Chapter 34
Joseph slowly widened the distance between himself and Walter as they walked. To others it might not seem any different, but having lived and fought alongside Walter, Joseph could sharply sense the foulness of his companion’s mood. No—foul was too mild a word. Walter was downright displeased.
And at Walter’s side walked Grace. Compared to Walter’s imposing frame, the small young lady barely reached his chest, yet Joseph immediately discerned that the balance of power between the two leaned toward Grace.
In other words—
“A wolf ensnared by a fox’s tail…”
He muttered without realizing it, and Walter, frowning, immediately glanced back at him. Joseph exaggeratedly widened his eyes and shook his head.
“I didn’t say anything, sir.”
Walter’s temper was indeed uneasy, just as Joseph guessed. Still, here he was, allowing himself to be swept along by Grace’s calm, soft-spoken words, moving in step with her. Joseph’s impression of a wolf tangled by a fox’s tail wasn’t entirely wrong.
But it wasn’t only because he couldn’t refute her that Walter walked so uneasily.
Walter, too, was a man who had prepared and waited more than ten years. He had knights who had become the strongest in the Empire at his side, and Richmond’s rusted sword could never stop them. Once Richmond was reclaimed, Walter intended to return the castle to Eliza.
Of course, in his plan, Eliza never rose from her bed nor faced him again. She would have barely named an heir, then finally closed her eyes in eternal rest.
The final courtesy Walter intended for Eliza in his plan was to lay her grandson at her side. But in Grace’s plan, Eliza was different.
In her vision, Eliza was once again the queen who had ruled Richmond.
Had Walter never imagined such a sight himself?
In the three years they had spent together, Eliza had maintained her dignity as queen even while confined to her annex. He had seen her cry silently, but never once did she falter. She was the one who had trained him in secret, the one who had told him to go to the Wall of Death and gather knights to his cause.
“Having survived by the lives of my son, my daughter-in-law, and my grandson, Your Highness must never die. By any means necessary, endure, grow stronger, and ascend the throne as if it were always yours to claim.”
That was how she had spoken—in a voice like thin ice cracking beneath one’s feet.
And for the ten long years he roamed the Wall of Death, Eliza never answered a single call from him. She had said she would not leave her annex, that even if her limbs were cut away she would not know. And so she crumbled alone. He had survived at all costs, grown stronger as she demanded, and yet—
Could Eliza Richmond ever return to her former self? If she could, perhaps then this crushing yoke of guilt pressing on his shoulders, as though he bore the world itself, might finally be cast off.
As he turned the thought over, the annex was suddenly just one step ahead. Almost as if waiting, Lady Isaac appeared as the door opened, bowing respectfully.
Walter didn’t wait for her guidance. He strode straight into the annex.
“Joseph, make sure there are no eavesdroppers around.”
“Yes, my lord!”
Inside, colder than the outside, his whole body chilled. Unlike yesterday, when the deep twilight had obscured everything, the hallway before him was barren to the point of desolation.
Not a single frame hung on the walls, let alone any decoration.
Walter couldn’t suppress his laughter.
If Eliza’s laughter had been like black blood pooled in her dried entrails, then Walter’s was like bright red blood flowing straight from a beating heart.
“I will return alive and restore your name. So don’t die—wait for me.”
That was what he had told her the day he left for the Wall of Death.
Grace’s insight—that Walter had a clear goal that could rouse Eliza again—was dead on. For even looking half-dead, it was because of Walter that Eliza had lived on until now.
His chest boiled with fury. That beloved grandson was already dead and gone, and yet for over a decade she had rotted away, clinging only to an empty name and a handful of ashes.
“Never, ever, under any circumstances give up.”
She had said it like she would hunt him down to hell itself if he ever yielded—and yet she, herself, was this wretched?
“Brother! No—Your Highness the Crown Prince!”
Who was it that killed that child?
Bang!!
“My lord!”
The door burst open without so much as a knock, and Lady Isaac screamed as she rushed in. But Walter pressed on unflinchingly.
In this miserable annex, the only room that still held warmth—there lay Eliza, collapsed like in a tomb. By her side sat a bowl of soup, untouched.
Walter looked down at her, half appalled, half amused, then sat on the edge of her bed.
