What Remains in the Damaged Place - Chapter 30

“Like this?” Valderion asked, as though he didn’t quite understand what she was getting at.

Lirette was referring to the chaos Hayley had caused. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Valderion had anticipated it all, that he had seen this coming. After all, he hadn’t spoken of offering her help out of nowhere, back when he first did.

“I mean, what happened today,” she clarified.

“As if,” he replied with a soft chuckle, as though the idea were ridiculous. “I’m not a god. I can’t see the future.”

Though his response seemed to brush off her concern, it sidestepped the core of what she was really asking. Lirette wasn’t talking about the specifics of today’s events. She meant the whole ordeal—how Hayley had schemed against her, how things had escalated.

Valderion had been so calm throughout the whole affair that it made her wonder if he’d been expecting this confrontation all along.

Once again, she found herself doubting the man in front of her. His outward demeanor was never something she could trust easily. He could lie or feign sincerity as much as he pleased.

“Why didn’t you react?”

Her fingers, resting neatly on her lap, tightened. The sting of the wounds hurt, but Valderion’s words cut deeper, pressing into her thoughts.

“You didn’t move,” he continued, his eyes sharp, “not even a little. You froze, as if you couldn’t.”

Even in the chaos of the moment, Valderion hadn’t missed a thing. His keen eyes had noticed the brief paralysis that had overtaken her.

“That’s not true,” she said firmly, her voice cutting off the conversation.

Her sudden, almost harsh, response only deepened the suspicion. Valderion’s hand, which had been slowly applying ointment to her wounds, stilled. His golden eyes, like the endless fields of a summer harvest, locked onto her.

Golden, like the sun—a color meant to evoke warmth and safety. But not his. His gaze was different. It felt like being trapped in a vast, endless golden field, with no exit in sight. A labyrinth of dry, sun-soaked reeds, where every direction was blocked, leaving her lost.

“Is there something you’ve forgotten?”

His question cut through her thoughts, bringing her back to the present.

Lirette blinked, confused by his words, unsure of what he was referring to. She remained silent.

Valderion, having removed his hand from her cheek, scooped up more ointment onto his fingers and spoke again, this time with a hint of impatience.

“I expected at least a basic expression of gratitude. Was I asking for too much?”

It was only then that Lirette realized what he wanted from her. He was expecting her to thank him.

But instead of offering him the thanks he desired, she voiced the question that had been nagging at her ever since the situation had spiraled out of control.

“Didn’t you want me to be dismissed?”

As she spoke, Valderion abruptly stood, causing her head to tilt up as she followed his movements.

He walked behind her, moving out of her line of sight. She felt the faint tug on her hair as his hand brushed it aside, exposing the back of her neck to the cool air. Lirette tensed involuntarily, her shoulders drawing inward.

A cold, sticky sensation spread across her neck as he applied ointment to the scratches there.

“Ugh…”

Despite herself, she couldn’t help but flinch at the sensation.

Unwanted memories from the night they had shared flashed in her mind. The dimly lit room, the soft touch of fingers tracing her back near her neck—it all came rushing back with vivid clarity. She tried to suppress her reaction, focusing on steadying her breathing.

But then…

His hand, which had been applying the ointment to her neck, moved in an unexpected direction.

Because of Hayley’s earlier assault, the buttons on Lirette’s neckline had been torn, leaving the fabric loose and open. The gap was wide enough for a hand to slip through.

His fingers grazed the skin just beneath her earlobe, brushing against the pulse that beat rapidly there.

Slowly, ever so slowly…

His fingers drifted downward, brushing against the prominent curve of her collarbone.

Lirette quickly raised her hand, grasping the neckline of her dress where the black ribbon was tied, clutching it tightly to close the gap. She moved as though certain that his hand would turn invasive, slipping into places it didn’t belong.

“I thought I wasn’t prone to whims,” Valderion murmured, showing no signs of surprise or irritation. Instead, he adjusted the path of his hand as if nothing had happened.

Where he had been close to her skin, his fingers now moved to the black ribbon protruding beneath her grip. His fingers toyed with it briefly, as if amused.

“Maybe I was wrong about that.”

He leaned closer, his shadow curving over her, covering her like a predatory presence.

His hand drifted from the ribbon to her apron, fingers lightly grazing the lace along the hem. As he toyed with the fabric, his head turned toward her, his proximity uncomfortably close.

