Chapter : 152
Even with her desperate thrashing, not a single person—not Lady Cornwall, nor the knights or other maids—moved an inch.
Lady Cornwall reported in a cold tone, as if Emma’s struggles were invisible.
“I’ve visited Count Enoch. He says he will act according to reason.”
Emma froze mid-struggle, eyes wide.
“…Does that mean he’s on our side, or not?!”
“Doesn’t he always act according to reason? Do not worry.”
Then, quietly, she commanded the kneeling servants.
“Everyone, rise.”
The servants slowly lifted their heads, glancing at Lady Cornwall and Emma. Emma’s eyes shot upward in alarm.
“…What are you doing?”
Lady Cornwall wore a mask of gentleness. She wanted nothing more than to hurl that mask to the floor immediately, but now was not the time.
“This is a sacred chapel where Princess Rosette’s passage to Heaven is prayed for, Madam. Would it be fitting for violence and screams to echo here?”
“…….”
“Do you think someone enshrined here would find Heaven amidst such chaos?”
At a loss for words, Emma watched as Lady Cornwall gestured to the maids, who helped the servants stand. Then, bowing politely, she turned and left.
Following her, the knights, maids, and servants filed out, and soon the chapel was completely empty.
John and Emma gaped, but they could not stop the departing crowd, like water retreating from the shore.
＊ ＊ ＊
“Lady Cornwall… I wanted to cover it up, but…”
One of the maids cried as they left the chapel. Lady Cornwall shook her head, signaling her to stop talking.
At the time Lady Cornwall visited Count Enoch, Emma, trembling with chaotic anger, suddenly insisted on seeing how Grace was confined.
The maids desperately tried to stop her, but there was no way to deter Emma, who acted as if Grace’s suffering were the very purpose of her existence.
By the time they reached Grace’s room, Emma’s anger surged when she realized the place was warm and comfortable.
“Where are you right now?”
“……”
The maid remained silent, wearing a somber expression. Lady Cornwall sighed deeply. She dismissed all who followed her and approached Grace alone.
“You’ll need these treatment tools.”
Taking the tools offered by the maid, she walked down the corridors and hallways. Suddenly, her steps halted.
Someone was standing at the entrance of the dimly lit hallway.
A cold sweat ran down Lady Cornwall’s back.
It was terrifying to imagine how someone with such presence could have sneaked in here.
The figure stepped forward from the darkness, as if he had no intention of hiding. The faint light slowly revealed his full appearance.
Lady Cornwall quickly bent her knees toward him.
Ares’ gaze fell on the treatment tools she carried. Flames seemed to rise from his jet-black eyes. His cold, sharp voice struck Lady Cornwall like a frost.
“Grace.”
“……”
“Where are you right now?”
＊ ＊ ＊
Grace sat on the floor, back against the wall, slipping her hand into her chest in the darkness. From a pouch hastily made with Jesse’s help, she pulled out a small, round ring.
She had hidden it in her clothes, knowing it would certainly be taken if worn openly. She caressed the smooth ring with her fingertips.
Ares.
Had he seen my letter?
Ares.
In truth, the words she wanted to say were not the plain words in the letter. But amusingly, she didn’t even know exactly what she wanted to tell him.
Was it that she regretted leaving like this?
Was it an apology for leaving without even saying goodbye?
No… it wasn’t exactly that.
Then what was it? What did she really want to convey to him…?
At that moment, his voice, once lodged in her heart, came to mind.
She heard the latch of the tightly shut door turn. Then, the ungreased hinges screeched, and the lamp light pushed back the darkness.
Startled, Grace instinctively closed her eyes, gripping the ring tightly.
Heavy footsteps, large and weighted, echoed in her ears. A special scent, reminiscent of musk, rolled over her like an invisible wave, and when it hit her, Grace opened her eyes and looked up.
“…!”
A wildflower in a place she thought lifeless.
Brilliance in a harsh, barren wilderness.
The only person who told her it was okay to cry if she wanted, or laugh if she wished.
“Grace.”
At the low, husky voice, Grace exhaled the breath she had been holding, and he knelt before her.
For the first time, Ares felt his hand tremble.
Under the lamp’s light, Grace looked pitiful. Her delicate lips were split and bleeding, her pale cheeks flushed even in the dim light. The collar of her dress was torn, her hair disheveled. He could imagine how mercilessly she had been struck.
Ares’ trembling hand hovered near her face.
Unable to touch her injuries, he gritted his teeth and opened the treatment kit. He applied ointment gently to her cracked lips. His trembling hands continued their work, and he spoke no words.
Grace clutched the ring tightly in both hands, staring at the man who had come for her. When Ares finished, he met her gaze.
He did not know what to say.
‘Only while I am Walter Richmond, and only while you are Duchess of Richmond…’
That night, they made that promise.
Now, they both knew the promised time had ended.
Ares suppressed the urge to kiss Grace and looked down.
Grace’s hand gripped something tightly. In comparison to his large hand, hers seemed absurdly small and fragile. In her hand was a tiny gold ring.
Veins throbbed in Ares’ neck. He drew a breath and asked, pressing down as if to hold back his emotions:
“Don’t you have anything to say to me?”
“……”
When Grace met his eyes, she realized he was sad.
“Not the letter you left for me… don’t you have anything else to say to me, Grace?”
The words lodged in her heart surged to her throat, but she could not utter them. They were hers alone.
Swallowing the words that had risen with all her might, Grace pulled her hand free from his and slowly knelt on her left knee, looking up at him.
“Rill and Teril River, the owner of the golden wheat fields, the rock of Dekan, and guardian of the southwest, Taylor, will stay by your side.”
“Huh……”
“Keep moving forward, Your Grace.”
Ares covered his eyes with his hand, a hollow laugh escaping.
“…Heh heh.”
‘A too-sharp sword cuts its wielder.’
An old knight’s advice came to mind.
Ares stood, brushed his face, and spoke coldly to Grace kneeling before him:
“Such tearful loyalty. Thank you.”
Why had she held that ring?
Couldn’t she have at least once said that to him?
There were so many words he wanted to say, yet to the kneeling Grace, he could not. With a heart like a battered soldier, he turned away.
Grace watched him stride away, warm tears streaming down her cheeks.
The unsaid words returned to her chest, pressing tightly. Her stomach felt uneasy, as if bloated, then she began to gag.
“Ugh… ugh…”
Kneeling, Grace tried to suppress her gagging, but it wouldn’t stop.
“Your Highness!”
A maid who had followed Ares ran in, alarmed, but Grace’s gagging continued for a long while.
