What Remains in the Damaged Place - Chapter 102

Lirette shot him a playful glare, as if to ask how he could twist her words into that direction. But when Camon started licking her hand, she couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

It was just a simple laugh, but even that was enough to captivate Valderion, holding his gaze entirely.

Her unguarded smile, the brightness in her eyes that seemed to embody the spirit of spring, and the transparency of her expression—clear and open, like a river’s surface—had him completely entranced.

“If you marry me, you’ll be able to smell me all you want,” he teased.

He hadn’t meant to pressure her.

But, unexpectedly, her response took a while to come.

How many days had passed since he’d proposed to her on a whim, a proposal that had been almost a slip of sincerity? He hadn’t kept track, but it felt like quite some time had passed.

That delay had a way of making him feel impatient, like a small spark that would occasionally flare up inside him, stirring his thoughts.

Lirette’s hand, which had been petting Camon, paused.

Valderion didn’t take his eyes off her, nor did his attention waver for a second.

He couldn’t quite understand it.

He still remembered vividly the smile she had given him before, in this same place, on the same boat.

Back then, it had been a strained, deliberate smile, almost fake—he could sense it was forced.

That was when they had been weighed down by misunderstandings. But now, the smile she showed was genuine.

Yet, despite the honesty in her expression, it felt like part of her was still caught somewhere, held back.

She had chosen to stay by his side, but she hadn’t accepted his proposal. That was proof enough.

Valderion set down his glass, wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled her toward him. Camon, eager to follow, let out a small bark but quickly bounded away after Valderion’s subtle gesture.

Lirette, who found herself suddenly seated on his lap, knew there was no escaping this.

“You said you weren’t sure,” he began.

“…”

“So, tell me what’s bothering you.”

As expected, his gaze was intense, almost piercing. It carried a sense of security, as though whatever she told him, he would fix it, no matter what. But that same assurance made it hard for her to hide the truth from him.

Lirette didn’t shy away from his eyes.

Her lips parted slightly, as if she were hesitating. They opened and closed a few times, and Valderion caught every tiny movement.

Her hand, which had been resting on his arm, slowly slid over to his chest. Without realizing it, she had placed it over the part of him that bore her name. Valderion gave a small, involuntary flinch—it was a sensitive spot.

“You said you’d give me anything I wanted,” she said softly.

“…”

“What if… what I want is the restoration of the Marquess of Blewit?”

In truth, she had thought marriage would come naturally.

After all, he had saved her from Dailen, and he had even told her he loved her.

Given that, what more could she ask for?

Lirette had thought the same.

She wanted to stay by his side, and the moment she accepted his feelings, all the storms that had raged in her heart quieted.

In fact, acknowledging it made everything clear, like a single path unfolding before her.

There was only one way for her to stay by his side without following that obvious path.

To become his mistress.

But the thought of being his mistress, of watching him marry someone else, tore her apart.

She didn’t want that, and she hoped things wouldn’t turn out that way.

So, if he offered her that place as his wife, she was ready to accept it.

But still, something held her back… a lingering hesitation.

Perhaps it was the last bit of resentment that remained between them.

A resentment too heavy and too tangled to be easily resolved, one that would only cause more harm if she tried to untangle it.

It was better left to settle, rather than forced open.

It was the relationship between her ruined family, the House of Blewit, and the House of Justitia, with its deep involvement in her downfall.

Of course, it was all in the past, something beyond Valderion’s control now. But she couldn’t completely suppress the bitterness she felt toward his bloodline, nor the sorrow tied to it.

“You think I wouldn’t have guessed that?”

“…”

“I told you I’d give you whatever you want.”

His calm demeanor, so at odds with her expectations, hit her like a blow to the back of the head.

There was no sign of wounded pride, no discomfort at the thought of having to undo what had been done in the past.

He seemed utterly unfazed, as if he had anticipated this all along.

That simple, matter-of-fact response twisted her feelings into a complicated knot. Something inside her felt crumpled and a bit painful.

“I know it’s all meaningless now,” she said quietly.

The memory of that stormy day came back to her.

It was during the emperor’s funeral, in the garden, when they’d had a bitter argument.

