46. Is This a Dream?

2023.11.15.

The servants of the black mansion wandered anxiously in the garden, worried about Yuan, who had been missing late into the night.

The guards, too, with weary faces, hurriedly changed shifts and retreated to their rooms.

Unease clouded the faces of the remaining servants.

Just as the dread crept in—perhaps the mistress had truly run away—

the heavy iron gate creaked open during the guard’s shift change.

“Mistress! Mistress!!”

“Oh dear, the mistress!”

Clade Euphris, master of the mansion, had returned, carrying his wife on his back.

Both drenched like drowned mice, several servants quickly rushed over with large towels.

Behind them, other servants realized Clade had come out barefaced and froze in shock, their eyes wide, momentarily forgetting even that Yuan had been found.

“Mistress—!!”

Doctor Hille arrived, one shoe on and one off, only for Clade to brush past him and stride unhesitatingly up to the second-floor bedroom.

Hena, eyes swollen from crying, darted forward from the doorway with dry towels, swiftly changing Yuan’s clothes.

The examination concluded quickly.

Hille instructed Hena to prepare various things for Yuan, who remained unconscious.

He glanced briefly at Clade, who stood perfectly alert despite the late hour, then lowered his head deeply and withdrew.

Alone in the bedroom.

Clade stood beside sleeping Yuan, silently gazing down at her for a long while.

***

The next morning.

Yuan abruptly opened her eyes as if shoved off a cliff, squinting against the sunlight streaming into her pupils.

“Mmm—.”

She tried to raise her hand to rub her eyes, but her body wouldn’t budge.

Yuan clenched her lips tightly against the sudden wave of pain, glanced around, and jolted in shock.

“A!”

Clade stared down at her, eyes bloodshot.

Only then did Yuan realize she was lying in Clade’s bed, and that Clade sat beside her, arms crossed, hunched forward, glaring at her.

“…Does it hurt?”

“?”

Yuan struggled to piece things together.

Yesterday, upon hearing Louise was gone, she had fainted. Then, half-conscious, she’d chased after the people who took Louise alone…

‘You didn’t come.’

Whoosh.

Her face burned hot.

Yuan barely moved her stiff hands to pull the blanket over her head, nearly covering her nose.

Clade looked like someone who hadn’t slept a wink.

It wasn’t that his body had changed—yesterday, he’d taken some of her pain before she collapsed—so he should’ve been able to rest.

‘Did he stay awake all night watching over me?’

Clade quietly reached out toward her as she rolled her eyes, avoiding his gaze.

Instinctively, she hunched her shoulders and shut her eyes tight.

His clumsy touch briefly brushed the warmth of her forehead with his cold fingertips before retreating.

A subtle gesture—was he tucking back her stray hair, or checking her temperature? It was unclear.

“My… throat is dry.”

Her voice, hoarse and cracked, reached Clade. His eyebrows and bangs simultaneously lifted.

Yuan anxiously waited, heart pounding, for Clade to silently hand her water.

She’d spoken only because his touch on her forehead made her skin tingle too much—but seeing the water shimmering before her, her mind went blank.

…Is he going to feed it to me?

“My body isn’t moving well—”

Without a word, he supported her, helping her sit upright against the headboard.

Even with just a little contact, she felt his warmth seeping through her entire body.

Through the slightly parted neckline of her nightgown, the familiar scent of soap brushed past her nose and vanished.

Yuan took the offered glass of water, lowering her gaze to her fingertips.

Her heart pounded too hard from the very start. She couldn’t relax, afraid he might hear it.

“…Does it hurt?”

“It feels like it hurts.”

“What kind of answer is ‘it feels like it hurts’?”

—Gurgle.

At the odd sound slipping through the quiet, Yuan quickly clutched her stomach. Clade’s lips twitched upward at the corner.

“It’s not pain, you’re just hungry, aren’t you?”

“…Both.”

“How picky.”

Wait—did Clade Euphris just call me picky?

For a moment, Yuan gaped up at him, utterly bewildered.

But Clade immediately scooped her up and carried her to a lavishly prepared meal—clearly overdone by the frantic head chef Ralph.

“Wh-why are you doing this?!”

“Sounds like something I should be asking. Just stay still. What do you want?”

Clade snapped, frowning deeply as Yuan flailed in surprise.

Fearing he might drop her, Yuan tightly wrapped her arms around his neck. But Clade merely paused for a brief moment—he didn’t let go.

“Is this a dream?”

“What is?”

Settled gently into place, Yuan looked up at Clade, dazed.

