Chapter 53. Don’t Die

2023.11.22.

The beginning of the territory inspection, accompanied by coachman Mazarin, Maxim of Eddie Rev—the personal secretary—and five guards, started off quite well.

Yuan, meticulously dressed by Clade and Monica, looked like a pair of breathtakingly beautiful figures.

The territory inspection involved simply touring Roxenhardt’s farmlands, commercial districts, and residential areas—an otherwise dull and monotonous task. Yet it was also a time to make their presence known, driving the Roxenhardt-crested carriage through large and small villages, showing the people that their lord still stood strong and was watching over them.

Clade glanced at Yuan, who sat with her arms linked, her nose nearly pressed against the carriage window.

She had remained in that state ever since they entered Central Roxenhardt, passing through small villages.

“Do you have poor eyesight?”

“This is the first time I’ve seen the territory like this.”

The voice of Lancelot, who had boastfully claimed she knew Roxenhardt better than Clade himself, echoed in her ears.

A trace of bitterness briefly flickered at the corner of Clade’s mouth. To be so excited over such a tiny city, nowhere near the capital’s scale.

“…But was it always this empty?”

“There must be something. It’s the central city of Roxenhardt, after all. You said you wanted books, so I told you to go to a bookstore. Just sit quietly.”

Clade recalled the list Yuan had written the previous evening, filled with things she wanted to try during her visit to the village.

At the very top of the densely packed list of over thirty items was:

—and that was exactly what he intended to accomplish first.

“We’ve arrived.”

Sir Maxim knocked on the carriage door from outside.

Soon, the exiled prince couple stepped out from the carriage bearing the Roxenhardt crest. Their expressions simultaneously stiffened.

“I said to go to a bookstore.”

“This is the bookstore.”

The sign hung above a shop that looked worse than an attic.

The small wooden door at the entrance was covered in patches of mold, so unpleasant it seemed unwise to even touch. Through the glass window, the interior appeared to contain more shriveled dried meat than books.

Clade quietly observed Yuan.

Yuan, who had expected a vast bookstore crammed wall-to-wall with books, stood speechless for a moment, blankly watching a spider spinning silk from a cobweb dangling in the corner.

A subtle twist tugged at Clade’s eyebrow.

“Is there a more proper bookstore?”

“I regret to inform you, Your Highness, but the situation would be much the same at any other bookstore.”

Sir Maxim, the personal secretary, replied calmly, inwardly marveling at Clade’s dignified appearance under the bright sun.

This city was, after all, the largest near the Black Mansion—the de facto headquarters of the territory.

Fittingly named Central Roxenhardt, this place was one of the few where people weren’t starving to the point of death.

To survive, the residents of the commercial district didn’t specialize in selling just one kind of goods.

Instead, they ran their livelihoods by selling multiple items at once—

like [Attic Books],

which sold both books and dried meat.

These practices, which would normally be illegal in other territories, were permitted here at the discretion of the Rev brothers.

Clade, now seeing firsthand the dire conditions of the territory he had only recently been briefed on, fell silent.

And in that moment his eyes met Yuan’s worried gaze, he suddenly felt as if he were the most useless man in the world.

“Um… Your Highness. You don’t have to buy any books. We can go to the next place.”

Yuan whispered softly, gently tugging at his arm without drawing attention.

Clade’s downcast gaze swept over the commercial district street—still barren and desolate despite the first hints of spring settling in.

“Let’s walk a bit. The books you’re looking for should exist somewhere. They’re mandatory supplies from the imperial court to every territory.”

Clade straightened his back firmly, gestured with a nod for Sir Maxim and the guards to step back, and quietly pulled Yuan closer by the arm.

“Your Highness?”

The exiled prince couple soon blended into the crowd, where people stole furtive glances at them.

***

The more Central Roxenhardt was explored, the more barren and impoverished it appeared.

It was so desolate that one could only feel grateful there were few beggars in the square—resembling the capital of a defeated nation ravaged by war.

The old buildings were grand and magnificent, but neglected, covered in dust and cobwebs, nothing like the ever-gleaming capital.

Reflecting the struggles of people barely scraping by, cafes with outdoor tables and cozy restaurants stood empty—instead, winter’s unsold dried meats and preserved foods occupied chairs and tables, waiting for their owners.

Naturally, no one had the leisure to enjoy a relaxed afternoon tea.

The clock tower of the distant chapel now pointed to four.

Restaurants, which should have long been preparing for dinner service, had been dark for hours.

A shop with a large candy-shaped sign, which surely would have made Yuan’s eyes sparkle had it been open, remained tightly shut.

Clearly, everyone had gone to the fields—land barely cleared from winter’s frost—to plant crops now that spring had arrived.

For the first time, a sense of defeat slowly crossed Clade’s otherwise calm and impassive face, like a tiny raft carried by the wind across a still lake.

To make matters worse.

Unanticipated dark clouds rapidly gathered overhead.

“It looks like it’s going to rain.”

Yuan murmured softly, watching Clade, who seemed deeply dejected.

Clade had also been staring at the approaching storm. From a distance, Sir Maxim gestured that he would prepare the carriage and quickly disappeared.

“That’s a good omen, isn’t it? If everyone’s gone to plant crops, rain should be welcome.”

A good omen? Such an innocent remark from someone who hadn’t managed to fulfill even one item on her densely packed list.

