"I need your ability."
In retrospect, Curtis Russell was a man who wore red well. When they first met, he had been drenched in blood from head to toe. The boy, who could have been no more than fifteen or sixteen, already possessed eyes that had crawled their way through hell. It was a seasoned instinct that had led her to follow such a boy.
A blind faith that this man alone would use her in the way she desired. That faith had proven correct, and the ominous boy had eventually grown into a man as predatory as a bird of prey.
Setting aside his thoughts, Robert smoothly steered the conversation to the main point.
"Actually, I have moved Roxana’s room to the one adjacent to Lady Frey’s."
It was a decision he had made unilaterally, unable to stand by any longer. However, Curtis, whom he expected to reprimand him, merely blinked in surprise.
"Why?"
"As you saw before, the young lady sleeps soundly when she is near."
"That must be because she exhausted herself running away."
"Still, one never knows."
"...Well. She will have a hard time of it, I suppose. That will do."
Muttering dismissively, Curtis suddenly rose from his seat.
"What is Frey doing right now?"
"She is sleeping... My Lord!"
"I should go see her."
Curtis put his thoughts into action immediately. After knocking, he opened the door quietly to find that, just as Robert had said, Frey was already fast asleep. Curtis sat in the chair by the head of the bed. He pulled the thick quilt that had slid down to her waist back up to her shoulders. Frey was grimacing, perhaps caught in a nightmare. As he pressed his index finger to her brow to smooth out the furrow, Robert, who had followed him in, spoke up.
"They say she skipped breakfast and dinner again today. The maid in charge barely managed to coax her into eating a single meal at lunch."
"No wonder her cheeks have grown so gaunt."
Muttering to himself, Curtis examined his sister’s face with an affectionate gaze. His only living relative and the sole treasure he had to protect, Frey was always his Achilles' heel and a thorn beneath his fingernail. Though she was headstrong from being raised like a princess, the bright, innocent sister he once knew was gone. Only a pale, frail girl who had lost her sight remained, lying in bed.
"I shall take my leave now. Have a good night."
Robert bowed respectfully and exited the room, leaving silence to settle once more. Curtis, who had drifted into a light sleep, was awakened by the sound of voices coming from somewhere.
"...What is that?"
Brushing himself off, Curtis stood up and approached the source of the sound. The origin was none other than the adjacent room. Robert’s words flashed through his mind. He had said he moved Roxana to the room next door.
Walking with muffled footsteps, he slowly approached the room.
Roxana. Roxana Dalton.
Everyone who knew her was favorably disposed toward her. Perhaps worried that he might force her into hard labor, the Mother Superior had urged him repeatedly.
"Sister Roxana is a faithful and good person. Do not hate her too much, Curtis."
"Mother Superior."
She was one of the few people who had seen his most miserable past with her own eyes. A benefactor who had offered help without conditions when he was at his lowest. Because of that, the Mother Superior’s words carried more weight than anyone else’s.
"When you are lost, look back at your starting point. The answer is often not far away, but within your own heart."
As they returned to the castle by carriage, Curtis had been lost in thought while watching the woman sitting across from him. It felt wrong to treat her harshly, yet he could not offer her more consideration than necessary. While he was agonizing over this, the carriage stopped, and naturally, he had stepped out and offered her his hand. He could still clearly see the look of shock and confusion on her face at that moment. A reaction as if she had not expected even that small gesture of courtesy.
They were each other’s enemies. Her father had taken everything from him, and in return, he had taken everything from her. Theirs was a relationship that had crossed a river of no return, far beyond the point of forgiving or being forgiven.
However, the moment she stumbled, startled by a sudden commotion, it had been pure instinct that made him reach out his arm. Her waist, thin enough to be wrapped in one arm, and the brief contact of her chest. He could feel the heartbeat racing like a trapped deer.
Brushing her off coldly, Curtis tried to justify his discomfort in any way he could. It was because of his childhood memories. It was because the past, which he had foolishly failed to erase, was holding him back. That was why he wanted to see Roxana’s ugly side even more. He hoped she would be snoring, or perhaps cursing the Marquess of Russell’s family.
