Chapter : 7. The Cursed Young Lord (3)
“…Where am I?”
Elia sat up and swung her feet off the bed.
Her bare feet sank into a soft texture. Looking down, she saw that a thick carpet covered the entire floor.
Elia slowly scanned the room.
Hunting trophies hung on the walls. The carpet and banners. Even the curtains.
Everything in the room looked sturdy, thick, and built to withstand cold.
Creak.
While Elia was surveying the room, the sound of the door opening caught her attention. Turning her head, she saw a maid standing there with wide, surprised eyes.
“You’re awake! Are you feeling any discomfort?”
The maid approached Elia with a worried expression, checking her carefully. She made sure there was no fever or any other discomfort, which made Elia’s cheeks warm slightly.
“Ah… I think I’m okay. Where… is this?”
“Please, speak with respect, Milady! This is Mahart Castle. I am Risha, your personal maid. If anything hurts, you must tell me immediately. Your hands and feet must be freezing from the journey.”
The maid, rather than being annoyed by Elia’s attitude, gave a small smile and stepped back.
“Uh, okay.”
Elia felt a sense of relief inwardly as she replied.
So we’ve arrived.
After all that hardship, she had finally made it into the castle.
Wait a moment.
As relief washed over her, Elia suddenly asked the maid.
“Axion… no, where is the young lord?”
“Pardon?”
The maid looked startled at Elia’s words.
Am I remembering correctly?
The last warmth came to mind again.
Did Axion really save me?
Or was it merely a hallucination caused by her clouded mind?
Her heart wavered. The area around her chest prickled strangely.
“You mean the young lord? After bringing you to the castle, he’s been in his room ever since.”
The maid spoke of him cautiously, as though the name itself carried weight.
Elia felt relieved that Axion had brought her here but was also unsettled by the maid’s reaction.
So he really is being avoided.
The maid’s caution bordered on fear toward Axion. Yet, according to the books, no one had truly suffered because of him.
Of course. He’s not cursed.
Elia’s expression darkened. Axion had never been cursed, nor was he the child of a demon.
Everything has a root cause.
Yet all the dishonor and misunderstandings surrounding Axion were consequences of events that happened even before he was born.
Duke Tartan Mahart.
The current head of the sacred northern family, protector of the drum, and known as a perfectionist even among the dukes.
If anything, he’s obsessed with swords.
The perfectionist duke was famous for his fanatical sword collection.
But no one could have predicted that this hobby would bring great misfortune.
Anusia’s Sun Sword.
A Sun Sword was discovered at an ancient ruin.
The relic was to be transferred to the Main Hall under the temple’s care.
Duke Tartan coveted the Sun Sword and ultimately succeeded in stealing it during transit.
Until that point, he had no idea of the secret surrounding the sword.
It wasn’t a Sun Sword.
The sword known as the Sun Sword actually contained a sealed demon.
The demon, released from its seal by Duke Tartan, tried to consume him.
Yet the blessing passed down through the Mahart family protected him.
Just once.
Unlike priests or holy knights who gain holy power through baptism in temples, the Mahart family head received a miracle known as the blessing of God.
It can block any curse.
Some even joked that the Mahart family was born with two lives.
The divine protection saved Duke Tartan at birth, but the curse sought a new target.
The young lord Axion was in the duchess’s womb.
An unborn child is defenseless.
The demon lunged to consume Axion’s soul.
Yet the soul in the womb was stronger than expected and instead obliterated the demon with its purity.
Black hair. Red eyes. It resembled the form of the demon that tried to consume the soul.
Axion was born safely but could not entirely erase the traces left by the demon.
…It was just a trace of survival.
His differing appearance and the dark power he carried were not things Axion had chosen to be born with.
Yet no one knew this.
Duke Tartan viewed Axion as a flaw and treated him coldly, while the duchess feared him.
“Milady?”
“…Ah.”
Elia snapped out of her thoughts when the maid called. She had been thinking too deeply. Shaking her head, she spoke.
“It’s nothing. But I think I should personally thank him for his help…”
She had to meet Axion.
How she would proceed depended entirely on him.
“There’s a dinner tonight, and the master has invited you as well. The young lord will also attend, so perhaps you could greet him then?”
The maid clapped her hands as if remembering something. By “master,” she meant the duke.
The duke would already know that Elia was a princess and that the capital had been in turmoil.
He can’t not know.
He was sensitive and meticulous about everything. It was lucky she hadn’t been immediately turned away.
“Alright. Tell him I’ll attend.”
If she tried to meet only Axion immediately, it would surely seem odd.
She wouldn’t stay here long, but her stay required the duke’s permission.
“Yes. I’ll tell the master.”
The maid nodded and left.
Left alone, Elia let her stiff back collapse onto the headboard of the bed.
Sigh.
Her body ached as soon as the tension released; she hadn’t fully recovered yet.
It’s fortunate it’s only this much.
If Axion hadn’t found her, she would have surely lost her life.
Elia was satisfied that all her limbs were still intact.
There’s a chance.
A pure white snowy field. The other savior who had stood there.
Elia hugged the worn book tightly, thinking of Axion.
Elia let the maid help her into a dress.
Her robe and clothes had been completely ruined, so she had to borrow a dress from the Mahart household.
“It suits you well.”
The sky-blue dress, said to have been worn by the duchess in her youth, fit Elia’s body fairly well.
It seemed perfect enough not to draw any criticism.
Elia nodded and followed the maid down to the dining hall.
When she arrived, the hall was already filled with members of the Mahart family.
Duke Tartan.
Elia focused on the man seated at the head of the table.
Pale skin and a thin face.
Silver hair swept back from his forehead, blue eyes cold but kind. Duke Tartan exuded the essence of the Mahart family itself.
“Please, sit.”
“Thank you for the invitation.”
Elia went to the empty seat to the left of Duke Tartan at the head table; the seat to his right remained vacant.
The duchess has passed away.
She had seen Duchess Dalian’s portrait on the first floor.
A frail woman who looked like she could collapse at any moment, she had died of illness when Axion was young.
But it wasn’t just that.
She felt guilty.
Believing she had brought disgrace to the Mahart family, she had slowly wasted away.
Moreover, whenever she saw Axion, she would panic and often run away, leaving her son behind.
…Axion.
Elia turned to find him.
He sat at a distance from the other two, with black hair.
Though not as striking as Duke Tartan, Duchess Dalian’s bright platinum hair made Axion seem even more out of place.
His delicate features certainly came from his mother’s side.
Yet his black hair seemed to hide him from notice.
It’s only been three years, but the atmosphere is so different.
The eerie feeling from when they first met was gone.
Am I imagining it?
He seemed withdrawn, almost anxious.
