158. Hurt?

2024.03.06.

The grandson who, after the deaths of his father and elder brother, had always been burdened with responsibility.

The heir raised upright and dignified, a pride not only to Lord Kimfri but to the entire Eastern Region, destined to be the lifelong guardian of this land.

The grandson, Eugene Kimfri, who had walked into the Imperial Knights himself to uncover the truth behind his father’s and brother’s deaths, eventually rising to a position of authority.

The grandson who had suppressed all emotion, enduring rumors that he wouldn’t bleed even if stabbed—now revealing pure emotion for the first time in a long while, causing Lord Kimfri’s eyes to narrow.

But only for a moment.

Briefly reminded of Eugene’s childhood self, Lord Kimfri broke the solemn atmosphere with a hearty laugh.

As Eugene’s eyes quickly flickered, Lord Kimfri clutched his stomach, coughing mid-laugh, and added,

“I thought you were just a good-for-nothing pretty boy, but this is the first time I’ve seen you caring about a woman.”

“That statement is wrong from beginning to end.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Getting embarrassed over such a small joke! A man of proper age being interested in women is only natural.”

Watching his grandson immediately stiffen and straighten his clothes, Lord Kimfri wiped the smile from his face.

“Her choice may be unfortunate, but knowing you’re a real man gives me peace. Even if I never get to hold my grandchildren in my arms, at least I can die seeing you marry a healthy woman.”

“Are you implying the Dowager isn’t a healthy woman?”

Startled by Eugene’s sharp tone, Lord Kimfri flinched, then burst into laughter again.

“You damn brat! Talking to your old man like that after so long!”

Eugene Kimfri abruptly stood up.

Yet, as if detecting no malice in the old man’s words, he obediently bowed his head.

“Please don’t misunderstand.”

“She’s a pity, that Dowager. It’s a shame for her to remain cornered as a mere discarded royal consort, or fall to being Bollonico’s plaything. But if that’s the path she chose, others must accept it.”

Eugene’s brow slightly furrowed as he prepared to quietly withdraw.

“That’s unnecessary interference.”

“Who cares? Whether she’s a dowager or a prince’s mistress, as long as she keeps my grandson tethered here and close to his heart, I don’t care.”

Lord Kimfri replied in a voice half-joking, half-serious.

Though he fully understood the nuance, the seriousness on Eugene’s face did not fade.

After a long standoff, Eugene answered with a deep sigh.

“…That, too, is an unnecessary misunderstanding.”

“Eugene.”

Just as Eugene was about to step away, clearly unwilling to hear more, a serious voice stopped him in his tracks.

Lord Kimfri’s eyes, stripped of all playfulness, stared deeply and directly into his grandson’s face.

“Stop clinging to the dead. Don’t waste your life.”

“No one would say a man who reached the rank of Second Captain of the Imperial Knights is wasting his life.”

Eugene responded in a firm voice, silent until now.

“If you truly wish me to stop, then perhaps you should tell me the truth you’ve been hiding.”

With those words, Eugene Kimfri gave a brief bow and left the reception chamber.

Lord Kimfri watched his grandson’s resolute steps, then doubled over in a violent coughing fit as he sank back into his seat.

The amber eyes, once sharp with authority, clouded over for a moment.

The truth—that he had fallen for Emperor Igor’s scheme, mistaking southern people for rebels and crushing them.

The truth that his son and eldest grandson, upright to the end, had realized too late and taken their own lives.

How could he speak such a devastating truth aloud?

How could he tell a grandson so stubbornly upright, so much like his father and brother, that very truth?

The finely honed sword of the East, forced to hide its edge under the Emperor’s watchful eye, could only watch as starving people suffered.

Who knew?

If Crown Prince Clade Euphris ever truly snapped and declared rebellion against his uncle, he might just be willing to support him…

Lord Kimfri pressed his temples, recalling the stack of reports on Clade piled in his office.

“If he’d cared about such things, he wouldn’t have lived like a degenerate from the start. That good-for-nothing Crown Prince…”

A loyal blade, deprived of a worthy lord, still cries out “The East never forgets its enemies,” yet today, it cuts only empty air…

As he murmured, almost sighing—

His aged aide rushed into the reception chamber.

“M-M-Milord!”

“What is it?”

The aide, face flushed, replied to the weary lord.

“An urgent message hawk from Marquis Rev!”

“Rev?”

“They say… the Crown Prince may be arriving in the East soon… and to remain calm.”

