What Remains in the Damaged Place - Chapter 67

‘Do they take medicine… or is there another way?’

Lirette leaned against the wall, deep in thought.

She was utterly ignorant about these things. The more she tried to think about it, the more her mind clouded over, leaving her confused.

‘Brilline might not care, but the duke’s engaged. He wouldn’t risk his future for a fleeting affair.’

Perhaps they were right.

Valderion, unlike her, would be well-versed in such matters. He was engaged, with a bright future ahead, so it was likely he had taken precautions.

‘Then it’s a relief…’

But why did she still feel so uneasy?

Something heavy and vague seemed to cloud her chest, like a thin veil draped over her heart.

Lirette pressed her forehead against the cool glass window.

Was this uneasiness really just because of what she had overheard?

She couldn’t be sure.

‘The funeral…’

A few days ago, the emperor of the Alaint Empire had passed away.

And today, the second day of the emperor’s funeral, was less than a week away from the anniversary of her family’s death—the execution of the Blewit Marquis family.

It was impossible to keep those thoughts at bay. Every year, as that day approached, her body and mind would plunge into a deep, suffocating gloom, dragging her down into a murky pit.

It was the night when everything began.

The moment her descent into hell started…

‘And now, I’m staying in the Duke of Justitia’s residence.’

A bitter taste rose in her mouth.

The emperor’s death had brought back memories of the unresolved ties between her and the imperial family, ties that had seemed to fade into obscurity. The bitterness of her connection to them resurfaced, making the kisses she had shared with Valderion and the moments she had opened her body to him seem hollow. Her old hatred for him, which had been buried, flickered like a wavering mirage.

Her mind, which had just started to settle, was once again thrown into turmoil. The urge to flee, to escape this place, overwhelmed her senses.

“…”

Lirette’s narrowed gaze swept across the window, taking in the view outside.

There, beneath the gently swaying garden trees, she saw a patch of flowers, their autumn hues glowing softly even under the overcast sky.

The flowers weren’t unfamiliar to her.

Before she knew it, her feet were moving. She found herself standing in the garden, before the cluster of blooms.

She straightened her skirt absentmindedly and then bent down to kneel by the flowers. Despite the dreary weather, the marigolds stood tall, their vivid orange petals unfazed by the gloom. They filled her vision entirely.

A breeze rustled the petals now and then, and their subtle movements reminded her of her own tumultuous state of mind. Sometimes, the smallest things brought unexpected comfort.

Lirette thought this might be one of those moments.

She gently raised her hand and caressed the soft, layered petals of a marigold.

“What are you doing out here?”

A voice broke the silence, catching her off guard.

She turned to find Valderion standing there, his tall figure looming over her. Seated on the ground, she felt dwarfed by his presence. He was dressed all in black, no doubt having just returned from the funeral. His dark clothing suited the somber mood of the day.

“I was looking at the flowers,” she replied quietly.

Valderion took a step closer, his gaze following hers to the marigold she was holding.

Marigolds, known for decorating autumn gardens, were also often used as flowers of mourning, due to their meaning of “grief over parting.”

The entire empire was wrapped in mourning with the emperor’s death. However, Lirette knew her feelings weren’t for the emperor. To her, those connected to the imperial bloodline were nothing more than enemies.

It dawned on her—this was around the same time.

The time when the Blewit family had been executed.

Valderion looked down at Lirette with little emotion in his eyes, a gaze so cold that she felt it keenly. It was a moment where both of them were acutely aware of their respective positions and histories.

The atmosphere grew tense, uncomfortable.

Lirette, feeling the weight of the situation, glanced away, trying to escape the oppressive mood.

At that moment, her eyes fell on the white boutonniere pinned to Valderion’s chest.

That pristine flower, pure and without blemish, stirred complicated feelings in her heart.

“…So, the crown prince will ascend the throne now?” she asked quietly.

“By law, yes,” he replied, his tone unremarkable, as if the future of the empire was of little concern.

His indifferent response sparked something inside her.

Standing up, Lirette straightened her posture and faced him directly.

“Do you really believe he’s fit to be emperor?”

Her voice, heavy with doubt, cut through the damp air between them.

