Chapter 74,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Just as Priscilla furrowed her brows in suspicion, Grace appeared behind the maid.
“Gianna, what are you doing there?”
“…Oh? Uh— I thought there weren’t enough tea leaves, so I added some.”
The maid, called Gianna, answered with a flustered face, hiding her hands behind her back.
“Oh, thanks. Then I’ll take it.”
“Mm. Good work.”
Grace picked up the tray bound for Theodore’s room and left the kitchen.
Watching her go awkwardly, Gianna sighed in relief, thinking she was alone.
“Phew…”
“Gianna.”
But she wasn’t alone.
Startled, she turned to see Priscilla standing close by, her face grim.
“M-My Lady?”
“Hand me what you’re holding.”
“W-What? All of a sudden…?”
“I saw everything, so hand it over peacefully.”
But Gianna shook her head desperately, refusing. In the end, she struggled fiercely against Priscilla, who tried to wrest it from her.
“Gianna! How dare you act like this to my lady!”
The commotion drew Dorothy, who rushed in to help Priscilla. Together, they pried the object from Gianna’s hand.
“No—!”
Ignoring the maid’s scream, Priscilla checked the item.
It was a small jar of tea leaves.
But—
“This… isn’t rooibos.”
It wasn’t the tea Gianna had claimed.
Priscilla opened the jar, sniffed, and instantly grimaced.
Unfortunately, she recognized the scent and the leaves’ appearance all too well.
“These are Nychel leaves.”
At once, Gianna’s face went deathly pale.
“N-No! It’s rooibos, my lady!”
“I’m not a fool, Gianna. This isn’t my first time seeing it.”
Nychel—a poisonous herb known as the “Reaper” for its ability to weaken the heart. Taken in small amounts repeatedly, it brought a gentle death, often used for euthanasia.
Long ago, when Priscilla’s mother suffered from illness, the Ravello family doctor had carefully suggested Nychel to ease her pain. That was when Priscilla first learned of it.
Its traits were distinctive: leaves with a reddish gradient and a sickly sweet scent.
And the amount Gianna had added just now—was clearly a lethal dose.
“You were trying to poison His Highness the Crown Prince.”
“…!”
Struck to the core, Gianna’s legs gave way, and she collapsed on the spot.
Priscilla ordered Dorothy to lock her up and rushed out in panic.
‘Please, please let him not have drunk it yet…!’
Casting aside all dignity as a noblewoman, she burst open Theodore’s door.
“Your Highness!”
But the boy had already drunk it—his face twisted in pain, clutching at his throat.
A teacup lay overturned at his feet, red tea soaking into the carpet.
Shoving the frantic Grace aside, Priscilla gathered the small body into her arms.
“Your Highness, are you all right?! Grace, how much tea did he drink?”
“O-Only one cup, but he suddenly said the taste was strange…”
“Go fetch a doctor immediately!”
Grace nodded and ran out.
Meanwhile, the poison was already working—the boy stiffened in her arms.
He seemed to sense it too. Slowly blinking, Theodore looked up at her and asked:
“…Am I going to die?”
It was the first time Priscilla had heard his voice since their formal greeting on the first day.
“Like Mama and Papa?”
In eyes as blue as jewels—eyes sharp like a cat’s—there flickered faint fear.
Priscilla rubbed his arms and legs, forcing a calm smile.
“No, Your Highness. I won’t let that happen.”
“But… they’ll want to see me. They’ll want me with them…”
The boy mumbled, struggling to move his lips.
“Maybe I should just go to them…”
“Don’t say such foolish things, Your Highness. What parents would ever want their child to die?”
Priscilla’s stern reply carried no room for doubt.
It was known the late Emperor and Empress had died protecting their son. People like that would never wish for him to join them early.
“They would want you to live long, long, happily—and only then meet them again.”
Tears streamed down Theodore’s cheeks.
Priscilla gently brushed back his sweat-damp hair and whispered:
“It’s all right. Just sleep a little, and when you wake, everything will be fine.”
His blue eyes gazed at her a moment, then slowly closed.
When the doctor arrived, he examined the unconscious boy and declared his life not in immediate danger.
Thanks to his dislike of sweet things, he had fortunately drunk only a small amount.
But because of his young age, the poison spread faster than in adults, causing paralysis.
For days, Priscilla stayed by his side, nursing him without rest.
Meanwhile, the Crown Prince poisoning attempt was handled entirely by the Duke of Muton.
By the time Theodore regained consciousness, the Duke had already concluded the case:
Gianna, blinded by money, had accepted a large sum from an enemy nation to kill the prince. When discovered, she took her own life.
Indeed, the maid bit her tongue and died within a day of interrogation by the Duke.
“The culprit is dead, so to keep this from escalating further, you, my lady, must apologize to His Highness. What do you think will happen if word spreads that royalty was nearly assassinated here? The blame lies with you for failing to manage your maids properly!”
The Duke scolded Priscilla, pushing all responsibility onto her.
Feeling guilty herself for not stopping it sooner and nearly letting Theodore die, Priscilla went to apologize on behalf of the household.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness. Because of my negligence, you suffered greatly. I will accept any punishment you give.”
The boy, now safely on his feet again, looked at her quietly before speaking with a maturity beyond his years:
“I’m all right. I won’t report this to the capital, so rest assured.”
Priscilla’s eyes widened at his words—he intended to let the assassination attempt be buried.
That might be what her husband wanted, but she certainly didn’t. She didn’t care if she was punished for poor supervision.
“But you must tell the Imperial Court. What if something similar happens to you in the capital?”
Even with her reasoning, Theodore only pressed his lips together and shook his head.
Then, bowing his head, he muttered softly:
“Because I don’t want you to be punished…”
“What was that?”
“Never mind. Just don’t worry. I can handle it.”
“But…”
In the end, unable to overcome the boy’s stubbornness, the incident was buried.
After that, Priscilla and Theodore grew somewhat closer—until the unpredictable mood swings of an adolescent boy eventually drove them apart again.
‘As he grew, he seemed to hate me more and more… I thought he had forgotten everything back then.’
Priscilla gazed at Theodore, caught up in bittersweet feelings.
So—was that why he told her about Brian Muton’s affair? To repay the life debt in his own way?
“…I didn’t know you held my aunt in such esteem.”
“When I was younger, I did find her a bit stifling. But that was only because I judged her by my own standards.”
Theodore spoke with surprising candor.
He turned his head slightly, met Claire’s eyes, and said quietly:
“That’s why I want to treat you differently.”
“…”
“I don’t believe in the Claire I see—but in the Claire you choose to show me. Your wisdom, your boldness, your kindness.”
The me I choose to show him…
Claire’s heart trembled. The lock she’d kept around her feelings for Theodore rattled harder than ever.
Suddenly, she wondered how she was treating him.
‘I’ve been judging him by my own standards too…’
More precisely, she had judged the present Theodore based on the one she knew as Priscilla.
But the Theodore before her now?
He had complied with her requests without complaint, helped her again and again, and even risked his life to protect her.
A man with not a single reason not to trust.
And yet Claire couldn’t fully believe in him—because of the memory of his past self.
Unable to find words, her lips parted soundlessly. Theodore gave her a faint smile.
“There’s no need to overthink. Like I’ve said before—I simply believe in you. Whether you believe in me or not isn’t all that important.”
His calm answer was followed by heavy eyelids, drooping with unwanted drowsiness from his wounds.
“May I sleep a little?”
“Ah, yes. Please rest.”
Claire quickly let his head rest on her lap.
For a moment, Theodore stiffened—but then, without protest, he closed his eyes.
By then, the campfire had grown strong, its warm glow enfolding them both.
