ILTDAMH |CHAPTER 37

Chapter 37

 The Missing Bride!! 

“Silence, all of you! Daimond, do you even understand the words you are speaking right now?”

“Of course I do. Hook—bring him in!”

At Daimond’s command, Hook stepped outside and dragged in a trembling man.

“Who is this?”

“This man is none other than Harmon’s attendant. He is the one who revealed the treachery to me.”

At those words, the servant stood with his head bowed, his whole body quaking.

“Brother, what on earth are you talking about? Treason?”

Harmon, baffled, demanded an answer. 

Daimond only curled his lips into a vicious smile.

“Did you truly think I wouldn’t know? All this time, you’ve played the dutiful son before our father, while in the shadows you conspired to slander me and covet my place. I have known it for years.”

“That is a grave misunderstanding. Not once have I ever desired your position.”

“With all the nobles gathered here, what better stage could there be to rip away your mask? Now—repeat what you told me!”

The servant lifted his head, fear gleaming in his eyes as he looked around at the garden full of watchful faces.

“Y-your Highness… what are you asking me to say? Was it not you, Crown Prince, who seized me the other day—while I was on my way to the tailor for the wedding garments—and forced me to this place?”

“You dare twist your tongue now?” Daimond roared, seizing the man by the collar. “You told me yourself—Harmon plots rebellion! And now you deny it?”

“Treason? I never said such a thing!”

The denial made Emperor biseluk’s face tighten with anger.

“Crown Prince—have you taken leave of your senses, or drunk yourself mad? Your brother is to be wed, yet instead of offering blessing, you bring shame upon us—before Princess Alomand, no less!”

At his father’s rebuke, Daimond glared murderously at the servant.

Then—he saw it.

A smile. 

Playing at the corner of the servant’s mouth.

You dare laugh?

Don’t tell me… this wretch is in league with Harmon—mocking me?!

Realization struck him like a hammer. 

His fury boiled over. 

In one savage motion, Daimond drew his sword and slashed the servant across the chest.

“Kyaaah!!”

Noblewomen screamed in terror as the man collapsed, lifeless, onto the garden stones.

“Silence!” Daimond roared. “How dare you make a fool of me? I’ll see you all regret it! Harmon—you will not escape me this time!”

He raised his blood-stained blade and turned it toward his brother. 

But Emperor Biseluk’s voice thundered across the garden.

“Crown Prince! You dare raise a sword before your Emperor? Tell me—who is the traitor now?”

“Father, no—it is not as it seems! Harmon conspired with that wretch to deceive me. I will prove here and now that Harmon plots treason!”

Daimond charged forward, his sword slicing the air toward Harmon. 

But before the steel could reach him, a figure stepped between the brothers, blocking the strike with unshakable resolve.

“Crown Prince,” came the voice.

Calm. 

Cold. 

Familiar.

“It has been a long time.”

Daimond froze, every hair on his body standing on end. 

That voice—impossible. 

It could not be. 

It should not exist.

How… how is this voice here?

He had come to this garden with the sole purpose of killing Harmon—yet now…

Daimond forgot even the fact that he had come here to kill Harmon. 

His eyes widened in shock as he swallowed hard, staring at the entrance of the garden.

Several of his knights were hurled into the garden as if they were nothing but discarded dolls. 

And behind them, walking in with a calm, unhurried stride, was a man who, just days ago, had been lying cold in his coffin—Duke Ruan. 

Not only was he alive, he looked stronger, healthier than ever.

The sight was so utterly impossible that Daimond’s mind went blank.

“W-Wait a minute. Are you… are you a ghost?”

“Your Highness, why are you so startled?” 

Ruan smiled lightly, as though amused.

“I heard you wept greatly at my funeral. Shouldn’t you be glad to see me now?”

Damon froze. 

His lips trembled as he stared at the man before him.

Why… why is he alive?

I saw him dead. 

I saw his corpse lying in the coffin with my own eyes. 

How can he be here, standing in front of me with that infuriatingly calm face?

What in the world is happening?

“You… why are you here? This is impossible!”

