Frey was carried by Robert and moved to her room. Once the two had left, the only ones remaining were the daughter of the enemy and the man who had taken his revenge upon that enemy.
Perhaps because he had ridden his horse without rest the moment the business in the southern territory was concluded, a deep, bone-weary exhaustion washed over Curtis. When he gestured for her to take a seat on the couch, Roxana sat opposite him, quiet and expectant, as if waiting for him to speak. After a suffocating silence, Curtis finally opened his mouth only after a maid brought in a bottle of strong liquor.
"I heard the gist of the story from Robert."
"……."
Roxana clutched the hem of her skirt, waiting for his next words. Like a man parched with thirst, Curtis drank straight from the bottle. His Adam’s apple bobbed beneath his tilted throat.
"First of all."
The man who had set the bottle down now wore a calm, intellectual expression, as if he hadn't been the one brandishing a blade in a fit of rage just moments ago. Roxana’s gaze drifted to the dark circles under his eyes and the bluish stubble on his chin.
He was a man as wild and unrefined as a cruel hunter of the wilderness. Or so it seemed for a young lord who possessed such a vast territory. Yet, his sharp, chiseled jawline, his stubbornly pressed lips, his nose as straight as a mountain range, and his almond-shaped eyes all exuded the dignity and intimidation of a ruler.
Two years was not a long time, but it wasn't short, either. Much had changed, but the reunion with the man so intensely etched into her memory still felt vivid.
Roxana found herself tracing the image of the boy he once was in the man’s face. The playful glint in his eyes. The mischievous yet affectionate personality. The heart that had wavered endlessly whenever he closed the distance between them, even when she thought he was pushing her away.
"As promised, I will send a physician and medical supplies at daybreak. Not by the original road, which was blocked by the landslide, but by a shortcut."
Having finished organizing his thoughts, Curtis moved to the main point. As his words continued, Roxana’s expression brightened. Goodness still remained in him, after all. But her relief was short-lived.
"Thank yo—"
"However, Roxana. You cannot return."
Cutting her off coldly, Curtis leaned forward and pressed his fingers firmly against his temples. His disheveled hair fell over his forehead.
"What do you mean by that?"
At the words that felt like a death sentence, Roxana drew a sharp breath. Support was support, and an oath was an oath. She had been too naive. She could no longer return to Angela Convent. She could not keep her promise to return safely.
"Are you saying this is the price for your support?"
"Don't misunderstand. Protecting the people of my territory is my duty as their lord."
"Then!"
"You remember the promise you made to me two years ago, don't you?"
"……I remember."
"In exchange for accepting the people of the fief and the castle as free citizens, Roxana Dalton shall live as if dead in the convent for the rest of her life."
Curtis straightened his back and stared fixedly at Roxana instead of continuing. Under his gaze, which seemed to be waiting for an answer, Roxana parted her lips.
"The ones I saved this time are the Count’s people."
"So?"
"So, leave the people of the fief alone. They are no longer the people of the fief, but your people."
"Still as haughty and arrogant as ever, Roxana. Even though you have absolutely nothing to your name."
"I am asking you as one person to another. They are innocent people. They are simple, hardworking folk who want nothing more than to work diligently each day and live happily with their families."
Watching the woman who straightened her previously hunched shoulders, Curtis felt a sensation that had once overcome him long ago brush against his chest.
"Curtis. I wish you were a mermaid, just like my first impression of you."
"Why?"
"I wish you would take me to a castle under the sea. Somewhere other than here."
"Even if you could never return to land?"
"Yes. I like you, Curtis. I think this might be love."
It was a strange sensation, like a soft blade thinly slicing through his heart. A feeling that swallowed him whole, like a surprise attack.
A sensation he had long forgotten. It was the same feeling he had experienced the moment he first locked eyes with the woman who, amidst the choking ashes, had proudly begged for the safety of the castle people and the lives of the fief residents over her own.
Suddenly, his younger self, who could do nothing but survive by holding his sister’s hand and using his lookalike servant’s life as a shield, overlapped with her. Though they were both helpless and powerless, Roxana was different.
The moment he focused on that inexplicable sensation, a desperate cry echoed in his mind, striking the back of his head.
"Run away! Curtis! Right now!"
"You must survive. Take care of Frey."
At the same time, his mind cleared as if waking from a deep abyss.
