IWMHWD 117

Chapter 117 – Love
2024.02.25

“Hah. So now you’re threatening me with your pitiful little life? Your life already belongs to me. I could end it with a single finger at any time.”

“Then go ahead and try now.”

Unlike before, Cordelia stepped even closer to Anton. He furrowed his brows and instinctively leaned back.

“Not even worth talking to.”

“I don’t know what you plan to do with me, but it’s in my best interest to stay alive for negotiation. Even if you take my body to my master, it won’t get you what you want.”

He pressed his lips together. She realized he was partially anticipating her reasoning.

“If you kill them, I’ll find a way to die too. There are countless ways, so no need to waste words.”

“Are you really willing to risk your life just for a few knights?”

“I’d rather sacrifice myself for the knights who protected me than be used by the Marquis of Embley. Either way, I was going to die—so what difference does it make if it’s sooner?”

Anton paused, thinking. Whether or not Cordelia would truly risk her life like that was uncertain, but it was clear that her dying prematurely would cause problems. It was better to have another leverage besides the poison.

“Fine. I’ll spare both of them. So drink.”

Anton held out the vial, feigning mercy. Her arms were still restrained, so she could do nothing but open her mouth. The liquid was bitter and agonizing. Cordelia drank it in one gulp.

“I hope Embley values honor and promises. Vasquez sold everything for booze, you know.”

“That woman!”

Pablo’s enraged shout hit her ears but quickly faded. Soon, it wasn’t that petty voice controlling her—pain seared through her body as if her organs were being ripped out. Cordelia clenched her teeth, unable even to scream.

The pain was unlike the spell she had used previously to block a demon’s descent. It struck her head like it was trying to cut off her very breath.

Her body seemed to realize it; the connection between the pain and her physical form loosened, and she lost consciousness.

When she finally opened her eyes, it felt like she had dreamt many things but remembered nothing, leaving her hollow. Cordelia stared blankly at the ceiling for a long while, confused about her surroundings.

It took some time to realize she was in an unfamiliar place. Her fingers regained sensation slowly, and she wasn’t even sure whether she was awake or still dreaming.

“Oh my.”

A woman dressed as a maid entered and met Cordelia’s gaze.

“You’re awake? You were out longer than expected, so my master came to check on you several times.”

“Wh-who…?”

Her voice was hoarse from disuse, so she cleared her throat. A brown-haired maid with a gentle demeanor bowed slightly.

“My name is Chelsea. I’ll be attending to you while you’re here.”

“This is…?”

“Hashimus.”

“Hashimus? Embley’s territory?”

“Yes. A place where May roses bloom beautifully.”

Cordelia couldn’t easily make sense of this conversation. She had expected to be dragged somewhere like a dungeon and treated as a prisoner, yet she was in a fairly luxurious guest room with a maid assigned to her. Surprising.

“One moment. My master told me to inform him as soon as you woke up.”

Chelsea bowed politely and left the room.

Cordelia tried to sit up. Just that motion made her dizzy—her entire body felt weak. It was as if she had been running at full speed; her breathing was heavy, and her limbs tingled painfully.

She struggled to get out of bed, but her body wouldn’t respond.

“You’ve ingested Tarsia, an extremely lethal poison.”

A deep male voice spoke. Cordelia looked up, panting, and saw Anton and Chelsea standing at the doorway.

“You shouldn’t be moving yet, miss.”

Chelsea approached with a kind smile and supported her. Cordelia, leaning on Chelsea, asked Anton:

“Tarsia?”

“If you don’t take an antidote once every ten days, it melts your intestines and kills you.”

The idea of dying from melting intestines felt surreal to Cordelia. She glanced down at her own body, then back at Anton.

“And what of Beluche and Gasyl?”

“You’re not going to ask about the poison any further?”

“You’ve explained enough. The antidote likely belongs only to the marquis. Even if I ran, I’d die anyway, so he probably gave me a luxurious room instead of a dungeon.”