“My lord—!”
Lady Isaac cried out, but Grace caught her by the arm. When she turned back, shocked, she froze with her mouth agape. Grace’s expression as she watched Walter face the matriarch was as cold and commanding as a general leading an army.
Then came the chilling voice.
“What is this insolence?”
Walter tilted his head, meeting the matriarch’s pitch-black eyes.
“So your eyes are open today.”
“What?”
“Didn’t I tell you? That I would return alive and restore your name, so don’t die and wait for me.”
“And as you see, I’m alive.”
“Oh, alive, are you?”
“……”
“Here in this wretched place, looking fit for the grave.”
Each word was an icicle of accusation.
Wretched. Grave.
Who would dare utter such words to Eliza’s face? Lady Isaac was stunned, unable to even think how to salvage the situation.
Though grandmother and grandson by blood, the two had never truly gotten along. Both were sharp as blades, neither willing to yield. Still, when Walter was young he had hidden his true nature, so such a confrontation had never arisen before.
But now—he was changed.
“Is merely breathing, perhaps with your limbs long since withered away, truly what you call ‘living,’ Grandmother?”
Eliza stared at him from her bed. Then suddenly, she burst into laughter. That familiar, dark, viscous laughter made even Lady Isaac and Grace hold their breath. But Walter only met it with a cold, mocking smile.
At length, Eliza slowly rose. From behind her curtain of silver hair, eyes the same color as Walter’s gleamed sharply.
“And you—after all my urging you to survive and grow stronger—this is what you’ve done? Bringing some unmarried woman here, overturning the castle in disgrace?”
It was plain they were related. Not only their faces, but their speech as well.
“With rot spread everywhere, how else am I to know how deep it runs but by overturning everything?”
“And yet even that must be done with dignity, with propriety! Not with some vile scandal that will stain the annals of history!”
“Dignity, is it? Ah, so that’s why you’ve stayed here like this? Because if you ever looked at Richmond—at what it’s become—you were afraid of the filth splashing onto you?”
Lady Isaac and Grace couldn’t help but marvel at the vicious eloquence of the Deccan royals.
“That impatient temper of yours…”
Eliza ground her teeth, but Walter remained unfazed.
“Impatience runs in the family, doesn’t it?”
Then he personally lifted the bowl of soup, and with a tone dripping with false gentleness, offered it to her.
“Splendid. I was worried I’d have to feed you myself if you couldn’t even lift a spoon. But to see you so vigorous—it gladdens me beyond words, Grandmother.”
“What was that?”
All eyes turned to Eliza.
From the frail old woman who had seemed lifeless a moment before, a force born of anger now radiated. In her once-dull black eyes a glimmer returned, and the veins stood out on her withered neck. Her voice, sharp as a blade, cut the air.
“Get out.”
“……”
“What are you standing there for, Arwen!! The Duke is leaving! Go see him out! I won’t go far, Duke!!”
Her shrill, commanding voice brought tears to Lady Isaac’s eyes, moved with emotion. Walter seemed about to argue further, but—
At that moment Grace, realizing her role, threw herself between the two wolves baring fangs and claws at each other. To Lady Isaac, she seemed like a fragile creature darting into the path of beasts.
“Matriarch, it is a joy to see you risen. His Grace has been so very worried for you.”
Both fierce predators turned their eyes on Grace at once.
What nonsense is this?!
But Grace pressed on unfazed, turning swiftly to Walter and cutting him off.
“Isn’t that so?”
Then to the matriarch, smiling with eyes curved like crescents—
“My apologies for coming again without your permission. But please understand, it was only because we so dearly wished to see you.”
Her voice wasn’t like a blade piercing, but like a warm field of wheat swaying in the sun. She was sunlight itself, slipping in quietly amid a storm.
Eliza fell silent. Grace straightened her back, lightly lifted the hems of her skirt, and bent her knees deeply. She lowered herself until even the crown of her head was beneath Eliza’s gaze.
In that instant, the slow flow of Eliza’s time seemed to stop.
“Though belated, allow me to greet you properly. I am Grace of House Taylor, before the Lady of Richmond, bedrock of Deccan, mistress of the Tebex Mountains and the Oruhtu River, guardian of the northwest.”