But what he heard was a prayer, the exact opposite of his expectations.
"I am a lacking person. I am foolish, unfaithful, and narrow-minded. Instead of looking at my neighbor’s bowl to see if I have more than my share, let me be a person who worries that my neighbor’s bowl is emptier than mine, and thus looks after them. Also..."
His hand tightened on the doorknob.
"I earnestly pray, please return Lady Frey’s sight. Take my eyes instead, and if that is not possible, take my voice. If even that is not possible, I pray that her nights may always be as warm and soft as if wrapped in silk."
*Click.* The doorknob turned. Startled by the presence while in prayer, Roxana turned around. The moment she recognized who it was, her violet eyes wavered.
"...My Lord?"
"I see you still mistake yourself for a nun."
Her confusion was brief. Curtis, his expression quickly masked, stood in the doorway and scanned the room. It was a small, humble room, though larger than other maids' quarters since it was dedicated to serving a single master. There was a straw-filled mattress and a nightstand that looked ready to collapse. On top of it sat a humble wooden cross and a rosary. Roxana, who had been kneeling on the cold stone floor without a carpet, stood up with a start.
"I apologize if I was loud."
"Do you believe that if you pray to God, it will come true?"
"Pardon?"
Roxana tilted her head at the sudden question. Curtis, with a sneer, had already stepped right in front of her.
"Do you think a few pathetic prayers can change anything?"
Curtis recalled the time he had left everything behind to flee with his blind sister. Even the relatives he used to visit and the villagers he was close to treated them like a curse. As if they were blades that would cut upon contact, they waved their hands, chased them away, and turned their backs as if dealing with untamed wild animals.
The world is cold. When you are prosperous, everyone is by your side, but when you are starving, no one helps.
While Roxana was left speechless by his sudden question, Curtis glanced at the worn-out edge of the quilt and sat heavily on the bed.
"Come to think of it, the man who tried to strangle you comes to mind. Harold, was it? I heard he was a butler who had been with you for a long time."
"..."
"Did it feel good when I killed him right in front of you?"
The wretched past remained like a yoke, always pressing down on his back. His family had been wiped out, and he had left his young sister at a convent. As siblings of unknown origin, they were too conspicuous, so he had left on his own, leaving behind Frey, who had cried and begged him not to go. He did everything to survive in a place where no one knew him. He stained his hands with blood to exact his revenge. He slaughtered people like a butcher. If necessary, he killed women, too. When he looked back at the trail he had walked, it was a pool of blood filled with hatred, anger, and curses.
"Be honest, Roxana. It’s just the two of us, anyway."
Curtis wanted to drag the noble and virtuous Roxana Dalton down to where he was. He wanted to see with his own eyes her struggling uglily, resenting those who had betrayed her, and hurling curses. He wanted to confirm that she was no different from him. If he could see that, perhaps this inexplicable agitation and wavering would all vanish.
"You saw Mary on your way here, didn't you? Your former maid."
Roxana lowered her gaze. Curtis grabbed her elbow to force her to look up, wanting to see the face hidden behind her cascading red hair.
Stumbling, Roxana fell onto the bed and tried to lift her upper body in a hurry. However, a powerful force pressed down on her shoulders.
"How did it feel to be reunited?"
Her jet-black hair disheveled over her forehead, her long, elegant eyes, and those sharp, ash-gray pupils like a bird of prey. Her straight-bridged nose and sharp jawline. While he glared at her as if he might bite her neck again at any moment, his hand, stroking her cheek, was gentle and soft.
"Didn't it hurt to see her eating well and living comfortably after she betrayed you? Don't you regret not slapping her across the face?"
At his biting words, Roxana turned her head instead of answering. Her hair covered her face once more. Clicking his tongue inwardly, Curtis reached out to brush her hair aside to see her face, but Roxana lifted her head again.
"No. That is not so."
"What?"
The formal, respectful tone she had been using vanished. Curtis could not tear his eyes away from her.
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