“Your Majesty,” Antoine blurted out, his face draining of all color. “What… what is the meaning of this? How is a dead duke standing there, alive?”

The Empress, equally aghast, clutched at her chest, but before panic could spread further, Emperor Bisseluc’s spoke, his expression unshaken, as though he had expected this all along.

“You see it with your own eyes, do you not? If he were truly dead, would he be standing here, breathing before us? No—he never died.”

Then, in a commanding voice that silenced the garden, Biseluk declared:

“Duke Ruan Canoluph, I order you: arrest the Crown Prince for disrupting this ceremony and casting baseless accusations of treason. Imprison him at once. Then conduct a thorough investigation into this farce of rebellion and apprehend all who were involved.”

Ruan bowed deeply, his expression solemn.

“By the will of His Imperial Majesty, I shall obey.”

With no hesitation, he seized Daimond—who sat frozen, dazed like a man struck senseless—and dragged him from the garden.

“Now then,” Biseluk said, sweeping his gaze across the nobles as though nothing of importance had occurred. “Let us proceed with the wedding.”

What in the name of the gods is going on?

The nobles were dumbfounded. 

The Crown Prince had burst in, accusing his younger brother of treason, only for the claim to collapse under its own weight. 

And just as Damon raised his blade to strike, the supposedly dead Duke appeared, alive, and saved Harmon.

It was madness. 

It defied reason. 

And yet… Emperor Biseluk acted as though this were nothing more than a minor disturbance.

Faced with his composure, none of the nobles dared ask a single question. 

They simply sat, silent and bewildered, as if bewitched, while the ceremony resumed.

At that same moment, Antoine longed desperately to run to Daimond, but Biseluk iron grip held her hand firmly in place. 

All she could do was sit stiffly, her lips twisted into a strained, awkward smile.

Thus, Daimond’s grand plan—to expose Harmon’s supposed treachery and seize the moment to bring him down—collapsed entirely.

The wedding of Prince Harmon and Princess Patricia proceeded as scheduled, without further interruption, as though none of the chaos had ever taken place.

.

.

.

Later, Duke Ruan dragged Daimond—screaming his innocence, crying that it was all a lie—into the prison and knocked him unconscious to silence him.

But as he secured Daimond’s cell, urgency gnawed at Ruan’s heart.

Since the end of his five-day funeral rites, when he had miraculously awakened and slowly regained his strength, he had not been able to send a single word to his household.

For two full weeks of mourning, he ate well and exercised, determined to appear as healthy and strong as possible when the time came.

If she sees me now, my wife will be glad, won’t she?

Ah, no… she’ll be furious the moment she learns I only pretended to die. 

I’ll have to calm her anger first.

But I know her—she’ll be angry at the beginning, yes, but if I explain everything, she’ll understand. 

And if she doesn’t… then, just as I told Aunt, I’ll beg and beg until she forgives me.

My love, please wait just a little longer. 

I’ll make up for all the pain you’ve carried until now.

The thought of Mercian, pale and hollow-eyed as she slept the night before his supposed death, stabbed at his heart. 

The longing to see her again made him restless.

“Your Grace, I’ve heard Prince Harmon’s wedding concluded without incident,” Cassel reported as they hurried out of the dungeon.

“Cassel,” Ruan waved his hand dismissively, “from now on, you’ll take care of matters. I must go to my wife—I have to let her know I’m alive.”

“Ah—yes, of course, my lady… Oh, but, Your Grace!”

Cassel tried to say something, almost desperately, but Luan had no patience to listen. 

He strode out of the palace in haste.

***

“Master!”

The moment he stepped through the gates of his ducal estate, Edward came rushing toward him, pale as death.

“Ed, nothing’s happened, has it?”

“Well… that is…”

“Don’t tell me—something’s happened to my wife?”

Ruan didn’t wait for Edward to finish. 

His chest tightened, and he dashed straight to Mercian’s chambers. 

Throwing open the door, he shouted:

“My love, I’ve come back to you!!”

