness chimed in. “We just wanted to make sure you’re all right. We didn’t want to bring up the assassination in front of Adrian, so we called you out here.”
“What…?”
Damian, caught off guard by their unexpected words, lifted his head, his eyes widening.
The faces of the Marquis and Marchioness held no trace of resentment or hatred—only a gentle warmth.
“Whoever this vile person is, targeting our son-in-law’s life and hurting our daughter, I swear I won’t let them off easily once I find them,” the Marquis declared.
“That’s right, Ned. Show them what you’re made of. You were quite the swordsman back in the day, you know—though I suppose you’re no match for a sword master like Sir Vandemir,” the Marchioness teased.
“Even so, I’m more than capable of dealing with the scum who dare harm our family, May,” the Marquis replied, patting his shoulder proudly.
The Marchioness let out a soft chuckle.
Damian stared at them, bewildered.
He’d been certain they would resent him. If he were in their shoes, he would have hated himself.
Even if they didn’t lash out with harsh words, he’d expected at least a few murmurs of blame. Yet there wasn’t the slightest hint of such feelings from the Marquis and Marchioness.
Our family…
The phrase echoed in his mind, making it feel as though he was undeniably included in it. His chest suddenly tightened, a wave of emotion surging within him.
To avoid stumbling under the weight of it, Damian steadied himself, planting his feet firmly as he spoke cautiously.
“You truly… don’t resent me? Even if you did, I’d have no right to object and would accept it humbly.”
“Oh, come now, what fault could you possibly have in this?” the Marquis replied, his tone suggesting the very idea was absurd.
Damian, unable to meet their eyes directly, continued, “The assassination was aimed at me, and Aracila was caught up in it because of me. So, naturally—”
“Naturally, we should resent the assassin and whoever sent them, not you,” the Marchioness interrupted lightly.
Her words, so contrary to his expectations, made Damian clench his fists.
A powerful emotion welled up from deep within his chest, too complex to name. Joy? Gratitude? Shame? Guilt?
The generosity of these two, extending a hand to the man who’d put their daughter in danger, left Damian feeling as though his throat had closed up.
The Marquis and Marchioness exchanged a glance, quietly observing Damian’s strained expression.
Then the Marquis spoke again.
“Sir Vandemir. No, since we’re family now, may I call you by your name?”
“…Yes.”
“Then, Damian, don’t bow your head for something that isn’t your fault.”
The Marquis’s large hand clapped Damian’s shoulder firmly. The Marchioness followed, gently patting his arm.
“My heart aches like it’s been torn apart seeing Aracila hurt, but I’m relieved that you’re unharmed, Damian,” she said.
Her warm, sincere voice, devoid of any pretense, enveloped Damian in a paradoxical sensation—his body felt both drained and invigorated.
Though his hands were larger than theirs, he couldn’t help but feel that the Marquis and Marchioness were the true adults here.
“…Thank you, both of you,” he managed after a long pause.
The Marquis and Marchioness smiled warmly, and Damian finally found the strength to meet their gazes, his lips curving faintly.
The heavy burden of guilt, like a stone lodged in his chest, seemed to melt just a little.
In the now lighter atmosphere, the Marquis cleared his throat and spoke again.
“We’ll help you track down the assassin who targeted you.”
“No, that’s all right,” Damian replied quickly, shaking his head.
He didn’t want to drag the Hugo family into a matter that might involve not only the Vandemir Duchy but even the royal family. If it went wrong, they could suffer greatly, and it was a family matter he needed to resolve on his own. Especially since Aracila was already entangled in it.
“I can handle it myself. Please, trust me to take care of it.”
His almost desperate plea left the Marquis and Marchioness momentarily puzzled, but they nodded.
“Well, I suppose too many hands in the matter might just complicate things,” the Marquis conceded.
“But if you ever need help, don’t hesitate to ask,” the Marchioness added.
“Thank you,” Damian said, bowing respectfully.
Though he’d never ask for their help in such a dangerous matter, their offer alone made him feel supported. Shamelessly, perhaps, but undeniably so.
After the Hugo family’s visit, Damian’s demeanor noticeably lightened. Thanks to the Marquis and Marchioness, he’d been able to set down a portion of his burden.
In the peaceful days that followed, Aracila had only one complaint.
“Let’s go out to the garden.”
Being cooped up in her room was driving her mad. After five days of bedridden life, she threw up her hands in surrender.
Her bones were healing faster than expected due to her immobility, but she felt like she’d wither away before they fully mended.
“I want to breathe some fresh air.”
“I’ll open the window for you,” Damian offered.
“No, not that. I want to go out myself, even if I have to use crutches.”
Her pouty expression made Damian glance down at her bandaged leg. He recalled how unsteady she’d been on crutches, and the thought of letting her walk on her own seemed utterly out of the question.
After a moment’s thought, he spoke slowly.
“Then I’ll have tea set up in the garden. We can enjoy some time there together.”
“Perfect! Get my crutches!”
“No, I’ll carry you.”
Aracila froze, her excitement faltering. Did he mean to carry her, like when he’d helped her in and out of the carriage?
The thought of being held in his broad embrace made her cheeks flush, and she scratched the bridge of her nose.
“I can manage with crutches.”
“The manor has stairs, which makes it dangerous. If you don’t like it, you can wait until you’re fully healed to go out.”
“Carry me, Damian!”
Being stuck in her room was worse than being carried, and Aracila’s urgent cry echoed through the room.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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