120. Discard Everything

2024.01.28.

Eugene Kimfri had been acting so courteously that Yun had almost forgotten the earlier warning about not touching Noel—until Eugene Kimfri fixed her with that cold, distant stare, making her chest tighten with unease.

Eugene Kimfri, while flawlessly carrying out his duties, never let down his guard toward Yun in this manner.

It was similar to the way he looked at Bollonico whenever they met.

Yun understood him, yet each encounter still left a bitter taste.

Why was it that no matter where she moved, she always received such a gaze?

Those eyes that seemed to say, “This place isn’t for you either.”

Though such looks were all too familiar and painfully tiresome to Yun, they still made her mouth dry.

“Please follow the palace rules.”

When Eugene Kimfri abruptly handed the plate back to the young maid in a blunt manner, the maid flushed bright red and took it.

As that stern, expressionless face—handsome yet intimidating—passed them and headed toward the knights, the giggles of flustered young maids fluttered past Yun’s ears, their voices muffled by the fluttering of purple cloaks.

Responding quickly to Empress Marilyn’s soft call inviting her to come rest nearby, Yun immediately walked toward the shaded spot where the empress was resting.

Opposite each other, Tasha and Noel sat on either side of the empress.

Hesitating for a moment about whom to approach, Yun chose Tasha.

She caught Noel’s eyes drooping slightly in disappointment, but deliberately ignored it.

After dreaming of Clade and seeing those eyes so like his, she didn’t feel ready to face Noel.

Tasha widened her eyes slightly in surprise, then shifted her hips to make space for Yun right beside the empress.

“Lady Kimfri.”

“Yes?”

“In your opinion, do I look like someone who would tamper with Her Majesty’s food?”

“What?”

“Since Lord Kimfri seems to think so.”

Speaking just loud enough to be drowned out by Empress Marilyn’s cheerful humming as she enjoyed the air growing closer to her hometown, Yun whispered toward Tasha.

Tasha, hearing the discontent in Yun’s voice, slowly widened her eyes and turned her gaze toward her older brother.

‘That emotionless block may be cautious, but he’s not the type to show it openly?’

***

Roxenhardt, the Black Mansion.

The procession heading south was rapidly prepared and reinforced.

Marquis Rev of Mosan was still attending various parties in the capital on Clade’s behalf due to Clade’s recent title ceremony, while the Rev brothers had completed all preparations for their southern journey.

Since arriving at the Black Mansion, Clade had slept only in short naps in his office, despite Lancelot’s repeated efforts.

Now, even Lancelot’s crying, scolding, and anger could not move him.

Just as Lancelot had decided to forcibly knock him unconscious and carry him away, Clade, still looking exhausted, had already finished preparing for departure to the south.

As Lancelot stepped out the front door and watched the staff making final adjustments to the procession, he saw Clade’s gaze drift toward the distant west wing, passing through the garden and the White Forest.

Just then, the butler emerged carrying a large bundle of Clade’s belongings.

“Steward.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Leave everything over there. Discard it all.”

“…Yes?”

Butler Gustav stared blankly toward the west wing.

A bare, red outer wall stripped of every leaf, a place where servants tiptoed carefully, avoiding the master’s gaze.

In Clade’s eyes, there stood the parasol and rocking chair where he once enjoyed afternoon sunlight.

The steward recalled the late mistress chattering cheerfully as she cut Clade’s hair there, and without realizing it, flinched.

“A-all of it?”

“I won’t be returning to the mansion for the foreseeable future, so you’ll have plenty of time.”

“What?”

Clade’s firm tone startled not only Butler Gustav but Lancelot as well. Seeing Clade’s cold, detached expression—as if he were leaving the mansion for good—Lancelot rushed forward.

“What do you mean? Are you saying you’re moving out?”

“I mean I won’t return here until I’ve achieved something.”

Clade strode off toward the servant leading his horse, his crimson cloak billowing behind him. Butler Gustav and Lancelot stared blankly at each other.

With Eddie arriving from the marquisate, having gathered additional guards, and even his aide-de-camp, Maxim, joining, the departure for the south was accelerated.

“The townhouse is secured, and repairs and cleaning have already begun, so we’ll arrive right on schedule. If we rode at maximum speed, we’d make it in about ten days, but our procession is much larger now. Rather than giving the impression we’re rushing to find something, it’s better to make it look like a relaxed, leisurely tour. What do you think, Clade?”

Eddie, wearing a solemn yet slightly excited expression, sought agreement. Clade gave a disinterested nod.

“Fine.”

He cast one more glance toward Butler Gustav, as if reaffirming the order to discard the west wing belongings, then mounted his horse without hesitation.

Lancelot lightly patted Butler Gustav’s shoulder in farewell and swiftly mounted his own horse.

As soon as the procession was ready, Clade spurred his horse forward without a word.