Clade’s tired face was faintly, barely noticeably, flushed.

As Yuan stared at him with curious eyes, his eyebrows twitched. He didn’t look particularly pleased.

Of course.

It felt too strange, him being so kind. It was easier on her mind to believe he was just irritated from being forced to care for her.

Maybe Doctor Hille is busy brewing some medicine.

And the servants are always busy anyway.

After that, Clade silently served her breakfast.

Just as she had done for him before.

Sitting beside her, grumbling if she spilled anything, wiping it up himself, and when her hands trembled too much to eat, picking up the food and feeding it to her directly.

So stunned that Yuan remained dazed, even after the steward entered with a worried expression to check on her and clear the dishes.

But the surprises didn’t end there.

“Get up.”

During a brief rest, Clade’s outfit had changed.

Clade, now dressed in a sleek black formal uniform, awkwardly brushed his bangs aside as he urged Yuan.

Yuan stared blankly, unable to comprehend.

This man who always wore only a robe—wearing outdoor attire?

“Your sister. Let’s go together to her new resting place.”

“!”

“It’s not far.”

Then, a hastily prepared black dress was placed over Yuan.

***

The exiled prince and his wife boarded a carriage together for the first time.

As Clade said, within less than three hours’ ride from the mansion lay the Marquis Rev’s private cemetery.

The galloping carriage slowed, and the voices of the guarding soldiers and Mr. Mazarin overlapped—then a knock sounded from outside.

Until that moment, Yuan had assumed Clade wouldn’t get out.

“What are you doing?”

“…Are you getting out?”

“Stay here if you don’t want to.”

Yuan didn’t answer, only stared at Clade.

He started to rise, then sat back down, gazing blankly at her as if waiting for her response.

Ever since he’d stepped outside without his mask that morning, Yuan had been even more dazed than she was at breakfast.

Yuan looked at the mask covering half of Clade’s face. He didn’t want to show his face, yet he came out.

To personally bring her here.

“Go. Stay as long as you want.”

While Yuan stood there, still dazed and disconnected from reality, Clade leaned back more comfortably against the carriage wall and said.

Crossing his long legs, he folded his arms, tilted his chin up, and rested the back of his head fully against the wall—as if preparing to take a nap.

Then, with languid eyes, he alternated his gaze between the carriage door—where another knock had just sounded—and her face, giving a slight jerk of his chin.

Yuan’s hand, gripping the door handle, froze. For some reason, she didn’t want to go alone. After a brief hesitation, she spoke with sudden resolve.

“If I ask… will you come with me?”

“Which tune should I follow?”

Clade replied cheerfully, positioned Yuan behind him, and opened the door first.

As his large frame stepped out, Mr. Mazarin bowed flustered, then immediately extended his hand toward Yuan.

Taking Mr. Mazarin’s hand, Yuan stepped out and, seeing the unexpected people waiting ahead, startled and instinctively hid slightly behind Clade.

“Who are they…?”

As if they had been prepared in advance, six or so priests waited there, anticipating the exiled prince and his wife.

At first, she thought they were from the royal household and felt her heart drop—but then, seeing their tall hats and the temple insignias around their necks, Yuan exhaled in relief.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Yuan whispered softly, just for Clade to hear, her eyes darting nervously.

“…Marquis Companni said… my sister should be burned.”

“On whose authority?”

“He claims it’s the law…”

“That bastard’s a parachuted noble. An ignorant fool whose only talent is loudmouthed babbling.”

Whether Marquis Companni was truly a parachuted noble or not, Clade’s words made it seem undeniably true.

The priests who greeted the exiled couple were extremely courteous.

Up close, their priestly robes were visibly worn, and compared to the younger priests of the small chapel, these middle-aged and older men appeared frail.

Following the priests who had arrived earlier, the exiled couple entered deep into the cemetery.

Yuan’s dark eyes, scanning around, passed over familiar names and unfamiliar ones alike.

As a family renowned for producing many historical figures, the Marquis Rev’s cemetery bore many tombstones engraved with names she’d only ever seen in history books.

Soon, they discovered a tombstone placed in a very secluded spot.

It bore no inscription, but Yuan instinctively felt certain that Louise lay buried beneath it. And as if to confirm her certainty, Clade gave the faintest nod.

Yuan pressed her lips tightly to keep them from trembling and looked around at the well-tended surroundings.

Beneath the white stone marker in the earth, her sister slept.

Not in a corner of the small chapel’s cemetery, but in a precious plot among the graves of the honored.