~Chapter 70~
It looked almost like he was hugging a pillow or stuffed toy to fall asleep.
“What are you doing?”
Shariette twisted in surprise.
But she was wrapped tightly in the blanket, and his arms held her so firmly she couldn’t move.
“Sleeping.”
Noxian’s drowsy voice came from behind her head.
“Like this?”
Was this a joke?
Why was he trying to sleep by forcing her to lie down too?
“Yes. I like this.”
His arms tightened around her, as if afraid she might vanish if he let go.
Shariette fidgeted in discomfort, then drew in a short breath.
The solid warmth at her back felt both familiar and strangely unfamiliar at the same time.
As if noticing her stiff body, his grip loosened slightly.
“Do you hate it?”
He really should use proper subjects and objects when speaking.
But he was too drunk with sleep to be reasoned with.
“No, not hate. Just… loosen a little—”
“Alright.”
Instead, he pulled her back even closer.
His slow, even breaths soon followed above her head.
‘Alright? That’s not what I meant.’
Hearing his steady sleeping breath, Shariette gave up trying to talk. She relaxed her shoulders.
‘I am a pillow. A big pillow.’
She had a special trick—shutting off her senses and imagining her body as something else.
It let her detach her consciousness, floating free, unable to feel pain or anything else.
Only thoughts and awareness remained.
‘I am a pillow. A stuffed doll.’
But it didn’t work this time.
After wrestling with herself, she realized why.
That trick only worked in danger—like escaping a fire.
‘This isn’t dangerous right now.’
No… in fact—
“Where do you wish to go?”
“To a safe place.”
It was a paradox.
That she felt safest beside someone who could kill her at any moment.
But…
‘For now, it’s alright.’
Now. For now.
Fragile words written in sand—but warm sand, heavy with sunlight.
For the first time in half a month, Shariette fell asleep without waking.
“Shari… ette, oh… oh?”
Mia froze at the doorway, clapping both hands over her mouth.
The young duke?!
Why was he here—he was supposed to be in the south!
But that was the lesser shock.
Why… why are the two of them together?!
Wrapped in a blanket, Shariette was held tight in Noxian’s arms, like a stuffed bear.
Of course, from any angle there was nothing improper about it—yet it was impossible not to imagine otherwise.
Should I just leave?
But what if another maid came in?
Sensing someone, Noxian’s eyes opened first.
He saw the startled maid, the unfamiliar room for waking up, and the person in his arms.
“……”
The memories of last night returned vividly.
The reaction from the pair of relics—the ring he gave her and his earring.
The power had pulled him straight here, into Shariette’s room at the Rubellot mansion.
He had checked everything:
She was alive.
She was herself.
No injuries, no problems.
Only then had his tension broken.
And then, the sleep of fifteen sleepless nights had crashed over him.
“Sleeping like this?”
“Yes. I like this.”
Remembering what nonsense he had said, he nearly bit his tongue off.
Idiot. I should just die.
More shocking was that—even now—he didn’t really want to let go.
The way she fit in his arms felt too right.
But no. He forced himself back to reason.
Carefully, he released her and rose.
Mia wisely stayed silent, head lowered, still covering her mouth.
Noxian rubbed his face hard. Truly, I want to die right now.
He carefully lifted Shariette, and Mia hurried to open the bedroom door.
Thanks to their silent teamwork, he laid her safely in bed and finally breathed out.
“Looks like I can’t go back.”
The relics’ connection allowed travel—but only once, one way.
Coming here had been automatic. Returning would have to be done by hand.
‘Well, I already finished most of my work in the south anyway.’
He’d handle the rest here earlier than planned.
‘She seemed fine… but that reaction last night still worries me.’
Back in the room, he noticed the stack of books Shariette had brought out.
What had she been reading lately?
Curious, he glanced at the titles—then frowned.
— Sacred Contracts: Proposals, Engagements, Marriage
— Rights and Duties of Marriage: Things You Should Know Beforehand
“…Marriage? Engagement?”
Why was she reading these?
He dug deeper.
Authority.
A New Horizon of Healing.
Marriage Contracts.
Even literature.
— The Tragedy of Verona
“…Verona?”
The name was familiar.
Verona. Ve…
Suddenly, a memory.
[This is the Verona drug. If you drink it, you can appear completely dead for twelve to twenty-four hours.]
“Dead…?”
[Breath, pulse, temperature, reflexes—all deceived.]
“……!”
It was the drug Shariette had once used back at Argen Castle.
[I’ll smuggle you out through the corpse tunnel.]
“You want me to leave as a corpse?”
[It’s the safest way. I’ve smuggled others like this too.]
A pill that made you a corpse for 24 hours.
Unbelievable, yet she had proven it without hesitation.
[I’ll drink it. Watch closely. My body detoxifies quickly, so I’ll wake in six hours.]
“What? You’ll drink it? Wait—!”
For six hours, he had lived through the worst fear of his life.
To him, she looked like a real corpse—no pulse, no warmth, no breath.
Every second was endless. Six hours like eternity.
What if she never wakes? What if it wasn’t pretend—what if she truly died?
That dreadful rehearsal of death still haunted him.
“What on earth did she read to invent such a drug?”
He opened the slim novel.
— O lovers cursed by the stars.
From the very first line, he almost laughed.
The story was ridiculously dramatic.
Impossible to imagine Shariette enjoying it.
He skimmed quickly until he found the important part.
— Drink this before bed, and a cold deep sleep will flow through your veins.
Just like the Verona drug she had made.
— Your pulse will stop, warmth and breath will vanish. Lips and cheeks will fade to ash. Your eyelids will close upon the light of life—you will appear as the dead.
“So that’s where she got the idea… from this book.”
Even the name matched.
Among all the possible impressions, she had taken the idea to invent a drug. Typical Shariette.
He flipped ahead to the end.
Even with such a powerful trick, the story ended in hollow tragedy.
— Hearing of his beloved’s death, the man despaired. At her grave, he drank poison and chose death.
— When she awoke and found him dead, the woman too ended her own life.
Ironically, their deaths ended the family feud, bringing reconciliation.
“…Quite a realistic ending.”
Peace never came without blood.
In that sense, the story’s “tragedy” achieved peace with far less blood than real war.
And yet—it was still called a tragedy.
For him, the reason was simple.
“What was so great that he had to die for it, that fool?”
