Chapter 172
The flowers created by fairies are special.
They stood in stark contrast to flowers that bloomed naturally. Their lush, voluptuous shapes were remarkable, yet the most striking feature was their fragrance—a scent that bewitched the soul, impossible to confuse with any ordinary perfume. It was not simply because he had seen countless flowers bloomed by Chesha. No, it was the smell he had inhaled so loathsomely in the final moment he lost her… that unforgettable stench from that time. If it was a flower his daughter had created, he could have recognized it even with his eyes closed.
A chill as cold as swallowed ice coiled through his body.
Serea, who had been watching from beside him, flinched and stepped back in alarm.
“Kierne!”
She called his name belatedly as she retreated, but he paid no heed.
Kierne strode forward without pause.
A dance melody filled the banquet hall. In time with the musicians’ lively performance, couples paired off and began to dance. The swirling hems of dresses blooming like flowers in every direction sent a sudden wave of dizzying vertigo through him. His body, denied proper rest, was announcing its limits.
“…….”
Without hesitation he bit down hard on the soft flesh inside his mouth. The crushing pain at least sharpened his mind. Swallowing the blood that pooled on his tongue, he cut straight across the hall, shoving aside anyone who blocked his path without a second thought.
Those who had been dancing joyfully turned with irritation at the sudden push. But the moment they recognized the offender as Count Basilian, their annoyance twisted into shock. By tomorrow the entire capital would be buzzing with rumors that Count Basilian had gone mad. Perhaps even before tonight ended, the gossip would already be on every tongue.
None of it mattered.
From the beginning he had no mind left to spare for such trivialities.
“Count Basilian!”
Someone shouted in rebuke, but the words never reached him.
“Count, what on earth are you doing!”
Another hand seized his forearm; he shook it off violently and kept moving.
He simply followed the floral scent.
A fleeting thought brushed his mind—his sons could not possibly be unaware of this—yet it could not take root. His once-cunning intellect had hardened like stone beneath that perfume; nothing else could penetrate.
Kierne stepped onto the balcony of the banquet hall. He flung the doors open wide, but the space was empty. He strode straight to the railing and looked down into the garden.
The dance had only just begun, so few people were strolling among the paths. Kierne scanned every inch, then leaped over the railing without a moment’s hesitation.
The walkers below screamed in terror.
He ignored them all and walked on, swift and relentless.
It was a night lit by a full moon. The bright silver light illuminated the grounds more vividly than usual. Once he entered the garden the mingled scents of grass and leaves softened the floral fragrance, yet Kierne moved forward with unshakable certainty.
Before long he reached a place where magnificent roses bloomed in profusion. Rose vines climbed the pillars in lavish cascades—a spot not unfamiliar to him.
It was here, long ago, when he and Rose had first entered the imperial palace. Weary from the crowded banquet, they had slipped away for a quiet walk. Rose, delighted by the garden, had plucked a rose herself and tucked the blossom into his hair, laughing that it looked pretty. The memory of her smiling face was still painfully vivid.
Tucking a flower behind one’s ear was something he had never done, not even as a nursing infant. But because Rose was happy, Kierne had been happy too—purely, completely.
The place steeped in those painful memories remained as beautiful as it had been that night.
A rough wind swept through once. Faint music from the banquet hall brushed past his ears. The blood-red roses swayed in the night breeze, petals scattering like crimson snow.
Between the drifting blossoms, Kierne found the one he had longed for with every fiber of his being.
In the very place he had once shared with Rose, a child with Rose’s exact face stood before the roses.
She was not the infant he remembered—not the tiny doll-like baby, but a proper little girl who had grown tall and graceful. Her appearance had changed completely, yet he knew her at once.
She was Kierne’s child.
The realization hit him like death itself.
Kierne pressed the back of his hand to his mouth.
“Haah… haah…”
His heart slammed against his ribs with crushing force. His face drained of color as short, ragged breaths tore from him. He fought to steady the dangerously rapid rhythm, forcing rational thought into his fracturing mind.
He must not hope.
This could be another illusion.
His broken mind had always conjured such convincing visions. The sight before him now might shatter like glass at any second.
But—
“Kierne.”
Still… just once…
“Kierne, I love you.”
Just once, it didn’t have to be a lie, did it?
He reached desperately for the god he had abandoned long ago. Even knowing that god had never taken his hand, he prayed. It was beyond his control—an instinctive, wordless plea.
Forcing his stiff lips apart, he whispered,
“…Chesha.”
The instant the name left him he regretted it. His voice sounded grotesque—locked tight and trembling pitifully. He should have steadied it first. What if she didn’t recognize her father’s voice? What if he himself had changed too much in the past year?
Kierne forced the corners of his mouth upward, striving for the smile he had always worn. Not the cold, cynical one, but the soft, gentle smile he once gave her. He called again, tenderly.
“Chesha…”
Her pink eyes held him completely. In their clear depths his own reflection looked unbearably ugly. While he had wandered the streets in a daze today, blood still staining his hands, the child before him remained endlessly pure and clean—the loveliest fairy in the world.
Yet Kierne stepped closer.
He crushed the dark, damp ache in his chest and spoke with the gentle voice of a father.
“Chesha, my daughter… why won’t you say anything?”
No matter how hard he tried to sound calm, the darkness leaked through.
“Answer Daddy…”
He stopped directly in front of her and knelt, bringing his eyes level with hers. He longed to pull her into his arms, yet he dared not touch her. The moment his fingers met her skin she might vanish like sea foam.
Like a prisoner awaiting sentence, Kierne simply endured in silence.
Complex emotions rippled through the child’s pink eyes. At last she parted her lips.
“…Daddy.”
Kierne closed his eyes slowly, then opened them. The child remained.
“I’m so… sorry for being late. I tried to come earlier.”
Gently he reached out and cupped her cheek. The warmth of her skin against his palm finally allowed him to breathe.
Without a word Kierne pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly—almost roughly. Even so, the child made no sound of pain. She simply wrapped her small arms around him in return.
Clutching the proof that this was real, Kierne gasped out the words that had waited inside him for so long.
“I waited. Daddy waited so much… I kept waiting, afraid you would never come…”
He barely knew what he was saying. If this was a dream, waking would kill him. The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, then something strange slipped free.
“Keep talking to Daddy. Let me hear your voice, all right?”
He knew he must look insane, yet he could not stop.
The child answered softly.
“I’m back.”
All strength suddenly drained from his body. His vision blacked out for a heartbeat, then returned. This time it was neither dream nor illusion.
At least once, it was real.
“…Yes.”
Kierne whispered,
“Welcome back, my daughter.”