“My father was deeply concerned. He said that if this country were left in the hands of a madman who only inherited the throne by bloodline, it would rot away before long.”

“…”

“At the time, I wasn’t sure if he was right. I couldn’t be certain that everything he said was true.”

Her expression darkened as she spoke, lost in the memories of the past.

“And then… there was the incident with Prince Lagael.”

The name, which had just been mentioned by Dylan, now slipped from Lirette’s lips. Valderion’s brow furrowed slightly, as if annoyed by how frequently the name was coming up today.

Lirette gazed at him, her eyes tinged with sadness.

The incident with Prince Lagael.

Even after all these years, it remained like a burning ember in the back of her mind—a story that never fully faded.

It had been a tragedy that sparked a chain of events.

The play they ambitiously produced revolved around a conflict over succession within a wealthy noble family.

The story went like this: the youngest son, intelligent but lacking power, proved his worth and talent to the world, ultimately securing the succession by surpassing his reckless elder brother. Initially, the play gained widespread popularity due to the actors’ outstanding performances and the moral lesson it carried.

But then, whispers began to spread: “Doesn’t that sound a bit like…” and “Isn’t it somewhat similar to the imperial family’s situation…”

By the time word of this reached the ears of the imperial family, it was too late.

The entire theater troupe was charged with the crime of treason for mocking the imperial family, and all of its members were executed. It was a situation that, depending on interpretation, could indeed justify such a charge, so it was quietly understood and accepted by most.

The variable had been Dylan’s actions.

At the time, he had been heavily intoxicated and unable to control himself. He was no more than a beast acting on impulse.

Laughing maniacally with a chilling air, he grabbed a rifle and marched straight to Lagael’s chambers.

“Why bother with such petty struggles?”

“Just kill him, and it’s over…”

That day, Dylan reportedly stood over Lagael’s blood-soaked body, uttering those words. This scene, witnessed with his own eyes by Lirette’s father, the Marquis of Blewit, had been the final straw in his resolve.

“You don’t even need to go as far as Prince Lagael,” Lirette said quietly.

“…”

“My situation alone proves the truth.”

She wrapped her arms around herself as if confronting an invisible fear. In truth, as she spoke of it, she could feel the countless scars inflicted by Dylan throbbing painfully across her body.

“…You’re not foolish, are you, Your Grace?”

Though she often thought of Valderion as an enemy, this moment felt different.

“I agree with my late father’s beliefs.”

Perhaps she knew that was the only thread left to grasp, her last hope.

“Dylan cannot become emperor.”

“…”

“Will you punish me for saying this?”

Their gazes intertwined, tangled in the air like threads.

It was a long, silent stare.

At the end of it, Valderion slowly raised his hand and ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it back.

“What are you trying to say?”

“…”

“Are you suggesting that the late Marquis of Blewit was innocent?”

His response seemed intentionally obtuse. Lirette’s gaze sharpened with frustration.

“What good would it do to prove the innocence of someone who’s already passed away? You know why I’m saying this.”

“To me, it sounds like you’re trying to restore the honor of a bloodline that once opposed me.”

Valderion took a step closer to her.

“It’s not wise to act based on feelings alone.”

“…”

“You should have presented clear evidence, not just a hunch.”

Evidence that Dylan should not become emperor.

But what kind of evidence could she possibly provide to stop someone who, by blood alone, was destined for the throne?

Lirette glared at him with a look filled with resentment.

He knew, after all.

That sometimes, a rebellion was necessary to fix a decaying nation.

And the reason he was merely standing by…

Justitia, like the rest of the imperial family, had allowed those of “De Arden” bloodline to corrupt the country, to tarnish the dignity of the empire.

Turning a blind eye was the same as accepting it.

Watching Dylan, with his ill temper and unsuitability for the role, ascend the throne and even laying a path of roses for him made Valderion no different from the corrupt nobles of the imperial family.

In the process, he had no qualms about tarnishing the reputation of her family and mocking her father’s legacy.

A hot surge of anger bubbled up inside her, boiling over with emotions she could barely comprehend.

Drip. Drip.

At that moment, the cloudy sky finally gave way, and rain began to fall.