Chapter 110
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Dear, I believe you may be misunderstanding.
Episode 110
Chapter 7
The Unforgivable
His expression was unusually dark.
His shoulders were tense and rigid.
Even his eyes held a look of grim resolve.
Grace rose from the bed and gazed at him.
Though his face had grown somewhat harder and sharper than it had been mere hours before, she could see in his eyes the sorrow and anxiety he was barely holding back with reason alone.
He approached her.
Kneeling on one knee beside the bed, he regarded Grace quietly.
Within those blue eyes, a tumultuous swirl of emotions flickered unstably.
Could a small sailboat upon such turbulent seas be any more fragile?
Grace, who had been hesitating, reached out toward him.
Her small hand cradled and caressed his cheek.
"It will be all right."
Lucas leaned his face into her hand that held his cheek.
"Everything will be all right."
He turned his head slightly, breathing in deeply the scent of her skin from within her soft palm.
She remained still, allowing him to fully absorb her warmth and fragrance.
Soon Lucas opened his eyes.
His gaze was now far more composed and resolute.
"I'm grateful you're here."
As if to reassure him, Grace sent him off with a faint smile.
"Go now. Come back safely."
* * *
'It must be about His Majesty, after all.'
After seeing him off, sleep eluded me once more.
Pallid complexion, hurried footsteps.
I understood that only one thing could make Lucas Black move with such urgency.
'Please, let him be well.'
Though I steeled myself for the worst, I desperately wanted to deny it.
This was far too soon.
Much faster and more precipitous than what I'd heard before.
'He said there should be at least another year remaining.'
They'd said it could stretch to three years at most.
Yet I could see that the King's complexion was changing by the day.
Notia had said it once.
That illness itself has an age—the younger it is, the more ferocious its momentum.
While youth's vitality might overcome it, conversely, a young illness's force can be so overwhelming that collapse comes all the faster.
Before falling ill, His Majesty had been extraordinarily robust, or so they said.
Lucas had spoken of how he took pride in possessing a spirit firmer and a body sturdier than anyone else's.
'...But I have learned that one must never be certain of anything. Chance and fate, inevitability and misfortune slip in so casually, so effortlessly, and take their place.'
Lucas had gazed at me with an expression both bitter and wondrous as he spoke.
His voice, saying that I too was someone he had never anticipated, circled endlessly through my mind.
After he departed, I tossed and turned for a long while.
I had thought I could fall asleep more quickly without him there, biting and clinging to me.
"...Sleep simply won't come."
Finally, I forced myself to rise.
Dawn was still far away.
After hesitating, I made my way to the connecting room adjacent to the bedroom.
And I lifted the small box resting in one corner of that chamber.
'Light the incense. Dreams shall guide you to the truth.'
The truth the old man had spoken of.
I wondered what it could be.
Yet it frightened me as much as it intrigued me.
'Still... it has to be now.'
That feeling came to me vaguely.
I didn't know how long Lucas would remain once he returned.
And soon I would have to depart for Contana.
I drew a deep breath.
Through the slowly encroaching dawn air, I caught the scent of Lucas.
'It will be fine.'
I repeated to myself the words I had given him as he left.
'Yes, it will be fine.'
She lit incense and lay loosely upon the bed.
For a long while, she curled up within the sheets that still seemed to hold Lucas's warmth.
And at some moment.
She realized she was already dreaming.
* * *
'Could you call that man for me?'
Her mother was very young and beautiful.
Even before her death, when her illness had deepened and she had gone blind, she remained strikingly beautiful, but her mother brimming with vitality was breathtakingly gorgeous.
The elderly woman, Kashanu, gazed at Elenoa with eyes of inscrutable complexity.
In Kashanu's wrinkled eyes caught the sight of a small, precious baby clinging to Elenoa's legs.
The child, so tiny she could scarcely be more than three years old, stared at Kashanu with brilliantly luminous violet eyes.
Just as Kashanu's gaze flickered strangely while observing the baby, Elenoa pleaded once more with earnest desperation.
'Please.'
'...May I ask why your heart has changed?'
Elenoa touched her young daughter's head.
And lifting the baby, she pressed her forehead to hers with a kiss.
