Chapter 16
Agnès had always been an ordinary noblewoman — not particularly strong or healthy.
Because of that, she sometimes felt guilty that Dylan had to take extra care of her. And more than guilt, she feared that one day, this thoughtful man might decide their “arrangement” wasn’t worth the trouble and end it.
So she had only meant to ask for advice — maybe some reassurance.
But Dylan’s face grew strangely stiff.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Pardon?”
Her golden eyes blinked rapidly in confusion at his unexpected answer.
From what she’d seen so far, Dylan was a man who noticed everything and handled things fairly.
So how could someone like him not know the condition of those he had fed from before?
Then a thought struck her — a dreadful possibility.
Ah… of course.
He wasn’t an ordinary man. He was of the royal family.
“Until now, I’ve sustained myself through condemned prisoners.”
Her guess had been correct.
His eyes were completely emotionless as he said it — calm, cold, detached.
And yet, Agnès sensed that this emptiness was his emotion — that he carried so much pain he could no longer show any of it.
“It wasn’t difficult while I was in the capital. But after moving north, it became a problem. Officially, the executions were for maintaining order in the capital, carried out in the northern provinces. But when the bodies stopped appearing on schedule, people began to ask questions.”
His voice was calm — too calm — like someone reading a formal report, not confessing something personal.
“That’s when the rumors began — that the Duke of Basteron devoured people. The story spread until even the citizens of the duchy began to believe it. I knew I had to do something. And that’s when you appeared before me… and made your offer.”
Dylan spoke as if it were a simple chain of events, but Agnès understood what his words truly meant.
He had been born into royalty, raised with the best education, strict morals, and a sense of duty.
For someone like him, feeding on human blood — tearing into flesh and taking life — could never be easy.
Even if those he drank from were already condemned criminals, their deaths had come after he had fed on them. That meant, in a way, he had shared in their punishment — and perhaps even blamed himself for it.
He must have known, logically, that the two were not the same.
But in his heart, how could he have felt anything other than guilt?
Agnès realized that this wasn’t the kind of pain that could be comforted with simple words — or soothed with sympathy.
It was the kind of wound one hides away forever, pretending it doesn’t exist.
So she didn’t try to comfort him. She only lowered her head slightly and said, softly,
“I see. Thank you for telling me.”
She chose to accept his truth as it was — without pity, without judgment.
She wanted him to see that knowing this didn’t change how she treated him.
Dylan studied her carefully, almost as if searching her calm face for even the smallest trace of disgust or fear.
But Agnès didn’t look away. Her gaze stayed steady and sincere.
He didn’t fully believe her — Dylan knew she wasn’t a naïve woman who couldn’t lie. She had held her composure even before the Emperor herself.
Still… her expression, whether genuine or not, brought him a quiet sense of relief.
And with that, Dylan finally spoke of the real reason he had come.
“Lady Agnès, if you’d like to write to Noah, I can have the letter delivered.”
Her composure shattered instantly.
Her eyes widened; her mouth fell open in shock. For a moment, she looked like she’d forgotten how to breathe.
Then, as if to confirm she’d heard correctly, she repeated his words in disbelief.
“You’ll… deliver a letter to Noah?”
“Yes.”
“But… Count Overhan would never allow that. If he ever found out, he’d punish Noah terribly.”
Her voice trembled with fear — and also with a desperate hope she was trying to suppress.
“You don’t have to worry. The Overhan household recently hired a new etiquette tutor — one of my people. Very capable, and with no traceable connection to me. If you give me a letter, they’ll read it to the boy and bring it back afterward. If that limited contact is acceptable to you…”
“Of course it is! Wait — please, just a moment! I have letters already!”
Before he could finish, Agnès sprang to her feet.
She rushed to the bed, retrieved a large box from the nightstand, and carried it back with both arms.
“I’ve been writing to Noah ever since I left the Everchen estate. I knew I couldn’t send them, but… there was so much I didn’t get to say. We parted too suddenly, and I couldn’t even say goodbye properly.”
It was the first time Dylan had ever seen her this excited.
She opened the box with trembling hands — inside were dozens of envelopes, neatly tied and sorted. There were so many it was hard to believe a single person had written them all.
Her golden eyes sparkled with anticipation as she looked from the letters to Dylan.
But his expression didn’t change.
When he finally spoke, he chose his words carefully, reluctant to crush her enthusiasm.
“…Unfortunately, I can’t send all of them.”
Agnès blinked, startled, and glanced down at the pile before pulling out a small handful of letters.
“Then maybe just these few—”
“I’m afraid not. And judging by how thick they are…”
Indeed, each envelope looked like it contained several pages.
Dylan pressed a hand to his forehead, realizing that anything more he said would sound like scolding a grieving mother.
“It would be better if you wrote a new one. Keep it to two pages at most. Tell him how you’re doing — and that you’re working to bring him home.”
Her face fell for a moment at the word two, but she quickly nodded, regaining her composure.
“Yes, of course. Please wait — I’ll write it right now.”
She turned to fetch paper and pen, but before she could move far, Dylan’s hand gently caught her arm at the elbow.
It wasn’t forceful — just enough to steady her.
For a moment, she froze — but the touch wasn’t restrictive. It felt solid, reassuring, as if the ground beneath her feet had steadied.
When she looked up at him in surprise, he released her immediately.
“My apologies. I just… remembered you said you’ve been feeling dizzy. Don’t rush.”
“Th-thank you…”
“Besides, I can’t deliver it right away. The lessons begin the day after tomorrow. If you give me the letter by tomorrow evening, that’s plenty of time.”
A faint blush crept across Agnès’s cheeks. She pressed a hand against them, smiling shyly like a girl.
“You’re right. I was just too excited. Thank you so much, Your Grace.”
Dylan looked at her quietly.
According to Gaveline, Agnès wasn’t the kind of woman who asked for much. She enjoyed small luxuries — good food, pretty dresses — but never demanded anything.
She had always seemed like a model noble lady — polite, graceful, reserved.
But now, she looked radiant — her face lit up with joy, glowing with childlike warmth.
For some reason, Dylan found it hard to meet her eyes. He turned his head slightly.
“You shouldn’t thank me yet. We haven’t brought Noah back.”
“That’s true, but still…”
Agnès placed her hand lightly on his arm. The gesture was gentle but full of feeling — as if she wanted him to understand her gratitude.
Dylan hesitated, but when he finally looked back at her, she met his gaze steadily.
Her golden eyes were calm, bright, and sincere.
“Everyone laughed when I said I’d get Noah back. Even the maids who pitied me just offered awkward comfort. But you… you were the only one who believed in me. You can’t imagine how much that means to me.”
For a long moment, Dylan didn’t speak.
She wasn’t wrong — she was the only one who hadn’t looked at him with fear or disgust, the only one who hadn’t treated him like a monster or a problem to be solved.
And standing there, Dylan realized something:
This delicate, fragile-looking woman was far stronger than anyone gave her credit for.
Maybe even stronger than him.
“Then let’s both keep our promise,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm. “We’ll be good partners in this.”
He extended his hand.
Agnès let out a small, happy laugh and placed her hand in his.
It was the second handshake of her life.
