171. You Are Mine

2024.03.19.

When Eugene Kimfri met Clade Euphris’s gaze, he bowed once more in silence and reported.

“Our lord is greatly pleased with the dealings with Roxenhardt. The Kimfri knight commander is hidden inside the carriage. At nightfall, we will discuss the matter concerning the new Marquis Rev and Your Highness’s plans.”

“You’ve heard everything your grandfather had to say, I assume? Since you’re helping me.”

“…Yes.”

The old count, who had received an invitation to the Northern Monster Hunt on the same day as Clade, had summoned Eugene and revealed the truth about the suppression of the rebel forces ten years prior.

Contrary to the old count’s expectation that his grandson might be thrown into despair, Eugene calmly accepted the truth.

He wasn’t without anger. But that anger had lost the chance to wander aimlessly.

It seemed his fury knew exactly where to be directed—toward the path the deposed prince was walking.

As if that path had been prepared for him from the very beginning.

“You didn’t have to help. You could’ve lived comfortably. You’re still the Imperial Knight Commander, and you could quietly step aside by becoming the son-in-law of the opposing family. Didn’t you hate me?”

“…Personally, yes. Officially, I respect you.”

Eugene answered, unmoved, as Clade scoffed coldly.

“It’s always been that way, and it still is…”

Clade’s darkened eyes swept over the solemn man standing across from him.

In Eugene Kimfri’s eyes gleamed a light similar to that in Eddie Rev’s.

Eyes of quiet fury—needing no other reason than to eliminate the one who had brought his father to death.

The clearly defined shadow at the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

“Do you want to kill the Emperor?”

Clade’s face, which had been quietly observing Eugene’s trembling eyes, hardened instead of forming a subtle smile.

“I’m sorry, but that task is mine. What I’ll ask of you is something else.”

Facing Eugene’s silent, resolute gaze—seeming ready for anything—Clade spoke quietly.

“Whether or not you obey is your decision. I’ll grant you that much choice.”

Late at night, when deep darkness had completely enveloped the mansion.

Eugene Kimfri’s eyes gradually widened at the voice trailing low, as if crawling along the floor.

***

Yuan Pelliese stared blankly at the document in her hand.

It was the divorce papers handed to her by Eugene Kimfri, returned from Roxenhardt.

Without a word, Yuan traced her fingertips over the seal and Clade’s signature stamped in the lower left corner.

The death of Marquis Mosan Rev had deeply saddened Yuan as well.

Their first meeting had not been particularly warm, and they had not met often since.

Yet the Marquis had treated Yuan with respect regardless of his age, status, or honor.

He once told Yuan, who was cleaning the guest quarters, that she reminded him of a painter who colors the world beautifully. And then, unexpectedly, mentioned how grateful he was that she had been getting along well with Clade—part of Clade’s own family.

Moreover, he had been the one who helped obtain the seeds of the vine Clade and Yuan had planted together, jokingly wishing that their harmonious union would blossom beautifully across the Black Mansion.

There was no way Clade could not have loved such a man.

There was no way he could not grieve for his uncle, who had cared for him like a father, as he watched his final moments.

Yuan’s heart had been in a terrible state ever since the tragic news arrived right after Clade, who visited her nearly every day, left only the words “be happy” before bidding farewell.

At the same time, a fierce determination burned within her—not to let him suffer such sorrow ever again.

Her expression, once clouded, slowly hardened. She looked at Eugene, ready to listen.

“How was His Highness?”

Unusually calm for someone who had just received divorce papers, Yuan’s composed voice prompted Eugene to reply evenly.

“Count Roxenhardt has been faithfully fulfilling his duties as lord of that territory.”

Her lips, about to ask if there had been any message for her, briefly trembled before closing.

Sensing her hesitation, Eugene let out a brief sigh and gave her the words she had been waiting for.

“He said he would no longer torment you, non-royal.”

Yuan reached into a small case she took from a travel bag—once holding Louise Pelliese’s letters.

The family seal of the Pelliese house, carved with a phoenix on a red gemstone, pressed firmly and without hesitation onto the signature line.

Tasha, silently observing the scene, clapped her hands sharply to break the increasingly somber atmosphere.

“At last, the divorce! So, how about spending this winter in the east, Yuan?”

Tasha asked brightly, having understood Eugene Kimfri’s feelings for a very long time.

But unlike Tasha, who tried so hard to lighten the mood, Noel’s eyes were heavy with worry as he glanced furtively at Yuan.

Amid this delicate atmosphere, Empress Marilyn’s procession finally arrived at the imperial palace in Cielo, concluding a journey that had spanned two full seasons.