Anton pursed his lips. She had seemed exceptional from the start, but she didn’t flinch even after consuming deadly poison. Bold, indeed. It was hard to believe she was the daughter of Pablo Vasquez, who had casually traded his own daughter’s life for just 100,000 ringits.

“And those two are fine?”

“Merwan escaped midway. Since we didn’t capture him, he must have returned to his master. Beluche Ingrion, however, broke every prison we put him in, so we had to bind him with iron balls on his legs.”

“So they’re still alive.”

Cordelia smiled faintly. Hearing they were unharmed eased her mind slightly.

Her smile was incongruous with the situation. Anton, curious, stepped closer.

“How old are you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You don’t seem your age.”

“What does age matter? If you grow up under a father who sells his daughters three times, you turn out like me.”

Cordelia replied somewhat indifferently. Anton thought of Rosalind—so fragile she seemed like a glass flower. In contrast, Cordelia had bloomed alone like a wildflower, without anyone paying attention.

At that moment, her knees buckled slightly, and she wavered. Anton instinctively wanted to help, then stopped. How hypocritical it would be to extend a hand after poisoning her.

“Lie down quickly. I’ve only given you some gruel so far, which isn’t enough. I’ll tell the kitchen to prepare some soup.”

Chelsea guided Cordelia back to bed. Complying, she lay down. Even a single step was exhausting; recovery was her priority.

Anton lingered nearby with a cautious gaze. Cordelia spoke, annoyed:

“Why are you still standing there?”

“…What?”

“I said, why aren’t you leaving? Do you have something to say?”

“….”

It felt as if the roles of master and guest had reversed. The situation was familiar to Anton, yet strange.

“You’re not going to ask why I poisoned you?”

“You’d probably use my life as leverage to demand something from my master. I don’t know what it is, though.”

Her nonchalant tone was more curious than anger-inducing. Had it been someone else, they would’ve been dragged away and denied water. Seeing a girl her age unable to even muster strength brought a strange sense of déjà vu.

“I’m tired. How long do you plan to stand there? Surely you won’t keep watching me?”

“Ah, alright. Rest. But don’t try to escape.”

Anton unconsciously followed her flow of words, then snapped back into a half-hearted warning. It didn’t sound threatening at all.

Cordelia waved her hand without responding. Anton watched her for a moment, then left.

Surprisingly, life at Embley Castle wasn’t so bad. Perhaps due to the poison, her movements were unstable, requiring frequent assistance from the attendants, who treated it as completely normal. When she tried to do something herself, they panicked like caretakers of a five-year-old.

Occasionally, Cordelia even dined with Anton.

One day, seeing a dessert topped with peanuts, Cordelia said:

“I can’t eat that—I’m allergic to peanuts.”

She pushed the plate away. Anton watched her silently for a while, his gaze unusually intense.

“Why?”

“Ros, and my daughter couldn’t eat nuts either. They also couldn’t touch shellfish or peaches.”

“I see.”

Cordelia replied casually, yet somehow, Anton’s attitude softened significantly after that brief conversation. She was treated less as a hostage and more like a guest.

“Want to go to the garden?”

“Yes. Being in the room all day is suffocating.”

“But the sun is still high. Why not wait until it sets?”

Despite Chelsea’s warnings, Cordelia was insistent. The maid had no choice but to help her prepare for the outing. The dresses offered were all small, requiring multiple alterations to fit her frame.

Finally, with gloves and parasol in hand, she stepped outside.

The rose garden had already lost its blooms, but it retained the grandeur and history befitting one of the Eight Sacred Houses.

“There’s a patio ahead, where you usually rest…”

“Then let’s go there.”

Chelsea abruptly stopped speaking. Cordelia ignored her and walked briskly, the maid following with the parasol.

A cool breeze brushed her cheeks. Soon, a quaintly decorated patio came into view. Cordelia seated herself there.

“It’s hot. Should we go back inside?”

“It’s a pleasant warmth. Ah, I want some iced tea.”

Cordelia hinted with a glance. Chelsea naturally prepared the tea, setting the parasol aside.

“I’ll be right back. Wait a moment.”

“Alright.”

With the watcher gone, she had a moment of freedom.