Chapter 47
Chill—.
In the silent bedroom, only the sound of Dylan’s lips brushing against Agnes’s skin, and the sound of Dylan swallowing blood, quietly spread through the air.
Dylan wanted to drink more of this fragrant blood. His instincts—and the curse—made his heart pound wildly, stoking the desire deep within him.
But with a ragged breath, Dylan barely managed to pull his lips away from Agnes’s wrist.
He immediately took out a handkerchief, wrapped it around her wrist, and pressed down on the bite to stop the bleeding, speaking in an awkward voice.
“Your blood, young lady… it’s too sweet. It makes things difficult.”
Hearing such a complaint from someone as perpetually upright and composed as Dylan, Agnes widened her eyes in surprise.
“Uh… then is there something I should do? Some kind of way to fix it…?”
Absurdly enough, Agnes was asking for advice. It seemed she had taken Dylan’s words to mean the taste is too sweet and unpleasant.
Though flustered by his comment, she appeared ready to resolve it if he had any dissatisfaction.
As if blood were a dish—and as if there were any way to correct a flavor one didn’t like.
Dylan stared at Agnes’s innocent face, then covered his own face and let out a hollow laugh.
It was a light, breath-leaking chuckle, but it was the first time Agnes had ever seen Dylan laugh out loud.
When Agnes only blinked her wide eyes, not grasping the meaning of his laughter, Dylan lightly shook his head.
“…No. That’s not what I meant.”
Dylan paused to choose his words. Earlier, standing on the boundary between reason and instinct, his words had slipped out unintentionally. Now, he wanted to calmly explain and dispel Agnes’s confusion.
“I maintain my sanity through blood-drinking, but drinking blood has always been unpleasant. Aside from the thirst caused by the curse, that metallic taste never goes away.”
He didn’t know how Agnes would take this, but they were already in the same boat.
So he spoke honestly. It was something he would have had to say eventually anyway—if only to warn her.
“But your blood, young lady… is strangely sweet. That makes it even harder to endure the thirst. I will restrain myself so that such things don’t happen, but if I ever become a burden to you, you must tell me without fail.”
At Dylan’s firm words, Agnes nodded with a puzzled expression.
The fact that her blood alone tasted sweet felt a little awkward—and a little embarrassing.
Trying to hide those feelings, she nodded quickly. Dylan let out another soft, deflated chuckle.
“…I simply can’t trust it. You have no talent for taking care of yourself. I’ll just do my best on my own.”
“Pardon?”
Agnes widened her eyes in disbelief, then covered her mouth and laughed.
“It feels a bit unfair to hear that from Your Grace…”
“…You say that to me?”
One of Dylan’s eyebrows lifted slightly. His life had always been perfect, without a single flaw.
In other words, no one had ever been able to say to him, you’re bad at taking care of yourself.
Yet Agnes maintained her cautious demeanor and looked at Dylan with unwavering eyes, as though there was nothing wrong with what she’d said.
“You really mean it.”
Dylan brushed his hair back, as if finding it difficult to understand.
“Since we’re already talking about it… I think Your Grace isn’t someone who takes good care of himself, but someone who simply endures everything well.”
Not knowing if she was even allowed to say such a thing, Agnes shifted her eyes restlessly—yet said it anyway.
Looking down at her, Dylan felt a strange sense of discomfort.
Agnes was always tense in front of him. Relying on someone and feeling at ease with them were entirely different things.
But now, though she still did her utmost at every moment, she didn’t seem as rigid or tightly wound as before.
Why was that?
After pondering briefly, Dylan soon realized the reason.
Because the existence called “Noah” had returned to Agnes.
With the child back at her closest side—within sight and reach—she no longer had to be constantly anxious, and could instead focus solely on repaying Dylan’s kindness.
Seen that way, it made sense why she had boldly followed him, and why she had stubbornly voiced her worries so honestly.
Dylan couldn’t judge whether this change in Agnes was right or wrong, but at least, he liked it. It felt as though Agnes’s true nature was finally being revealed.
“Have I shown you a careless side of myself?”
Agnes hurriedly waved both hands.
“No! Not at all. But even today, you must have been exhausted, yet you said everything was fine. And something I’ve been thinking about lately is…”
She hesitated briefly, then, seeing no displeasure on Dylan’s face, continued.
“When we first met at the imperial banquet… it had been well over five days since you last quenched your thirst, hadn’t it?”
She was referring to the time when Dylan had taken her blood in the middle of the imperial garden.
Back then, Dylan had barely been maintaining his sanity. Collapsed on the garden floor, he had been gasping, desperate for blood.
He had been seized by the fear that if things continued like that, he might truly turn into a monster.
Perhaps if Agnes hadn’t appeared, he might really have grabbed any passerby, bitten into their neck, and frantically drunk their blood.
“It was the ninth day,” Dylan replied.
Agnes looked startled.
By the end of the fifth day, Dylan already became extremely sensitive.
If he was fatigued, the timing came sooner; if he was relaxed, it could be delayed slightly—but from Agnes’s perspective, five days was clearly the critical point.
Yet he had endured four more days beyond that. Seeing Agnes’s incomprehension, Dylan explained calmly.
“As soon as I arrived in the capital, His Majesty asked me to help with the banquet preparations. He also ordered me to meet various people, since it had been a while, and entrusted me with documents that hadn’t been processed in my absence.”
Recalling that time, Dylan pressed a hand to his forehead, speaking in a heavy voice.
“As you know, when I’m in close contact with people, it’s difficult to look for an opportunity. If I were still a prince, it might be different—but a ‘former prince who has come up to the capital as a duke’ is also a subject of surveillance.”
“But…”
Doesn’t His Majesty know your circumstances?
Agnes couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought.
The emperor was highly likely to know about Dylan’s “diet.” He had even probed Agnes indirectly about it before.
And as Dylan’s family and sovereign, it would have been difficult for him not to know such deeply personal matters.
Yet despite that, the emperor had acted as he did.
Knowing Dylan was suffering from thirst.
Knowing he feared losing whatever remnants of humanity he still had.
His Majesty the Emperor is truly… truly cruel.
Agnes wasn’t completely naïve. She knew that the relationship between the emperor and Dylan wasn’t just ordinary sibling bickering.
She also knew how sharply honed the emperor’s seemingly playful remarks could be.
But she had never imagined that he might be stabbing his own younger brother with those invisible blades.
What began as mutual concern had wandered into painfully heavy territory. Feeling as though she had dug into Dylan’s wounds, Agnes didn’t know what to do.
“I’m sorry.”
She lowered her gaze and apologized immediately.
Dylan stared at Agnes’s clear face. Guilt was thickly written across her downturned brows and tightly pressed lips.
Leaning back against the sofa, Dylan sank into thought.
Agnes had done nothing wrong. The one at fault was clearly his sister.
She hadn’t meant to reopen his wounds—she had only spoken out of a desire for him to take better care of himself.
And yet, Agnes was sincerely apologetic.
That selfless heart, asking for nothing in return, strangely made something in Dylan’s chest itch.