“So,” he said, his voice low, “have you thought about it?”

The distance between them was far too small, the space suffocating.

“I helped you. What will you give me in return?”

“I’ve told you before, I have nothing to offer you,” Lirette replied, her voice steady but her unease clear.

His hand still playing with the edge of her apron, Valderion was a man who had a way of suffocating someone with even the smallest, most seemingly innocuous gestures. Lirette was all too aware of his gaze, aware of how easily he could glimpse what lay beneath her loose neckline if he chose. Even the sensation of his breath on her recently treated neck was enough to make her defensive instincts flare.

Whether it was discomfort or something else, an uncanny feeling prickled at her skin.

“You could strip away my freedom if you wanted to,” she continued, her voice tight, “but if you hadn’t helped me today, that would have been my fate anyway.”

Valderion’s tone turned disapproving, his whisper carrying the weight of his dissatisfaction. “You usually come up with something clever, yet now you’re all out of ideas?”

Her words seemed blocked, trapped between the situation and her fear of his power. Valderion could see her hesitation and disappointment.

Lirette, after a moment of looking at his discontented face, asked quietly, as though drawn by an unseen force, “Is there something specific you want from me?”

A smile curled at the edges of Valderion’s lips. Satisfied with the question, he straightened and returned to his place, wiping the remaining ointment from his fingers with a handkerchief.

“In the future, whenever I have questions about Dylan, I expect you to answer them—completely. No secrets.”

“…”

“Everything. No exceptions.”

“Why…” Lirette’s voice faltered, the exasperation she’d been holding back now bleeding through.

“Why are you so curious about him? Why do you always ask about what happened between the prince and me?”

“That’s not even a real question,” Valderion replied, dismissing her concerns with ease.

“As you have things you’re curious about, so do I. And I’m curious about your obsession with this.”

“I’m under no obligation to explain myself.”

“…”

“But you, on the other hand, are indebted to me now. So you owe me.”

The smile that had once seemed masterful and charming quickly shifted into something more manipulative, almost malicious. His ability to change his expression so easily, to transform the atmosphere, was a skill in itself.

Lirette felt her frustration building, her grip on her neckline slowly loosening. She’d held it so tightly that even she felt a bit suffocated by her own tension.

And yet, Valderion’s next words shattered whatever small relief she might have felt.

“Was this hesitation also because of Dylan’s influence?”

His softly spoken question was a sudden blow, tightening her throat once more. Lirette squeezed her eyes shut, unable to hide the discomfort that surged through her.

In the past, she would have deflected or ignored his probing. But now, with the weight of her debt to him hanging over her, she couldn’t afford to.

She could refuse, of course, but this man—this relentless man—would only find new ways to pressure her. He wasn’t one to give up easily or accept defiance.

“Answer me.”

His piercing gaze bore into her, insistent, unwavering. It was clear now that he was serious, that he wouldn’t let this go.

Lirette, unable to meet his gaze any longer, turned her head slightly, her eyes drifting toward the sunlit windows. Beyond the arched panes, the world outside glowed with the brightness of daylight—a stark contrast to the suffocating gloom within.

“You enjoy hunting, don’t you?” she said softly.

“…”

“Whether it’s animals… or people.”

Valderion watched as her gaze, though distant, began to darken. Her eyes, still beautiful, seemed to lose their light, hollowing out as if her soul had retreated somewhere far away. It wasn’t hard for him to deduce that she was reflecting on her past with Dylan.

Hunting.

She hadn’t mentioned a specific target, but it was obvious who she meant.

Lirette’s eyes remained fixed on the view outside, her expression pained as she recalled the prince.

Dylan did love hunting, as she had said. But it was more than a hobby for him. It wasn’t just about the thrill of chasing game through the forest.

He owned a vast, private woodland and had a peculiar interest in the latest weapons imported from abroad.

Of course, hunting was just the means.

What truly captivated him was the act itself, the thrill of seeing something run for its life—whether it was an animal or a person. Dylan took perverse pleasure in crushing hope, in trapping and toying with his prey, savoring their despair as he broke them.

To call him a “hunting enthusiast” would be an understatement. He was obsessed with the cruelty of it, deriving pure enjoyment from the suffering he caused.