Chapter 66
“…Eh?”
At the child’s question, Roze’s eyes widened in shock. Flitta squeezed her eyes shut, letting tears fall, and asked again.
“Is it because I spread germs? Is that why everyone hates me?”
“Milady, that’s not…”
Roze hurried to deny the child’s words. But Flitta, her voice trembling with sobs, continued.
“Back then… when that many-legged bug fell from the tree, the maid screamed like that. I… I’m that many-legged bug, right?”
Roze was at a loss for words. At the same time, her chest ached painfully. The child had clearly felt the disgust directed toward her.
Being young didn’t mean she couldn’t sense others’ feelings. On the contrary—because she was young, she took them all in without distortion. Purely, directly—even negative emotions that cut like wounds.
“Then I’ll just stay here forever. I won’t go outside. Roze, you can… sniffle… you can leave if you’re scared of me, if you don’t like me…”
Flitta wiped her tears with her small hands, but they kept flowing down her cheeks. The handkerchief pressed to her nose and mouth grew damp and clung to her skin.
Roze watched her, then looked at the child’s hands. The tiny fingers were wet with tears as well. Reaching out, she took Flitta’s hand. Because of the splint on her arm, she couldn’t clasp both of the girl’s hands together tightly, and she regretted it.
“Milady.”
Instead, Roze spoke to her with a warm, gentle voice.
“Your illness will be cured. The physician himself said so, didn’t he? That you’re already getting much better.”
“But…”
Normally, the girl would have brightened at once at Roze’s words. But this time, the shadow on Flitta’s face refused to lift so easily.
“Flitta came outside the annex?”
Haven frowned as he glanced up from his papers at the steward’s report. The man nodded awkwardly.
“Yes, Your Grace. Ah… but she didn’t go far, only just stood in front of the main door.”
“She still came out.”
Haven’s expression hardened as he muttered. The steward, worried his master might scold the child, hastened to add:
“Milady is only five years old. The fact that she’s stayed quietly inside this long is already remarkable. Any other child would have rushed outside within a day. But because it’s Milady…”
“I know, Yanik. Still… we must warn Flitta somehow. She mustn’t be swayed by idle words.”
He’d seen it many times before—how small mistakes grew exaggerated, twisted into great faults. Even the brief moment she stepped outside could swell into scandalous rumor.
Better that he himself point out the misstep. If the Archduke himself spoke, no one would dare add more and spread nonsense.
“…Haa.”
Haven’s expression clouded. Truly, the child deserved praise, not rebuke. How stifling must it be for a mere five-year-old, unable to step outdoors?
Especially when her health had been improving day by day—of course she would long to feel fresh air and warm sunlight. She had surely stepped over the threshold with nothing more than such a simple desire.
“…Yet as her father, I cannot even grant her that wish.”
He let out a bitter laugh and rose from his seat. The steward bowed his head apologetically, though it was no one’s fault. If her condition worsened from it, the consequences would be dire.
“I’ll go to the annex.”
He took a handkerchief to cover his face and was about to leave when hurried footsteps approached, and the door burst open.
“Your Grace!”
It was none other than Fedwin. Haven frowned, for the knight’s expression was grave.
“What is it, Sir Fedwin?”
His voice was low. He had assigned Fedwin not to his side but near the annex to watch over the child. For him to rush here like this—Haven’s chest tightened.
“It seems… it seems something has happened to the young lady.”
Fedwin stammered, pale.
“In her chamber… a, a handkerchief…”
“…!”
“A red handkerchief has been hung out!”
At those words, Haven ground his teeth. Without a second’s delay, he strode past Fedwin and out of the office. Behind him, the steward gasped in alarm.
“The physician?”
“He’s already gone to the annex.”
Fedwin, hurrying after him, answered quickly. Haven’s face darkened with tension, and he quickened his steps—no, he was nearly running through the corridor.
“Cough! Cough!”
Flitta’s coughing inside the chamber was terrible to hear—ragged, as if her lungs were being wrung. Haven’s face twisted as he entered.
The physician, pale himself, was tending the girl but quickly bowed as Haven approached.
“Y-Your Grace.”
“The child? How is she?”
“T-that is…”
The physician couldn’t answer readily, wiping sweat from his brow instead. But Haven’s demand left no room for delay. With a stricken face, he finally bowed low and confessed.
“…Her condition has worsened. Rapidly.”
“….”
“Most who suffer from Dunphers disease decline in this way. That Milady had not was fortunate… but it seems now she too…”
The physician trailed off, unable to say the words. But everyone present knew what he meant. Haven squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists.
This man was no ordinary doctor. In all the capital, no one surpassed his skill—perhaps no one in the entire realm. Even the royal physicians might not match him.
And yet, even he could not promise recovery. Instead, he all but foresaw the child’s death. He hadn’t spoken it aloud, but the truth was plain. Haven knew it. Fedwin knew it. And then—
“No!”
A desperate voice cut through the gloom.
“That’s not true! Doctor, don’t give up! Your Grace, you mustn’t give up yet!”
It was Roze. She had been beside Flitta’s bed, but now she stepped forward, biting her lip, hair disheveled over her pale face. With blazing eyes, she spoke firmly to Haven.
“Milady will recover. She will be cured completely.”
The physician clicked his tongue, sighing as he tried again.
“Miss Roze, I wish it too. Who here does not? But the chance is so small, you must prepare your heart…”
“Please stop, Doctor!”
Roze turned her gaze from Haven to glare at the physician. The normally meek, gentle woman’s sharpness startled him into silence.
“When a child… no, when Milady hears the very adults she trusted to heal her speaking such hopeless words…”
She caught herself before blurting too much, then hurriedly corrected her words. The physician, oblivious, shook his head.
“She is unconscious. She cannot possibly hear…”
“No. Roze is right.”
At that moment, Haven interrupted him. Roze stared at him, her face ashen.
She looked about to collapse herself, as if she might die before Flitta did. Haven exhaled a heavy sigh and spoke.
“Unconscious does not mean deaf. Is it not said that hearing is often the last sense to remain, even as death approaches?”
He recalled something he had once read in a medical text. The physician lowered his head, unable to argue.
“My apologies, Your Grace. I failed to consider… Milady’s feelings.”
“Enough. Just devote yourself to her care.”
With that, Haven stepped closer to the bed. Roze, calmer now, drew a deep breath and turned back to the child as well.
“Uhh… ngh…”
Flitta whimpered, eyes still closed, unaware of the turmoil. Haven clenched his fist at the sight.
Cold terror gripped him—so different from the vague dread he’d felt earlier. Now, for the first time, he truly feared he might lose her.
Roze had said the girl would recover. But to him, it felt like a fragile hope. The child already seemed at death’s threshold—her pale face, her shallow, ragged breathing all testified to it.
“…Ugh…”
Grief-stricken, Haven gripped the bedside, staggering. At that moment, someone caught hold of his arm—a gentle, comforting touch.