Watching the faint smile on Yuan’s lips, Clade abruptly pulled her arm and headed toward a large but old and shabby antique shop across the way.

Upon entering the shop bearing that name, unexpected luck followed.

Despite its name, the shop sold items entirely unrelated to its title. Here, books were packed far more densely than elegant antiques or curious objets.

Yuan couldn’t obtain the ‘latest edition’ of the Academy’s collected medical papers she had hoped for, but fortunately, she managed to find several books that weren’t too outdated.

As Clade handed over a gold coin with an unsatisfied expression, the hunched, elderly shopkeeper—who had been staring wide-eyed since their arrival—shook his head.

“How could I take money from the lord? Please, accept these as a gift. They’re nothing special.”

“Never mind.”

“Thanks to the grace of the late Emperor and Empress, I’ve lived this long… I’m filled with nothing but gratitude. Prince Clade Euphris, treasure of the Euphris family.”

The jingling of the gold coin pouch Gustav the steward had prepared fell silent.

From the old man’s wrinkled hand, far more creased than smooth, a small portrait suddenly emerged—one of Clade from his childhood, which the old man had cherished in his chest.

“You’ve grown just as you were. Beautiful, and dignified. Just like the young Emperor Alexei.”

Whoosh—.

A downpour brought by the dark clouds began outside. The louder the rain drummed against the old windows, the deeper the silence grew within.

Yuan, clutching a dusty book, looked back and forth between the old woman who gazed at her with affectionate eyes—as if seeing her own granddaughter—and the shimmering purple eyes that sparkled in rhythm with the falling rain.

“May you always be blessed with happiness, kind and beautiful Her Highness.”

The flickering voice, like a dying candle, warmed Yuan like a gentle light.

Though the old woman looked frail enough to pass away sitting down with eyes closed, her eyes sparkled with vibrant reverence.

Instead of bowing stiffly like Clade, Yuan gave a deep bow. Then, rather than the gold coin the old woman refused, she placed on the counter a generous bundle of dried meats and unnamed fruits she had bought from other shops out of slight embarrassment and left.

“Please come again. Prince, Princess.”

The old woman offered her final farewell with a faint smile.

***

The couple remained side by side under the roof, unable to leave the front of the large antique shop.

Yuan sighed, seeing her white dress—carefully styled like a lady off for a picnic—had become completely soaked after briefly stepping out from under the eaves.

‘Monica put so much effort into dressing me, and now it’s all drenched.’

Worried about Clade, who had seemed downcast since earlier, she glanced up at him—only for their eyes to meet directly.

Clade’s gaze, which had dropped from her eyes to her soaked clothes, darkened.

Slowly, his eyes traced the old book in her hand, the white sleeve embroidered with dense lace and mother-of-pearl buttons, and then the dress clinging to her body, revealing her silhouette beneath the rain—before he abruptly snapped his head up toward the rainy sky.

‘Is it really that unbearable to look at?’

Her hair and clothes, so carefully adorned, must be a complete mess now.

He always seemed displeased with her appearance—surely this was no exception.

Just as Yuan stepped away to catch a better glimpse of herself in the closed dressmaker’s shop window across the way, she was suddenly pulled forward, helplessly stumbling straight into Clade’s arms.

“Wait here until the carriage comes. Don’t wander off wherever you please again.”

Immediately, a warm sensation spread across her back.

He had undone the clasp of his cloak, drawn her into his embrace, and closed the front of the cloak around her.

In an instant, they were sharing one cloak.

Yuan stood dazed within his arms, her eyes darting as she tried to decipher his intentions through the falling raindrops.

“…Your Highness?”

“Tell the tailor not to make white dresses anymore.”

“Is this dress… bad? Is it strange?”

Yuan asked slightly dejectedly, but Clade didn’t answer.

Only the approaching night.

His warm breath, impossible to ignore, poured down just inches from her, striking the crown of her head and the nape of her neck.

The rhythm of his breathing—steady, yet slightly rough—made Yuan shiver. She cautiously grasped the arm draped over her shoulder.

When his firm arm twitched, Yuan’s ears burned hot.

A clear vibration resonated from his warm body pressed tightly against her shoulder blades.

Or perhaps—her heart, which had been racing wildly since earlier, was now pressing against her shoulder blades and knocking against his solar plexus or somewhere in his chest.

Yuan carefully released his warm arm and hugged the old, oversized book tucked under her arm tightly.

Every place his breath touched felt itchy and scorched, as if she might die.

“Your Highness.”

Yuan finally parted her lips, no longer able to bear the itch, just as Clade began to slightly pull his lower body away from hers.

Fortunately, Clade didn’t remove her from his cloak. He merely stepped back half a pace and stood still.

“Um… what should I give you in return? You bought me books and all sorts of things… I want to repay you somehow.”

“….”

“As you said, Seobyeol Pavilion ultimately belongs to you, so it can’t really be considered a gift.”

Yuan asked, struggling to turn her body.

Clade didn’t release the arm across her shoulder blades. Instead, he only slightly turned his head to look down at Yuan, who tilted her face up to meet his gaze—his eyes dark.

After the sound of rain had sliced through the silence several times, a very low whisper finally escaped his lips.

“…Don’t die.”

The large hand gripping her shoulder blade tightened with unmistakable strength. Yuan saw an endless abyss in his darkened eyes.

“You can do anything you want.”

He murmured very quietly.

“Just don’t die.”