At the time, Valderion had asked her, in the midst of their debate about why Dailen shouldn’t become emperor:

“Are you trying to say that the late Marquess of Blewit was innocent?”

She had been stunned by the question, and she still remembered her response clearly.

“What would be the point of proving the innocence of someone who’s already passed?”

Her thoughts hadn’t changed since then.

Lirette genuinely believed that there was no meaning in restoring the fallen House of Blewit’s honor now.

Of course, if the royal family and the House of Justitia took action, they could clear away at least one layer of the disgrace.

But… she was the only one left in this world who carried the blood of Blewit.

Even if her family’s honor were restored, it wouldn’t change the present. Her family, who met a dishonorable death, wouldn’t come back to life, and the hardships she had endured, which should never have happened, wouldn’t disappear.

Thus, for Lirette, it was a futile pursuit.

Yes, she couldn’t deny that delaying her response to his proposal was, in part, a form of childish defiance. A defiance aimed at the only stable presence in her life, the one thing now holding her together.

Valderion’s hand touched her cheek.

That’s when she realized—once again—tears had started to fall, as they had more often lately, uncontrolled and without warning.

He didn’t say a word, but his touch asked why she was crying.

“I just… I miss my parents today,” she said quietly.

“…”

“I don’t even have a place where I can properly grieve them…”

Her sorrow, instead of fading, deepened as she sighed.

For so long, she had been swept along by the torrents of her life, barely able to stay afloat. Only now had she found some measure of peace.

But she also realized, in his arms, that she hadn’t fully escaped the shadows of her past—the echoes of loss and hardship still clung to her. These tears were a stark reminder of that.

Valderion said nothing in response. He simply wiped her tears away, his hand gentle.

She felt both a desire to push him away and an overwhelming urge to cling to him, as though he were the only lifeline in her turbulent emotions.

***

It was noon on another day.

“After lunch, His Grace wishes to invite you to tea in the glasshouse,” the butler relayed Valderion’s message.

When Lirette had woken up that morning, she’d been alone in bed. She had assumed he had left early for work.

Dressed in a spring-appropriate gown, Lirette left the mansion. As she walked, she couldn’t help but smooth out her skirt, remembering how she had worn a maid’s uniform the last time she had gone to the glasshouse. It felt oddly awkward in contrast.

Cherry blossoms, fully bloomed, scattered in the breeze.

She extended her hand, and a petal floated down, landing in her palm.

Cradling it like something precious, she walked at a slower pace, her mind wandering back to that day by the lake when she’d realized her hesitation was just a form of defiance.

Since then, though it might have been something only she felt, there had been moments of awkwardness between them, creeping in like unwelcome guests during their peaceful time together.

Each time, she wondered if she had said too much.

But this issue was a spark waiting to ignite, something that needed to be addressed eventually, no matter how uncomfortable.

Lost in thought, she soon found herself in front of the glasshouse.

She pushed open the door and stepped inside.

As soon as she entered, she noticed something strange in the air. The scent was different from before, and the temperature seemed slightly cooler.

She stopped abruptly.

The entire space was bathed in a rich, deep orange hue.

Gone were the delicate whites and pinks from her last visit. Instead, everywhere she looked, she saw marigolds—a flower that had become a symbol of her family, the only reminder of them during the bitter autumn of her life.

The glasshouse was filled with them, marigolds blooming in every direction.

She had heard that the glasshouse was always meticulously maintained to ensure it looked like a perpetual spring. So, for this many marigolds to thrive here, Valderion must have gone to great lengths to alter the environment.

A single marigold had once brought her comfort.

Now, in this grand display, an overwhelming wave of emotion welled up inside her.

It wasn’t hard to guess why Valderion had arranged all this.

“I don’t even have a place where I can properly grieve them…”

This glasshouse was now a place meant solely for her. A place where she could remember her family whenever she needed to. The only such place in all of Arlaint.

For the first time, she had a sanctuary. A place of solace, created just for her.

It was a space so unique that she could search the whole world and never find another like it—a place meant only for her.

It was enough to make her feel rooted in this world once more.

Filled with emotion, she turned around, and there he was—Valderion, leaning against a tree, watching her with quiet eyes.