He was ready to declare that he had not died, that she was no longer a widow bound to a sickbed, but the true Duchess of Canoluf.

But—

She was gone.

“What do you mean she’s gone? Vanished? Was it the Crown Prince’s doing?”

He struggled to hold back his fury as he questioned Edward, who only shook his head in despair and held out a letter.

“What is this?”

“It was left by the Madam when she departed.”

Departed?

With trembling hands, Ruan snatched the letter and unfolded it.

“Thank you, all of you.”

One single line. 

No reason. 

No destination. 

Nothing more.

Disbelieving, he turned the letter over, as though more words might be hidden there. 

His voice broke as he demanded:

“Is this all? There wasn’t anything else?”

“Yes… it was found on her vanity.”

“How much money did she take? Did she tell you to set anything aside for her?”

“Well…”

Pressed by Ruan’s desperate tone, Edward lowered his head, stammering in hesitation.

“Ed, stop stalling and speak plainly!” Ruan snapped, his face drawn tight with impatience.

“Master…” Edward’s voice trembled, his eyes reddening. 

“The lady… she left the duchy without taking a single thing.”

“What?”

Ruan stared at him in disbelief. 

Edward lowered his head, choking on his words as if they were too heavy to bear.

“After your passing… after the funeral and while preparations for the mourning period were underway… it seems the lady slipped out of the estate without anyone noticing. 

We only realized the next morning. 

We searched frantically, Master, but there was no trace of her anywhere. 

N-no trace at all…!”

Ruan didn’t wait for Edward to finish. 

He turned on his heel and strode straight to Mercian’s chambers.

The room was spotless—just as meticulous as its mistress had always kept it. 

Not a single thing was out of place since the last time he had been there, on the eve of his supposed death.

Only its owner was gone.

Ruan’s steps carried him to the vanity. 

As Edward had said, a pouch lay there—heavy with what must have been a thousand gold coins.

“Beloved…”

With a sinking heart, he pulled open the drawers, rifling through in desperate hope. 

His fingers brushed against something folded neatly at the very back. 

A sheet of paper.

“What’s this…?”

He unfolded it, scanning the lines.

To the esteemed Duchess,

A suitable house has come up at the location you mentioned. 

Please come by at your convenience.

Ruan’s breath caught. 

Clutching the note in hand, he bolted out of the room.

***

“How is it? Did you find her?” 

he demanded the moment he returned, his voice tight with impatience.

Edward shook his head, his expression crestfallen.

“They said they don’t know. The lady never came on the day the contract was to be signed, so it fell through…”

Bang!

Olivia, who had been sitting tensely on edge, slammed her hand down, her voice cutting like a blade.

“Find her at once! I warned you, didn’t I?!”

“Godmother…” Ruan muttered.

“If you had spoken—just one word! If you had told her you were still alive, she would never have left! Do you have any idea how much that child wept? How hollowed out with grief she became, believing you gone forever? This—this is all your doing! If not for your foolish promises, if not for your oath to always be the one to soothe her heart, no matter what—she wouldn’t have had to endure this torment!”

Olivia’s voice broke, her eyes spilling tears she could no longer contain.

After Ruan’s “death,” Mercian had nearly wasted away, a shell of himself.

Watching him then, Olivia had finally understood—Mercian truly, deeply loved Ruan.

And yet now…

There were countless times she had wanted to tell him the truth—but bound by Ruan’s desperate plea, she had held her tongue.

And now, with the mourning period underway, the news that Mercian had slipped away from the duchy without a soul knowing gnawed at them all.

Every resource had been stretched thin, every man sent out in search, yet no trace of her could be found. 

The waiting, the helplessness, burned like fire in his chest.

Sleep had abandoned him entirely, for fear that she might have been driven to some dark, irrevocable thought.

“Ruan, listen to me well.” Olivia’s voice shook with both fury and sorrow. “Bring that child back at once. If you do not… if you fail to return with her… then I will never look upon your face again!”

When Olivia finally stormed out of the duchy, her skirts sweeping like a final verdict, Ruan sank down where he stood—staring blankly into the void, his body heavy with despair.