Chapter 17
“All done, my lady. Fortunately, the wound isn’t severe, so it shouldn’t leave a scar.”
The healer stood up after wrapping a thin cloth around Plita’s knee. His assistant, who had followed him in, began packing up the ointments and bandages. Watching them, Roze asked the healer,
“So, the lady is going to be all right now?”
“Yes. Of course, you’ll need to be careful not to get the wound wet so it doesn’t become infected. I trust you’ll be mindful of that, yes?”
The healer nodded as he responded, then turned his eyes toward Roze. There was a hint of curiosity in his gaze—he had clearly heard the rumors.
The woman who saved the lady and was lucky enough to become her personal maid—that was the talk.
But unlike others, the healer didn’t seem to harbor any animosity toward Roze. Perhaps because he was also a servant, he only seemed mildly curious.
“I’ll keep that in mind, sir. Thank you very much.”
Roze bowed politely. The healer withdrew his curiosity and turned to Plita to make a formal farewell.
“Well then, my lady, I’ll take my leav—”
“Roze too!”
Plita suddenly shouted from where she was sitting on the bed, cutting him off. The healer blinked in surprise at her unexpected outburst.
“…Pardon?”
“Treat Roze too. Right here, on the cheek.”
She pointed at Roze and then tapped her own cheek. Roze, realizing what she meant, blushed.
“It’s all right, my lady. I’m fine.”
“Oh, you’re asking me to treat the maid’s injury?”
Noticing the bruise still visible on Roze’s cheek, the healer nodded in understanding. But then his expression turned puzzled. It didn’t look like the lady had hit her maid. So then… someone else?
‘Who dared to strike the lady’s personal maid?’
The healer’s eyes shifted slightly as he considered the possibilities—then his lips parted in realization. There weren’t many who would dare to lay a hand on the personal maid of a noble lady.
‘If someone above the Grand Duke did it… well, I don’t need to guess too hard, do I?’
The healer shook his head. He had seen the Dowager Queen visiting the Grand Duke’s estate multiple times, and he had heard much from the staff there.
So he wasn’t surprised that the Dowager Queen acted like the lady of the estate. In truth, it wasn’t shocking.
After all, everyone assumed the Grand Duke would marry the Dowager Queen.
‘Honestly, who but the Grand Duke could possibly ascend the throne?’
The healer, drawing his own conclusions, didn’t ask who had inflicted the wound. He simply applied ointment to Roze’s cheek, as ordered by the lady. That, in itself, was the key to surviving long as a healer in the Grand Duke’s estate.
“All done, my lady.”
“Already?”
“Yes. For a bruise like this, once the swelling and discoloration fade, it’ll be fine.”
He said it nonchalantly, but Plita frowned and looked like she was about to cry again, clearly more upset about Roze’s injury than her own. Bowing once more, the healer and his assistant left the room.
Click.
The door closed, leaving only Plita and Roze in the room.
Plita climbed down from the bed and reached out to Roze, who quickly knelt before her.
“Does it hurt a lot?”
Her pale green eyes were filled with concern. She gently touched Roze’s cheek with her small hand, barely letting her fingers brush it for fear of causing more pain.
“No, not at all, my lady.”
“But it’s bruised. And there’s even a cut.”
Plita’s voice trembled as she frowned again. She seemed to be referring to the scratch left by the head maid’s ring. Roze smiled and shook her head.
“Thanks to you, I got treated. It’ll heal quickly.”
“…Really?”
“Of course.”
Roze nodded energetically. Plita, looking relieved, wrapped her arms around Roze’s neck. The warmth of the child’s body passed directly into her.
“Yaaawn…”
Roze heard Plita let out a tiny yawn near her ear. Smiling softly, she carefully lifted the child into her arms.
She must’ve been exhausted from all the running around—and from everything that had happened. She must’ve been frightened, too.
Roze patted Plita’s back and walked toward the bed.
“Mmnn…”
As she laid her down, Plita stirred slightly, perhaps already half-asleep. Roze stood still for a moment so as not to wake her, then slowly placed her onto the bed.
‘…Plita.’
Roze looked down at her with affection. She gently stroked the child’s hair, and the soft strands slipping through her fingers made her heart ache.
With a bittersweet smile, she slowly withdrew her hand, stood up, and turned to leave the bedroom—only to freeze.
“…!”
Standing by the open door was Heivon, watching her.
“Y… Your Grace.”
Roze stared at him in a daze before snapping back to her senses and bowing her head deeply. Heivon accepted her greeting and stepped into the room.
“She’s asleep.”
He approached Plita’s bedside and gazed down at her. His voice was quiet. Roze cautiously lifted her head to look at him.
He seemed impassive as he looked at the sleeping child—but she could see the concern and affection hiding behind his eyes.
‘He’d promised so many times he’d be a good father when the baby was born.’
The memory made Roze smile faintly. She vividly recalled the man who’d shared her labor pains and held their newborn child with tears of joy in his eyes.
…She missed him.
And it hurt.
He was so close—just a few steps away—and yet felt impossibly distant.
Roze’s faint smile twisted into a pained expression. At that moment, Heivon turned to her. She quickly lowered her head and raised her hand to cover her mouth.
She didn’t want him to see her like this. Of course, he wouldn’t recognize her anyway—he had no memories of her.
“The treatment.”
His low voice reached her. Without time to compose herself, Roze responded with her head still bowed.
“The healer was just here. Thankfully, the wound wasn’t deep, so there shouldn’t be a scar…”
“Did you receive treatment?”
He cut her off before she could finish. This time, she couldn’t answer right away.
“…Pardon?”
She wondered if she had heard him correctly. She looked up, confused. His blue eyes slowly scanned her face.
“I see you did.”
Even in the dim room, the ointment on her cheek was visible. Heivon gave a small nod and turned away, not waiting for an answer.
“Your Grace…”
Roze suddenly called out to him. He stopped and turned back, but the moment their eyes met, she flinched and dropped her gaze again. It was clear even she didn’t know why she’d stopped him.
“….”
Heivon didn’t scold her for the breach in etiquette. Nor did he turn and leave. He simply stood there, watching her for a long while.
How much time passed?
Footsteps echoed in her ears—walking away, not toward her.
Click.
“…Haa.”
The door shut. Only then did Roze collapse to the floor. Her body had lost all strength, and she couldn’t move a finger.
* * *
Perhaps the heavens pitied the young king who died so early. From the break of dawn, rain had poured without stopping. Heivon stood before the gravestone, letting the rain soak him, silently watching the endless downpour.
…It felt like his brother was crying through the rain.
Crying out against his unjust death.
He slowly raised his gaze and looked across. Under an umbrella held by a maid stood the Dowager Queen, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Heivon’s lips twisted at the sight.
A cold fury rose in his chest. Her false mourning was no different from mocking the dead.
His blue eyes darkened. His hand gripped the umbrella tighter. Through the falling rain, he could see not just the Dowager Queen, but others as well.
People sneaking glances, feigning grief.
Not one of them genuinely mourned the king. Despite his tragic death at such a young age, none of them shed true tears.
‘If this is all it is, why even hold a memorial?’
His grip tightened, and the umbrella handle creaked. But then he let out a bitter chuckle and forced himself to relax.
