#46

As he said, it was not entirely pleasant, with a hint of complexity in his casually thrown words. As Griselda picked up the box and looked at Winfrid, he suddenly gestured with his eyes.

“That thing, it’s yours.”

“Pardon?”

Winfrid pointed at the box and said nonchalantly.

“Open it.”

Griselda was about to tactlessly question ‘No, it’s not?’ but closed her mouth. However, she couldn’t hide her perplexed expression. Unable to answer, she just stood there blankly, and when she finally opened the lid, her hand movements were quite stiff.

She was genuinely puzzled. Although she had received things from Winfrid before, most were not items to keep for long, such as a few flowers or medicinal herbs said to be good for an ailing body, so she doubted there was anything worth carefully placing in a well-crafted box.

What on earth…

Her hand holding the box lid stopped abruptly in mid-air.

“…Why are you silent?”

Winfrid muttered low complaints to Griselda, who had frozen like a statue. With his usual cold gaze, he was subtly blushing under his eyes. That attitude, somehow resembling the embarrassment of a man before his cherished lover.

That was fear.

To Griselda, it was the warmth of the golden beast that had not yet grown, the expression of affection that would occasionally show itself as if it were some mercy after weighing down her body. It was rather fear. Was it just fear? Beast.

She would startle even at Winfrid’s shadow. In fact, there was no physical pain. Rather, her body, now all too familiar, seemed to momentarily enjoy what appeared to be a desirable lovemaking on the surface.

When Winfrid’s thin, long fingers caressed her fear as if mocking it, her undergarments quickly became wet. During their years of relationship, once, no, maybe twice, or perhaps three or four times, she might have felt a loathsome climax.

The flesh had sinned.

It felt as if her prayers were burning up. Ah, it would truly be a lie if Griselda herself did not cherish and love that golden beast.

However, that affection was the second fear that pressed upon her. To Griselda, the feelings she had secretly harbored were the most unbearable fear of all. Because of this, her relationship with Winfrid, which led to the ‘curse’, could not help but be disgusting and horrible.

Originally, instinctive aversion is not remembered by the brain. Taboos are carved into the muscles and ground into the bones. Therefore, every time, every time, reluctantly, shouldn’t she have had to spew out the inner screams of ‘I don’t like it, it’s not allowed, I can’t push it away right now!’ in tiny amounts outside her throat until her eyes turned white?

“No… I can’t, Lord Winfrid.”

Snap.

Griselda closed the box lid again. Uncontrollable trembling rose from her fingertips. It quickly spread to her shoulders, shaking. Winfrid’s brow, which had been staring blankly at her, gradually hardened along with her shivering.

“I can’t. This ring, I, I can’t accept it. Please don’t do this.”

Griselda threw down the box. As if she had inadvertently picked up a bug with her bare hands. The box fell so rudely onto Winfrid’s thigh.

A cold air began to freeze on Winfrid’s face as he stared blankly at his discarded sincerity. Slowly, silently, a gaze holding a knife rose towards Griselda. Scratched eyes. Though motionless, it was a look that threatened to break her resisting wrist to put it on if she didn’t make an excuse right away.

“Please believe me. I love you, Lord Winfrid.”

Griselda barely parted her convulsing lips. Ah, no more…

“I always have. There hasn’t been a moment when I didn’t love you. Please believe me. But, ah, Lord Winfrid. There’s a story… that you don’t know…”

It was unbearable.

***

In fact, until one of the Valdemar clan’s women from the Ducomengas married into the Gustavus family, the rumors about that family were suitable gossip for the lowly, worn out by labor, to pick up and serve from time to time.

For example, that a Ducomeng who contracted a strange disease where high fever set in and fingers and toes gradually rotted, went mad amidst the flowing pus and pain of decaying bones, or that beside the corpse of a Ducomeng who died in a mysterious accident, there was a shadow imprinted in the shape of an evil spirit.

Or that the bizarre misfortunes they suffered were due to their family’s inability to let go of their attachment to the devil even after immortality arrived according to God’s will, and such.

‘The Ducomengs are cursed for dealing with the devil.’

It was a story that would make them jump up and protest if they heard it themselves. However, the misfortune of others is such that no matter when it’s spoken of or how it’s exaggerated, it never gets tiresome.

At least until it becomes one’s own story.

The duchess came from that very family that had completely fallen into ruin, as if to prove that all sorts of ghost stories were not wrong. It was the duke who forced the marriage despite the fierce opposition of the elders and the head steward.

The close aides swallowed their disapproval under the duke’s iron-like gaze, but they didn’t believe the circulating rumors to be worried.

Of course, if that family still hadn’t given up the devil, it would be worthy of contempt. But to ‘deal with’ it? Wasn’t that the kind of story only ignorant fools immersed in superstition would believe?

In the end, the aides’ opposition was simply because there was no one who could accurately gauge the will of a ruler who insisted on his own disadvantage, when there were other powerful families available, why did it have to be her?

And on that dusty, desolate day. That woman came riding a horse with nothing but bones.

Griselda, who was one of the girls selected as a chamber maid, stood at the end of the welcoming procession and watched in silence as the drawbridge lowered heavily.

The first to enter the fortress crossing the bridge were three or four attendants who were not even properly armed. Tanned leather vests and visibly old longswords were all of their armament.

The woman who was to become the mistress of the fortress came over with a single maid. And a donkey pulling a cart on the verge of collapse trudged along at the end of the shabby procession.

That was all.

