10
“Her breathing is stable, Your Grace. If she had remained underwater longer, her lungs might have filled with water, but fortunately, the rescue was swift.”
The physician reported Plita’s condition to Heivan. His expression, which had been stiff as he listened, relaxed slightly—but not enough for others to notice.
“Well done. Keep an eye on her. If you notice even the slightest irregularity, report to me immediately.”
“I will, Your Grace.”
The physician bowed his head respectfully. Heivan turned his gaze to Plita, who lay asleep on the bed.
Earlier, her face had been pale and lifeless, but now, as the doctor said, some color had returned to her cheeks. Heivan’s hand twitched unconsciously. But instead of reaching out to touch her cheek or hold her hand, he turned away.
The attendants who had been standing behind him quickly stepped aside. Heivan was about to leave the room when a thought struck him, and he stopped in his tracks.
“Where is the woman who saved Plita?”
“Pardon?”
“The woman. Isn’t she the one who saved her?”
Heivan looked from one servant to another, finally settling his gaze on the steward in charge of the residence. The man, caught in Heivan’s stare, avoided his eyes in clear discomfort. Heivan narrowed his own eyes.
“She saved my daughter. I must reward her. Take me to her.”
“Ah, well… Yes, if you wait a moment, I will bring her to you—”
“No. I’ll go to her. Take me now.”
Heivan cut him off mid-sentence. But the man only fidgeted, unable to move. The others, too, exchanged glances, looking troubled. Heivan looked over them with a sharp gaze and asked coldly,
“…Must I repeat myself?”
“M-my apologies!”
The man fell to his knees and bowed his head. He began to make excuses.
“She… she trespassed into the royal mausoleum. We were questioning her intentions—”
“So she’s being interrogated.”
Heivan’s expression turned cold. He addressed the knight standing by the door.
“Find out where she is. Now, Sir Fedwin.”
“Yes, Your Grace!”
Fedwin bowed his head in obedience.
Smack!
Another red handprint appeared on Roze’s cheek. She hung limp, unable even to lift her head. The man who had just slapped her roughly grabbed her by the chin.
“Answer me. Why did you trespass into the royal mausoleum?”
“I… I heard… there was a memorial service…”
Roze barely managed to speak, her voice faint and trembling. But the man wanted a different answer.
“Who sent you to harm the young lady? Hm? Just tell me who sent you, and I’ll let you go.”
“N-no. It’s not like that…”
Roze shook her head, forcing out her words. The man’s face twisted in irritation, and he grabbed her hair again. Her face was bruised, her lips split from repeated beatings.
This was not how one should treat someone who had saved a duke’s daughter. But the man didn’t care.
“You don’t even have to say who. Just answer ‘yes’ to my question.”
He rattled off unfamiliar names. But Roze kept shaking her head.
Her stubborn refusal made the man scowl. He spat on the floor.
At first, he’d planned to shift the blame to this lowly commoner to avoid being held responsible for the child’s safety. Whether or not she had truly saved the girl didn’t matter. The truth could be manipulated.
He could say she’d pushed the girl into the water, whether on purpose or by accident…
But things had become more complicated. He recalled someone from the House of Decklen who had come looking for her. They had demanded the woman’s name.
He couldn’t pretend not to understand what that meant. He had served the royal family long enough to witness the ruthless power struggles.
It must be a scheme to eliminate one of the contenders for the throne by exploiting this accident. Everyone knew the dowager queen favored the duke.
To raise Heivan to the throne, any rival threats needed to be cleared. That must be why she had mobilized her family.
Or perhaps the duke himself is pulling the strings behind her. The higher they are, the more they stink, the man sneered inwardly and turned to speak to Roze again—
When the door burst open.
“Hey, I said no one’s allowed in— H-huh? Y-Your Grace!”
The man’s irritated voice broke into a gasp when he saw who entered. Heivan.
The duke glanced down at the man groveling on the floor, then lifted his gaze.
There she was. The woman, tied to a chair and unrecognizable under bruises and blood.
And at that moment, something hot surged in his chest.
It was anger.
The woman had saved his daughter. And this was how she was treated?
But was that all it was?
Since losing his memory, Heivan had become colder, as if his emotions had vanished with his memories. It was hard to believe he’d once been known as kind and warmhearted.
So why now, did he feel this intense surge?
Even back then, when he’d seen her on the street, she had lingered in his mind for a long time.
Step. Step.
Even with his mind a whirlwind of thoughts, Heivan walked calmly toward the woman. She, too, raised her head to look at him.
The sight of her pale face made his chest ache. Blood trickled from her split lip, stirring an unplaceable rage. Suppressing the emotions he didn’t understand, he spoke.
“You saved my daughter?”
“H-her Highness… Is she all right? Is she safe?”
Roze didn’t answer his question. Instead, she anxiously asked about Plita. Her green eyes were filled with concern—for the child she’d saved, not for herself, though she had been beaten and accused unjustly.
What a foolish woman.
Heivan nearly laughed, but instead, he gave a slight nod.
“She’s fine, thanks to your quick action. She’s sleeping peacefully.”
Even as he spoke, he found it odd. Telling her she saved the girl was one thing—but why add that the child was sleeping soundly?
“I… I’m so glad.”
Tears welled in Roze’s eyes and streamed down her cheeks. Not from pain or sadness, but from joy and relief. She smiled brightly, as if unaware of her bruised face and bloodied lips.
And strangely… Heivan didn’t find that unpleasant. He also didn’t regret giving a longer answer.
“Ahem…”
He cleared his throat awkwardly, then frowned when he saw she was still tied to the chair. Turning to the steward, he commanded,
“Untie her.”
“B-but she trespassed in the mausoleum—”
The man looked up and stammered, but Heivan didn’t bother listening. He turned to Fedwin.
“Untie her, Sir Fedwin.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Fedwin swiftly moved to untie Roze. The steward, who had been watching, suddenly remembered the orders he had received from the House of Decklen and sprang to his feet.
“W-we must continue the interrogation, Your Grace! We still don’t know who ordered her to harm the young lady—”
“She saved my daughter. Not harmed her.”
Heivan turned to the man with a cold, sharp glare. The steward flinched involuntarily but pushed on.
“B-but… Even so, she’s of low birth, and her identity is unknown…”
“She is my daughter’s maid.”
“…Pardon?”
The steward looked stunned. So did Fedwin. Roze also stared up at him from the chair, as if she had misheard.
“I will hire you as my daughter’s personal maid.”
“…!”
“Unless you object.”
“N-no! I mean—yes! I would love that!”
Despite her exhaustion, Roze shouted energetically. Heivan’s lips curled up just a little.
“Good. Take her.”
He turned around. Fedwin quickly helped support Roze, and she staggered after Heivan out of the interrogation room.
His upright, clean figure moved steadily ahead—so different from her bedraggled, drenched state.
I wanted to see him when I looked better…
She bit her lip with a bittersweet smile. But she didn’t regret it. The child was safe. And she’d gained the chance—a dreamlike one—to stay close to her.
However long it would last…
She blinked slowly, a soft smile playing on her lips. Then, she looked toward the man walking ahead and whispered in her heart,
Thank you, Heivan. Truly… thank you.