'Because this child is so precious to me.'
It was a smile tinged with sorrow yet suffused with hope.
Grace had become the single light in the life of this pitiable, tragic woman.
Even when eating a single piece of candy, Grace would clutch it in her small hands and offer it first to Elenoa.
Whenever Elenoa gazed blankly out the window, Grace would quietly approach and rest her forehead against her mother's knee, sharing her warmth.
Grace was perhaps a gentle child who had never troubled her mother from the moment of her birth.
Each time this tiny child, as if sensing something, watched her mother's complexion, touched her cheek, and approached with a smile first, Elenoa's heart would crumble and be rebuilt again and again.
'I wish for this child to live even a little more happily.'
They say a daughter inherits her mother's fate.
So that such a thing might never come to pass, Elenoa wished to pour everything she could do into Grace's happiness.
'...If I call that man, you may have to leave this child's side all the sooner.'
'It doesn't matter. I don't expect to live long anyway, given my heart ailment.'
A smile so clear and luminous it seemed impossible to wear in such circumstances.
Pitiable and heartbreaking.
Beautiful and wretched.
Kashanu's heart seeped into the void where Grace dwelt.
'...Very well then. I shall call him for you.'
Kashanu sighed and removed a bead from the bracelet that jangled at her wrist.
* * *
A stranger's face flashed before Grace's eyes.
Shining golden hair, a pale white complexion, silver-rimmed spectacles—such was the man.
Light burst from Elenoa's forehead as she conversed with him.
Elenoa returned to the Mansion in a daze and collapsed the moment she entered her room.
Young Elia, startled, caught hold of Elenoa.
Elenoa's head burned with fever.
How many days did she suffer thus?
Three days? Four?
During that time, only young maid Elia, who had always been particularly devoted to her, and Grace, who sat at her mother's bedside reading, kept vigil over the ailing Elenoa.
* * *
More time passed.
Grace, who had once waddled about with difficulty, had grown enough to patter about on her small feet with nimble steps.
It was both wondrous and strange to see her younger self with such clarity.
Young Grace was far more spirited and lively than I remembered.
Whenever Elenoa was near, young Grace became a tomboy, an adventurer, a brave warrior.
The sound of her cheerful laughter never ceased as she circled around her mother.
'Mother, mother! A flower seed just flew at you! I think the flowers like you!'
'Be careful, Grace. You'll hurt yourself if you fall.'
Mother spoke with concern yet did not stop Grace, who ran about with dandelion seeds clutched in her hand.
The two were happy.
They appeared happy.
Happy enough to bring tears.
'So I... could smile with such happiness.'
A hollow ache settled in my chest.
I wished this blissful scene would continue forever. But...
Splat!
'Get lost, you worthless wretch! Disappear! You're trying to steal my fortune and run away!'
Thick, wet mud struck young Grace's back of the head.
Norman.
Sneering Norman laughed maliciously as he hurled mud at Grace relentlessly.
'Stop! Don't, Norman! Tormenting your sister is wrong!'
'Who's my sister? You're not my sister—you're a filthy thief!'
'That's not true!'
'Don't talk back! Who gave you permission to answer me?'
Grace tried to rush forward and confront Norman, but the mud he hurled relentlessly kept her at bay.
A child barely five or six years old could never stand against an older brother who towered over her in size.
Grace, struggling not to cry, finally stumbled backward and fell.
Norman mixed a stone into the last of his mud and hurled it at Grace with all his might.
Splat!
But it wasn't Grace who took the blow of mud.
'...!'
'Miss, are you alright?'
'Ah, Elia.... My hair, there's blood....'
'I'm fine, Miss.'
Elia brushed away the mud clinging to Grace's face with a bright smile.
'You, how dare you interfere...!'
Norman, who had been about to explode in anger, froze mid-stride.
At that moment, Grace had been too preoccupied checking the blood trickling down Elia's cheek to notice her surroundings.
Elia, too, was busy wiping the dirt from Grace's hair and face and checking for any injuries.
But now, having become part of the dream, Grace could see.
Her mother standing behind Grace and Elia, glaring at Norman.
The murderous intent gleaming coldly in her eyes....
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Brought to you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org
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