***

As soon as Yuan returned to the palace, she followed Harol Companni toward Bollonico Palace.

She noticed that Harol Companni, usually so smooth-talking, had become unusually quiet, but she didn’t particularly care.

The door to Bollonico’s most private chamber—the bedroom—opened.

Yuan walked toward the massive canopy bed.

Her brow furrowed at the strong herbal scent, but before she could react, her pupils dilated.

The embroidered quilt was soaked in blood.

On top of it, Bollonico lay on his side, back hunched, twitching at regular intervals like a fish long out of water.

His bare, pale back was covered with terrible whip marks.

Precious ointment, likely applied not by the royal physician but by Harol Companni, was thickly smeared over the wounds.

“Huuuuuh…”

As he moved and the wounds split open, Bollonico trembled and groaned in pain.

After stiffening his spine for a long moment, he finally sensed the presence of Marquis Companni and Yuan and turned his bloodshot eyes toward them.

His eyes, clouded with agony, brightened the instant they landed on Yuan’s face.

As Marquis Companni stepped out with a quiet hum, Bollonico welcomed Yuan like a lost child who had finally found its mother.

“You came right on time, sister-in-law. I needed you.”

Yuan’s bleak, pale face impassively scanned Bollonico’s features.

She removed her coat and tossed it aside carelessly, then strode toward him without a moment’s hesitation.

In that silent gesture—offering to take his pain upon herself—Bollonico trembled and smiled.

During the days without her, while staying in the palace, he had undergone “education” from his father. First, for failing to win the swordsmanship tournament.

Second, after being sent once more to the Drietter Duchy to eliminate monsters, as a second chance was granted.

He chuckled bitterly, recalling Marquis Mosan Rev, who had died a dog’s death.

He was immensely satisfied that he had punished Federico, his uncle, who dared to side with Eugene Kimfri—the man who had injured Bollonico and stolen victory.

The Marquis’s death was news that would plunge Clade Euphris into despair, and Federico’s injury was revenge against an uncle and mother who had never once considered Bollonico’s feelings.

Even though the Emperor had lashed him relentlessly for several days and nights upon hearing the Marquis’s death, to Bollonico, it had been worth every moment.

The brutal whipping had been unbearably painful and terrifying, but it was better than death. Better than living as a powerless prince, swallowing humiliation.

“How long Bollonico waited for you.”

And pain didn’t matter.

Because he possessed the one and only person who understood his suffering—and who would willingly take it away.

Bollonico staggered to his feet and approached Yuan Pelliese.

As long as this woman was here, a few lashes meant nothing.

Even his ever-terrifying father now seemed insignificant. As long as this woman would carry away his pain!

Bollonico gazed at Yuan as if she were the most beloved lover in the world.

Then, he smiled, his beautiful blue eyes crinkling shut.

He suddenly pulled her slender body into a tight embrace, crumpling his large frame against her, rubbing his cheek against hers.

Yuan lowered her brows, looking at him as one might a pitiful creature, and willingly embraced the wounded Bollonico in return.

Since becoming a prince, even his mother had never held him like this.

Having lived his entire life as a disappointing son who failed to meet his father’s standards, and as a disgusting son who resembled his father in his mother’s eyes, he was utterly overwhelmed by this embrace that finally accepted every part of him.

“You are mine.”

Bollonico whispered darkly.

“My trophy, taken from Clade Euphris—that bastard. My treasure. My future.”

He had lived his entire life being compared.

To Clade Euphris. As if he were nothing more than a thorn beneath the foot of that cursed name.

During the Crown Prince’s days, the whole world compared them. During the Prince’s days, his own father did.

He had desperately tried to imitate Clade Euphris.

He learned the rapier sword and the flashy, thrust-focused techniques Clade had favored in his youth.

He struggled to act like the noble, refined Clade of those days.

He did anything—everything—to become Emperor.

He took on even the dirtiest tasks at the Emperor’s command.

He had nearly hanged himself over the title of Crown Prince, never granted, until he heard the saying: “The one who possesses the treasure of the Pelliese house shall become Emperor.”

Naive Noel had merely thought it interesting and told him, but Bollonico was different.

He firmly believed that only by unlocking that treasure, that secret, could he become Crown Prince.

And then he found out.

That the Emperor intended to give the daughter of Count Pelliese to Clade.

Noel believed that his own words had sent Louise Pelliese toward the Black Mansion, but no.

The fate of Louise Pelliese—disguised as Yuan Pelliese—becoming Clade’s wife had already been set in motion, moments before Bollonico had innocently reported it to the Emperor.