Lord Kimfri shot to his feet.

***

Yuan left the reception chamber, endured Empress Marilyn’s tiresome small talk in the hallway for a while, then excused herself first.

Noel followed the lord’s aide to witness the sending of a letter to Roxenhardt, and Tasha trailed behind them.

Yuan walked quietly down the corridor toward her room, lost in thought.

A cool early autumn breeze blew through the grand window of the open corridor, brushing against her hair.

Unconsciously, Yuan stopped walking. Beyond the large window, she saw vast wheat fields stretching into the distance.

The still slightly green fields, bathed in spreading crimson twilight, seemed to beckon toward her.

Unlike her, whose insides kept boiling and cooling in cycles, the scene was overwhelmingly peaceful.

For a brief moment, she was intoxicated by that serenity, gazing at the red waves for a long while.

How much time had passed?

Suddenly, a dark shadow fell across her blank face.

Before she could react, a hot hand clamped over her mouth, and Yuan nearly activated her ability in shock.

But—

“…Don’t scream.”

The hot hand against her lips. The low voice pouring into her scalp.

The familiar scent, carrying the outside wind, froze Yuan like stone.

“It’s me.”

It was Clade Euphris’s voice, thick and hoarse.

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

Yuan, having thought of Clade so much lately, wondered if she was dreaming—until the intense warmth pressed against her back startled her out of it.

She stood frozen for a long moment, then nodded slightly, slowly beginning to turn.

Sunken eyelids, dark purple eyes looking utterly exhausted.

Before she could fully meet his gaze, a strong force abruptly pushed her back into place.

Instantly, Yuan, now wedged between the window and Clade, held her breath and strained her ears.

Remembering how Clade’s eyes, glimpsed briefly, were closer to colorless than grape-flavored candy, worry overpowered any complex emotions.

But Clade spoke before she could ask.

“I heard something unbelievable. Just answer yes or no.”

Clade, gripping the windowsill instead of her mouth, spoke concisely.

The faint urgency in his voice made Yuan’s heart drop.

Only now did Hille’s voice—telling Clade about Yuan’s condition and why she left the estate—strike her like a blow to the back of the head.

“So it’s come.”

No.

It shouldn’t have come.

Yuan’s body trembled faintly.

Never did she imagine Clade would storm all the way to the East, confronting her like this.

Caught off guard with no preparation, Yuan’s mind went completely blank.

After that stormy night—so intense it now felt like a dream—and then him leaving as if nothing happened, this was their first meeting.

She had expected Clade to pour out everything, yet he remained silent for a long time.

Just as the distant wheat fields, dyed by the sunset, gently stirred her broken heart, an infinitely heavy voice finally escaped his lips.

“…Are you hurt?”

“….”

“Are you hurting?”

Even though he asked without emotional inflection, Yuan couldn’t answer easily.

Her throat felt as if a large stone were lodged inside—painful and tightly blocked.

She spent a long moment clearing her dry, rough mouth before barely opening her lips.

“No.”

The moment she answered, an exhalation—whether a scoff or something else—poured down onto her scalp.

Despite the disbelief in his reaction, Yuan bravely answered again.

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Her voice was fairly firm, but Clade did not easily accept it.

Perhaps it wasn’t the answer he had hoped for; his voice turned strangely cold.

“We’ll see when you show a doctor.”

Show a doctor? What did that even mean all of a sudden?

She tried to turn, but Clade pressed himself even more firmly against her back, leaving her trapped, facing forward.

After a brief silence, Clade’s voice whispered into her ear again.

“Hire Hatarun, after fleeing, said many interesting things. You were close to that bastard, weren’t you?”

“…What kind of absurd rumors have you been hearing?”

“They say you might be terminally ill, that you stormed the palace to kill Bollonico in a final gamble—and that you did it to save me.”

Clade spoke, his shoulders shaking slightly as if he’d heard a hilarious story.

Yuan shivered in the cooling air, yet held her ground.

“…That’s ridiculous.”

“Were you so weak that you had to go kill Bollonico in my place?”

His teasing tone suddenly turned sinister.

Yuan, though held in a warm embrace, felt a chill and desperately shook her head.

“No. Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?”

“Because I just heard an interesting story.”

“Then why not ignore it?”

Yuan replied, her voice trembling but firm.

“You were the one who said not to appear before you again, Your Highness.”

At those words, silence once again settled over the open corridor.