The woman before him was the daughter of his enemy. The only daughter of the Marquess of Dalton, whom he could kill and leave to rot in the fields without a second thought. Curtis could no longer endure this strange and bizarre sensation.
"I can't go back? Fine. Kill me. But that is a matter between you and me. Do not hold those people hostage."
Cracks appeared on his stoic face. Feeling a base sense of satisfaction, Curtis sprang from his seat. Before Roxana could dodge, he had closed the distance and seized her chin.
"Roxana."
A hot breath tickled her face. Her head was jerked back. Roxana met his strangely glistening gray eyes. She should push him away, but she was as immobile as prey caught in a trap, held by his piercing gaze.
Their noses brushed, and his hot breath touched her tense forehead, cheeks, and lips. The hand holding her chin slowly slid down, brushed behind her ear, and then gripped the back of her neck.
His hot breath touched her nape, and then a pain like a brand of fire struck her.
"Ah!"
Roxana pushed Curtis away in pain and reflexively brought her hand to her neck. She felt the deep indentation of teeth marks. With the face of a beast that had marked its prey, Curtis licked his own lips with his tongue.
"W-what is this?"
"A collar. That face looks much better on you than the one you use to spout your haughty nonsense."
Curtis laughed, wrinkling his nose, and went back to sit in his chair. Roxana, her face bright red, rubbed her palm against the bite marks to erase them. But the more she rubbed, the deeper the stinging pain became; the marks would not fade.
Watching her with displeasure, Curtis tossed out a question.
"Shall I tell you why Frey became blind?"
At the sudden question, Roxana stopped her hand instead of answering.
"She saw the death of her parents right before her eyes. The shock blinded her, and her sight has yet to return. That was when she was five."
"……."
"If I had kept following that damn chivalry you hold so dear, my blind sister would have been sold to a brothel for perverts, and I would have been buried on some battlefield long ago, nothing but bones."
As he continued, Roxana’s face turned paler and paler. Curtis, who had buried his back deep into the sofa, crossed his long legs and rested his interlaced fingers on his knees.
"I told you, didn't I? Roxana. You don't have the right to die as you please."
"……."
"And yet, you have the audacity to ask me to kill you? Who gave you permission?"
"Curtis."
"It’s absurd. You must die when I want, in the way that I want."
His words wrapped tightly around Roxana like chains. The bite marks clearly left on her nape throbbed all the more, as if to prove it.
"Does that mean."
"I just told you. You cannot return to the convent. Become a maid of this castle. I will keep you by my side and torment you."
Two years ago was vivid. After dumping her in the convent, he had thought it would be enough to hear news of her death someday. But like a thorn under a fingernail, the image of her appearing at the convent, looking desolate whenever he managed to forget her, kept coming back. He couldn't stand it, so he had visited her once. He had been surprised when he touched her face, but the moment he heard the reason, he felt both flustered and enraged.
He wanted to see this woman’s ugly side, just once. If that happened, he would be able to cleanly forget the girl in his memories.
"You know it. You must not be happy, Roxana."
"I wish you were happy."
The whispering voice overlapped with the voice from before. Curtis stood up, brushed himself off, and left the reception room. For Roxana, left alone, there was no choice. Not then, and not now.
* * *
As he had said, Curtis provided all the resources necessary for the convent. With the addition of a competent physician, the devoted nursing of the nuns, and precious medicinal herbs, the children’s conditions began to show signs of improvement one by one.
The children, who had been suffering from high fevers as if they were about to breathe their last, gradually recovered, and the villagers, who had looked on with eyes of distrust, also softened and became compliant. As soon as the last child was fully recovered, Roxana received an apology and a retraction from the man who had made the slip of the tongue regarding the Mother Superior.
"I made a slip of the tongue. I, I am sorry."
The man, holding his hat in his hands and bowing his head, apologized repeatedly. Instead of answering, Roxana looked at the Mother Superior. The Mother Superior smiled and took the man’s hand.
"It is alright. What parent would be in their right mind when their children are ill?"
"Thank you. Thank you so much……."
"You have suffered much. You haven't had a proper meal for some time, so when you return home, make sure to have a light diet of thin oatmeal porridge and soft bread for a few days."
"Yes. Thank you. Thank you, Sister."
After the villagers, moved to tears by the warm forgiveness and comfort, left holding their children’s hands, Roxana finally spotted the man who had been watching her from a distance. He was standing with his arms crossed, leaning obliquely against a bare fir tree.
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