Chapter 4
Dailun, who had been lounging as if he might slide off at any moment, slowly rose to his feet amid the flood of eyes fixed on him. The absolute power he had held in both fists since birth had cultivated in him a temperament that never concerned itself with others’ opinions. Whether attention was focused on him or not, he walked at a leisurely pace and approached Lirete.
“Hmm……”
Bending his knees unhurriedly, Dailun stared fixedly at her dazed, vacant eyes, as if her soul had been sucked out. Then he gradually broadened his observation, examining her youthful face for quite some time.
*“No matter how I look at it, it’d be a waste to kill her.”*
*“…….”*
*“Faces like this aren’t common.”*
His blue-gray eyes tilted this way and that, as if lost in thought. Before long, Dailun said to the knight holding a sword—who looked ready to strike at a single command:
*“Don’t kill this one.”*
*“Pardon?”*
*“But Your Highness, she is the daughter of a heinous traitor.”*
*“It would be best to deal with her all at once……”*
Faint murmurs of concern rose from those nearby, but the moment Dailun clicked his tongue in annoyance—*Tch*—they immediately fell silent.
Only then did he curl his lips into a satisfied smile and speak to Lirete, whose face was streaked with moisture.
*“I saved your life.”*
*“…….”*
*“So your life belongs to me.”*
His blue-gray eyes, tinged with a strange madness, glowed with danger.
*“The term is……”*
*“…….”*
*“Until I get tired of you.”*
It was an eerie gaze, as sinister as the entrance to hell.
—
*“……Hah!”*
Lately, she had been dreaming often.
Fragments of the past that, even if dreamed, were of no help whatsoever.
Lirete wiped her sweat-dampened face and slowly raised herself up. Her health had fluctuated wildly over the past few days. She would get a little better, then plummet back to rock bottom. Some days, her fever rose so high she drifted in and out of consciousness; other days, she was well enough to sit up and think.
Judging by how clear her vision was today, it seemed to be the latter.
“Is there anything you need?”
The butler carefully addressed her as she stirred restlessly. Lirete looked at him warily, then answered in a slightly hoarse voice.
“I’d like some water.”
At her words, the butler moved quietly but swiftly.
Lirete’s gaze did not leave the butler’s diligent back.
The master of this mansion, and the owner of the name engraved on her body, was excessively meticulous. As if the shackle gripping her ankle weren’t enough, he had even planted this watcher separately in the bedroom.
Knowing that someone was watching her every move, moment by moment, imposed a greater burden than one might think.
Lirete swallowed the water offered to her and glanced sidelong at the butler standing beside the bed.
His gaze, filtered through a monocle, was sharp and keen. As if mimicking the eyes of the master who wasn’t even present.
Whenever she noticed that, it was unbearably uncomfortable and unpleasant—so much so that she felt an illusion of the back where that man’s name was engraved aching.
“If this residence does not suit your taste, I have been instructed to help you move to another place,” the butler said abruptly.
It seemed he had interpreted Lirete’s furtive glances in that sense.
“A larger bedroom is also prepared.”
“……No, this is fine.”
Lirete put down the water glass she had been holding. Even gripping something required concentration with her stiff, rigid hands.
“More than that…… I’d like to rest alone for a while.”
“…….”
“I have no intention of doing anything foolish. Not that I could even try anyway.”
When she moved her calf, a cold sensation enveloped her ankle. The shackle remained unfastened.
The shackle, then the butler.
The层层 measures Valderion had placed around her were on the verge of suffocating her. Even though nothing blocked her nose or mouth, she felt she could die of asphyxiation.
The butler was silent for a moment, then apparently deeming her words reasonable, bowed and left the bedroom.
Lirete wrapped her arms around her knees and stared blankly at the doorway where the presence had vanished. Through her melancholy pupils, the open doorframe slowly closing came into view.
*‘Your life belongs to me.’*
Dailun’s words rang in her ears like tinnitus.
Lirete’s life had been completely ruined after her father’s treason. She was forced to spend days no different from hell under Dailun’s domain.
Dailun truly treated her as a “toy.”
Not as a human being, but as a plaything he could harm at will if he so desired. Unlike one born of noble lineage, he had a vile and brutal nature. The violence stemming from him could not be overlooked either.
It was an immeasurable period of persecution.
Under him, Lirete had been broken repeatedly, leaving no part of her body untouched, only to recover and break again.
But not sexually.
As she had told Valderion, the Crown Prince regarded her as a filthy, dirty beast of burden.
Strangely, despite sleeping with countless women, he never touched Lirete sexually.
And yet, that made the physical torment all the more severe.
In the end, her father had been right.
Lirete had no choice but to realize, through her brutal suffering under Dailun, that he should never wear the emperor’s crown. It was to the point of tears that the empire would fall under the dominion of such a person.
But she, who had swallowed that realization alone, had no power. After losing all her blood relatives, her life was merely that of a solitary wanderer through barren lands.