Is this truly a nobleman’s procession? A sight beyond simple, bordering on squalid. Griselda had to try hard to hide her disappointment until the duchess approached. The purple skirt hem she glimpsed occasionally with lowered eyes was faded and torn, with clear traces of having been mended several times.

As if scraping together the last ounce of pride.

Oh, what to do. It seems this one outfit is all she has in purple. Griselda almost burst into tears at the unsightly appearance of the woman who was to be her mistress. What she found some relief in was when she raised her head to pay respects.

At that moment, the tears that had rudely welled up disappeared. Perhaps due to the long journey? The woman’s complexion was somewhat pale, and there were light shadows around her eyes.

However, the atmosphere surrounding her was considerably calm and pure. And how noble and graceful her delicate features were. A golden-haired, blue-eyed beauty who seemed able to illuminate the entire fortress with her body alone, even without torches, stood before Griselda’s eyes.

The thought that the duke must have noticed her somewhere and now brought her into the castle was not unique to Griselda alone.

The woman, who was treated as a guest for about two months until the ceremony, was generally gentle, although she could hardly erase her innate melancholy. Most of the household wanted to follow her deeply. At that time, no one had heard it yet.

Clank, clank.

The sound of that woman dragging the cursed iron chain into this massive iron-walled fortress.

No. In fact, until this day and time, it seemed no one but Griselda had realized. She secretly confirmed. That all those who had gone mad or died under these dark, ominous walls had been entangled in the duchess’s iron chain, whether willingly or unwillingly.

Griselda herself, Griselda’s husband, even a maid who had died without anyone knowing were sacrifices to the curse.

Even the duchess’s only daughter.

Yes.

That woman came with the plague.

When did it start? When the duchess began showing signs of anxiety.

The duchess, who occasionally complained of migraines, lost her mind little by little, as if she had regained some sanity. But in a way that couldn’t be more certain. Priests came and went to the chamber several times a day, but no one could accurately diagnose the cause of the fracture. They only drew blood uselessly a few times.

Then, after a few years passed and news came that all of her brothers had died in battle, the duchess completely lost her mind. At that time, two cartloads of unknown stone coffins came from the Ducomeng territory as family heirlooms. Many whispered that those were coffins containing devils, but kept their mouths shut in front of the mistress. However, when the duchess saw the stone coffins placed in the open space, she fainted on the spot.

After that, seizures were like a chronic illness. The duchess often rambled to the air. Sometimes she would have paralysis. Breaking objects by throwing whatever she could grab was commonplace.

Especially when the duke, who wouldn’t think of letting her go until dawn had fully broken, belatedly left the bedroom, she would often rant in a local dialect that was utterly incomprehensible. There was no one to stop that frenzy.

But when her husband came, the person changed completely.

As if she had never done such things, she became as docile as a bird drenched in heavy rain, serving gently with a pale face. Sometimes she would cling desperately to the duke as if making some kind of courtship. Like a woman who couldn’t live without her husband.

For Griselda, who often got beaten all over while trying to restrain the convulsing duchess, it was truly a lamentable situation.

There were days when the duchess showed no symptoms at all, though they were not entirely absent. Coincidentally, most of these were times when the duke was away from the fortress for long periods. At such times, the duchess would pull an armchair to the window and sit like a dead person for days and days until the sound of hooves carrying her husband could be heard again.

Abandoning pastimes like embroidery frames or spinning wheels, she would quietly look out the window for a long time, a very long time, with an expression that couldn’t be more peaceful.

Such a profile that looked like it would break at any moment.

Griselda could not understand the duchess. So sometimes she would gossip about the duchess to the maids her age. The main content of the gossip was that while the duke cared for her so much, the duchess didn’t know to be grateful and behaved so disgracefully. How could someone of such noble birth conduct herself in such a manner?

For Griselda, who was often caught up in the duchess’s seizures, it was a feeling she simply couldn’t bear without telling someone, but the maids would often avoid the situation, gesturing with their hands and saying, “Oh my! You’ll lose your head if you run your mouth carelessly.”

Because of this, Griselda always returned to the bedroom with unresolved feelings. She would mutter glumly as she climbed the empty spiral staircase, pressing each step firmly.

“I wonder if she’d get better if she had a child.”

Griselda still remembers that day. That energy. The quietly stiffened knees curling, the curved spine chilling.

The fortress, from which Duke Valdemar and his knights had ebbed away like the tide, was as quiet as an empty shore, and only the occasional screams of the duchess, who had taken to her bed early in the birthing room, echoed hollowly through the empty tower.

There were three people in the birthing room. The duchess about to give birth, a midwife wrinkled to her fingertips, and Griselda.

Was the thorough door locking meant to prevent evil spirits from entering? Or rather to drive out the light? In the dark inner room sealed on all sides, Griselda was extremely tired from enduring the duchess’s vibrating screams and the smell of iron.

How long had they been locked in? It was at a point where she could no longer gauge whether it was night or day. The duchess, who had been in labor pains all day, poured out a twilight-like mass below. It was a daughter.

Giovinetta.

Griselda, who had finally received the lump of flesh from the midwife after a long wait, held the newborn princess’s two ankles, patted her bottom, and washed her body. The duchess continued to have stomach pains to the point of breathlessness, making the first child’s first cry pale in comparison.

“I knew it would be twins all along.”

The midwife, who had muttered barely audibly once, did not leave her position to receive the rest of the baby. And it must have been from then on. When the temperature in the birthing room changed.