Eddie, who had just suggested taking a leisurely, tour-like approach, now stared wide-eyed at Clade’s back and the rump of his horse, already galloping toward the iron gate.

“That bastard…!”

Lancelot, tormented throughout the stay by a man who hadn’t slept properly, now chased after Clade, kicking his horse’s flank to overtake Eddie, leaving behind only a cryptic, meaningful remark.

Eddie, suddenly left alone at the front with Maxim, removed his glasses and wiped them roughly with his sleeve, squinting his eyes.

“Were those two fighting while I was gone?”

***

Clade galloped at full speed beneath the shade of the White Forest, where snow had mostly melted, leaving only light dustings atop the treetops. Lancelot followed closely behind.

“Suddenly going on about discarding all the west wing furniture—what’s that about?! And why won’t you return?! Without even consulting me!”

As Clade silently urged his horse faster, Lancelot’s brow furrowed sharply.

“Why are you being so stubborn?! If you have complaints, just tell me directly!”

“No complaints.”

“There you go again, you damn brat!”

Lancelot finally snapped.

Rushing headlong into uneven terrain, the horses struggled to find footing and gradually slowed.

“Are you going to keep doing whatever you want like this?! You’re like this because you haven’t been sleeping properly!”

“You said you wanted me to sleep well.”

Clade finally slowed his pace.

Unlike the cheerful gait of his black steed Alon, Clade’s voice was slightly hoarse and muffled.

Lancelot also pulled back on the reins to slow down.

“And you’re acting like this despite knowing that?”

Since ten years ago, Lancelot Rev’s top wish for Clade had been his peaceful sleep.

“I’ll have nightmares if I stay here.”

“What?”

Clade’s nightmares were obvious.

And so were Lancelot’s.

Lancelot had grown up having nightmares much like Clade’s.

Clade’s were far worse, no doubt.

But that was during times when he was unwell. Now, the situation was entirely different.

The curse that tormented him was gone.

The surrounding vigilance had visibly weakened.

And a mountain of tasks lay ahead.

Regardless of his discomfort toward Yun Pelliese, Clade’s bloodshot eyes meant he wasn’t having those thick, suffocating nightmares anymore.

“What does that have to do with throwing out furniture?!”

Overwhelmed by pent-up frustration, Lancelot watched as Clade casually turned his head and resumed riding along the emerging path.

The sunlight glinted blindingly off his golden hair.

“Hey, Clade!”

Lancelot urged his horse forward, recalling Clade asleep in the office chair.

Recently, Clade’s sleeping face in the office looked more at peace than ever before.

His soft, relaxed lips and the occasional flutter of his eyelashes made him unrecognizable from the man who once suffered terrible nightmares.

Was it that day? The first day after returning from the title ceremony?

“Sleep in your bedroom, will you? Not here again!”

The moment Lancelot saw those eyelids—sensitive to the slightest noise—he rushed over and woke him.

Clade’s eyes snapped open.

Those violet eyes, regained their clarity, focused not on Lancelot’s face, but into empty space.

Clade remained frozen in place, not even attempting to refocus. Then, as if someone had just stroked his head, he flinched and rubbed the back of his head several times.

The scene was as still and quiet as a slow-moving stream, yet it lingered long in Lancelot’s mind.

Like a child who tightly clasped a butterfly in both hands, then opened them cautiously—only to find nothing left.

Clade simply breathed quietly for a long while.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“Just now…”

“What?”

“A moment ago.”

“What about it?”

“What day is it today?”

He asked blankly, as if still trapped in a dream. Lancelot, startled by this unfamiliar Clade, quickly answered.

After hearing the date, Clade checked the calendar on his desk, jumped up, pulled aside the curtains, and opened the window, letting the pale pink dawn light into the office.

What did he say then?

“That’s right.”

He muttered just that, gazing out the window.

Like someone suddenly awakened by the crisp morning air of Roxenhardt.

His hands closing the window were firm and rigid.

Roughly pulling the curtains shut to block out the weak sunlight, Clade replaced the calm, relaxed expression of his light slumber with a hardened one. Without sparing a glance at the bewildered Lancelot still standing in the doorway, he resumed his work.

Had he been having nightmares ever since?

His face, when his eyes were closed, looked nothing but peaceful and beautiful.

What kind of nightmare could it be?

“Come with me! Clade!”

Is he running from nightmares? Or from memories?

Lancelot, already deep in the heart of the forest, glanced back toward the distant Black Mansion.

Behind them, the crimson wave of the procession followed diligently, while the pitch-black mansion stood silently as always.

Once, Clade himself had been that Black Mansion. What had he become now?

And what, exactly, was that mansion to Clade anymore?

***

Empress Marilyn’s procession finally entered the outskirts of Marquis Companni’s territory—her family’s ancestral home—after a full two weeks.