Her will to live in such a harsh environment quickly crumbled.
It had begun to fade little by little from the moment her family’s heads were severed before her eyes, and then was completely extinguished under Dailun’s vicious abuse.
*‘Do you want to die?’*
But Lirete was not granted even the freedom of death.
After her suicide attempt was discovered and failed, she became truly unable to die. She was forced to live with her limbs tied to pillars.
Dailun made it so she could perform none of the basic human acts guaranteed to her on her own. He said it was punishment for daring to try to die by her own will.
*‘Don’t do that, Lirete.’*
*‘…….’*
*‘If you try to die, I will chase you to the very depths of hell and drag you back up.’*
What meaning was there in a world where even suicide could not be carried out by her own will? From then on, everything in Lirete’s life degraded into a hazy ash-gray.
There were countless other things to recall.
The way he would lock the cramped, shabby bedroom door—as shabby as a storage closet—then smash the doorknob and deliberately rattle it every night to keep her anxious. The way, when his mood soured, he would wield a wet whip until her skin split open. The way her ankles had been crushed for attempting to escape for any reason—such things were practically commonplace……
Her slightly tilted head fixed on something.
A tapestry hanging on the wall.
A shield with crossed swords diagonally, and above it, the emblem of a great stag wrapped tightly in rose vines.
On the night that had stained her last night with her family in the reek of blood, the flag bearing that emblem had also fluttered vigorously.
The Imperial Family and the House of Justutia.
They were allies, two parts of the same whole.
The sun and moon illuminating the empire’s sky—that was how they were described.
That the only places she could stay were either the imperial palace or this very place……
A dry laugh escaped from within.
Valderion’s face, sneering at her with acerbic mockery, flickered faintly. Something boiled inside her.
Glancing briefly at the shackle, Lirete stepped down from the bed and walked.
The iron chain scraped against the carpet with an eerie sound before soon pulling taut. She could go no further, but the distance was enough.
The tapestry was now right before her eyes.
Too far to escape, but close enough to resist fully. Without hesitation, Lirete pulled the tapestry down and flung it to the floor.
—
* * *
—
“Did she eat?”
Valderion stubbed out the cigar he had been holding between his lips into an ashtray and asked the butler, who stood in a neat posture.
“She did.”
“Did she finish it all?”
“Not all…… but she ate enough to fill her stomach.”
“How is her condition?”
The butler quietly rolled his eyes.
“The same as when she first arrived.”
“So even with rest, she hasn’t improved.”
Though he had expected as much, Valderion made a displeased face at how the situation was unfolding without a single hair’s breadth of deviation.
Leaning against the desk, he smoothed his furrowed brow and murmured as if to himself.
“So she really won’t recover unless I touch her.”
Even though she was resting sufficiently in a warmly heated bedroom with quality meals, Lirete’s condition showed no improvement.
The fever that had blazed through her body—likely a symptom accompanying the manifestation of the Name—had subsided somewhat, but her stiff arms and legs remained unchanged.
Meaning the environment and food were not the fundamental issue.
“Stiffness, followed by paralysis, was it.”
Valderion assessed the symptoms of the Name.
The key to the Name was contact.
Only with physical touch from the owner of the Name he bore could one maintain a normal state. Hence the nickname: the illness that only gets better when touched.
If denied that contact, one would languish.
First came symptoms like the flu, body aches, and chills. Then, gradually, the tips of the hands and feet would stiffen like blocks of wood. Later, each joint would become paralyzed, as if detached from the body. If prolonged, the nerves would rot from within, and the skin would fester.
From what he had glimpsed during their conversation, the woman already seemed unable to use two fingers.
Once the remaining three fingers stiffened as well, the paralysis would likely begin.
“Ha, honestly.”
Thinking of Lirete, her two eyes glaring at him with all her might came to mind as well.
She was a woman with a fragile, faint impression, so delicate and thin she seemed on the verge of shattering. She reminded him of a white peony blooming in a dry field. That was probably why he hadn’t noticed her immediately when she had collapsed on the snowfield.
Because there was little dissonance in her being buried in the white……
And yet, the light dwelling in those eyes was remarkable.
Though worn down by countless storms, even broken, it still held power.
Even as she furtively withdrew her body as if unwilling to face him, she never averted her gaze.
As they say, the eyes are the window to the soul. That upright bearing of hers was worthy of praise.
“Lunch was long ago…… I suppose it will have to be dinner.”
“Pardon?”
“Prepare two servings for the annex’s evening meal.”
The butler quickly grasped the meaning of the message. As Valderion watched the butler’s retreating figure respectfully replying that he would do so, he turned his head.
Beyond the arched window, snow was falling again. This time, the snowflakes were somewhat heavy.
The winter that had seemed over was now showing signs of returning.
It was an afternoon when a pale twilight was beginning to settle.
