Chapter 41. Do You Really Believe You Won’t Regret It Later?

2023.11.10.

“You said the master only showed his face to the mistress, not reaching out his hand, when she first entered this mansion. That must be because the master didn’t want her to die within the estate—even if it meant dying beyond the fence. Normally, showing one’s face makes people flee on their own, so he didn’t need to take further steps. If that’s true for humans, then Oliver, whom he has long ignored, is even more so…”

Hena tightly grasped Yuan’s hand as she noticed Yuan’s troubled expression.

“I know you’ve grown deeply attached to Oliver. We’ve spent a long time together, so I feel the same. We can’t report it to the master or leave him to die in the mansion, but we’ll stay by his side.”

Yuan mechanically nodded, yet she couldn’t hide the heaviness in her heart.

Oliver’s pulse was weakening more drastically each day.

Yuan stopped cleaning the west wing, which was now about one-third clean, and focused all her attention on caring for Oliver.

Fortunately, the painkillers seemed effective—during her absence, Oliver’s random groaning from pain had greatly diminished.

The problem now was that no matter how much pain Yuan absorbed, Oliver refused to eat or drink anything, not even medicine, food, or water.

On the other hand.

In stark contrast to the urgent and sorrowful situation in the west wing, the atmosphere between Yuan and Clade remained remarkably calm.

***

The reason the exiled prince and his wife maintained relative peace was simple.

At night, he could sleep soundly, and during the day, his aftereffects had subsided enough that Clade’s condition had improved to the point where he could gradually attend to tasks he’d deferred for ten years.

His formerly dark-brown skin had now changed to something closer to caramel.

Since he rarely looked in mirrors, only the butler and Lancelot, who saw him every day, were startled and couldn’t hide their excitement.

‘Is it alright to bring up Oliver now, in such a peaceful moment?’

Hena mentioned that on the night the mansion burned down, survivors had whispered that Oliver was severely injured while trying to save Princess Apollini.

Regardless of whether it was true, Oliver hadn’t met the master even once since that day, so either way, he was pitiful.

‘After His Highness lost his grandmother, Lady Margaret, Princess Apollini, and the knights he’d been close to since childhood, he developed an extreme aversion to anyone dying in this mansion.’

Whether it was a critically ill patient or a rat caught in a trap, there were no exceptions.

Clade Euphris had sent everyone outside the estate. That was how he’d lived the past ten years.

‘Don’t overstep.’

Yuan’s lips, which had been trembling at the voice brushing past her mind, tightly closed.

What had she answered when facing that calm, emotionless face that scolded without anger?

…No need to think. She must’ve said, “Yes.”

“Why are you sitting there like a restless puppy?”

“What?”

“You keep picking at your cuticles.”

Yuan startled and looked down at her own thumb.

The wound, which had improved since arriving at the black mansion, had reopened.

‘What exactly am I so afraid of?’

When she felt overwhelmed seeing the countless patients gathered in the side room.

When her uncle sent Louise on an errand and she didn’t return for a long time.

When Louise left the mansion with two large suitcases and didn’t return for a year.

When she declared fiercely that she neither wanted to live nor die here, yet trembled with anxiety inside Marquis Companni’s carriage.

Then, Clade’s face—always with drooping eyelids and indifferent eyes.

Is there a place for me in his eyes, just as I’ve found a place in this mansion?

‘If I mention Oliver again, will he drive me away?’

She didn’t know why, but though he might wound her, he probably wouldn’t cast her out.

Whether out of necessity or something else.

Then.

Clade’s hand, which had unconsciously reached toward Yuan as she picked at her cuticles, froze.

“Oliver—!”

Hena’s shrill scream pierced through the steady rain tapping at the windows and flowed into the bedroom.

Yuan froze, then abruptly stood up.

She pulled the curtains aside further to let in the dim light and vigorously wiped the fogged-up window with her hand—revealing Oliver.

Clearly weakened and frail, Oliver staggered unsteadily through the rain, heading somewhere.

Toward the iron fence gate—the mansion’s entrance.

“Your Highness.”

Yuan swallowed hard, fighting back the sting in her nose and the twist in her lips, and called out to Clade.

“Your Highness. Oliver is in great pain.”

An awkwardly heavy silence.

“He’s an old dog. It wouldn’t be strange if he died right now.”

“…….”

“Did you know? Oliver always lies down facing the side where Your Highness’s bedroom is.”

Seeing Oliver struggle forward with slow steps, one hind leg nearly dragging, sent a sharp ache through her nostrils.

“He whines, ‘beep beep, beep beep.’ No matter how delicious the treat we give him, it only comforts him briefly. Recently, he hasn’t even eaten that, just endlessly waiting for Your Highness.”

Her sorrowful voice shattered the bedroom into pieces.

“Oliver is trying to leave the mansion now.”

At her accusatory tone, Clade finally rose from the rocking chair and stood beside her.

Pale sunlight soaked in dark clouds gently illuminated him.

His deep-set violet eyes resembled the waves of night beginning to surge toward the mansion.

Clade stared at them until Oliver reached the iron fence, then spoke very slowly.

“That dog doesn’t want me to see him die.”

A dry, hollow voice.

The perfect opposite of Yuan’s somewhat agitated reaction.

“The other one I brought with him was the same. I always worried and cared for him when he was ill, but one day he vanished. I found him later inside my mother’s dressing room. He died with his face buried in the hem of a dress she used to wear often.”

Unlike his eyes, which shone beautifully even on cloudy days, his gaze held nothing but a barren desert.

Though he had a face like the dawn sun, inside seemed completely empty, filled only with dry, thorny thickets.

Yuan felt as if those thorns were piercing her too.

“That’s the kind of death there is.”

Clade answered her in a low voice.

A voice so sweet it soaked into her ears.

Completely opposite to his stiff expression.

Surprisingly, the master himself was saying something that seemed to comfort her.

The roles were reversed.

It should’ve been Clade who was grieving, and she who comforted him with such words.

Yuan felt a surge of defiance, wanting to retort.

Couldn’t you at least hold him once?

You say you don’t care, so why keep him close? If you do care, can’t you just hold him gently?

Until his very last moment. No matter how deep or painful the wound. Do you really believe you won’t regret it later?

Finally, when Oliver passed through the iron fence and Clade ultimately did not follow.

Yuan finally prepared to leave the mansion and go search for Oliver.

She didn’t need Clade’s permission.

***

The path to the chapel felt unusually long and cold today.

Oliver lay in Hena’s arms, wheezing softly.

Hena held Oliver tightly all the way to the chapel, weeping.

“I made special food for you…”

Ralph, who despite their meager means always wanted to give Yuan the best, had until just days ago adamantly refused to make special food for Oliver, claiming there was no food meant for “puppy trash.”

But when Yuan was busy cleaning and he brought her snacks, the moment this kind dog wagged its tail at him, head chef Ralph began sacrificing even his own meals to prepare special dishes.

Those snacks had gradually grown to include not only Yuan and Oliver, but also Hena, who constantly lingered nearby, and Hille, who came to conduct potion research.

Still, it was just last year’s dried meat, fruits regularly sent by Marquis Rev, and thin porridge made from grain paid as meager taxes.

“I made special food… so why can’t you eat it…”

Ralph sobbed bitterly. Mr. Mazarin, who had driven the carriage, lightly patted Ralph’s bear-like shoulder.

Yuan turned to the people who followed her, speaking with a worried voice.

“This is too much. Actually, we left without His Highness’s permission, so you might all get scolded by the butler.”

“Sniff. It doesn’t matter! We’ve all seen how the butler pretends not to notice and turns a blind eye!”

Mr. Mazarin ignored head chef Ralph’s sniffling outcry and turned toward Yuan.

“More importantly, what do you plan to do, my lady?”

“I believe I’m doing the right thing, so even if I get scolded, it’s fine.”

Yuan firmly replied, gently touching her reddened eyes.

Head chef Ralph, still sniffling, looked at her with affection, as if watching his own daughter.

“But why has this dog suddenly left now, after never once crossing the west wing’s fence before?”

“Sniff. He’s gone to find a place to die.”

When kind-faced Mr. Mazarin narrowed his eyes, head chef Ralph stared back wide-eyed, as if surprised he didn’t know.

“We used to keep many dogs back in the day. Among them, a few dogs didn’t want their owners to see them die, so they’d hide and pass away alone. It was uncanny.”

“I’ll listen to the head chef’s old stories. For now, since the butler might raise issues, we’ll go fetch some water from the well.”

Yuan wanted to hear more of head chef Ralph’s tale, but quietly nodded at Mr. Mazarin’s calm words.

“May you part without regret, my lady.”

***

While Mr. Mazarin and head chef Ralph went to fetch water, Hena began digging a small grave beside Yuan.

The ground was still frozen, so Hena briefly placed Oliver, whom she had been tightly holding, on her lap and started digging with the gardening trowel she’d brought.

This was right beside the chapel—the communal graveyard.

Beside Oliver’s burial spot lay Yuan’s older sister, Louise Pelliese.

Yuan willingly offered a portion of Louise’s resting place to Oliver.