What Remains in the Damaged Place - Chapter 93

Lirette’s once-fragile breathing slowly stabilized in Valderion’s arms, the shallow rise and fall of her chest a small but significant sign of recovery.

Throughout her ordeal, Valderion never left her side. Even as his loyal men wrapped up the remnants of the rebellion, handling the final stages of subduing Dylan’s forces, Valderion remained by Lirette’s side, holding her, ensuring she was safe. The rebellion had already succeeded, as Dylan’s flight marked the final crumbling of his rule.

After wiping away the remnants of blood from Lirette’s legs with a damp cloth handed to him by a servant, Valderion adjusted his hold on her, ensuring her comfort.

“Your Grace.”

The door creaked open, and Prince Lageil stepped inside. Having parted ways earlier to aid the rebellion, he had now returned after hearing the news of Lirette’s rescue.

“I’ve heard that my brother fled the palace,” Lageil said, his tone calm but with an undercurrent of resentment.

“Yes,” Valderion responded. “Fled with only a single knight in his company.”

The image of Dylan, crossing the artificial lake in his hasty retreat, was a far cry from the dignity expected of an emperor. He had abandoned the throne and all that came with it, his royal authority evaporating as quickly as his escape.

“We’ve sent a pursuit team after him. I intend to set traps to ensure his return to the capital, alive.”

Lageil nodded, his expression a mixture of reflection and fatigue. His pale, grayish-blue eyes—so similar to Dylan’s—shifted briefly to Lirette, who lay cradled in Valderion’s arms.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her,” he remarked quietly, the memory of his past connection to her surfacing. Lageil had once trained under Lirette’s father, the former Marquess of Blewit. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, bittersweet emotions flashing in his eyes before he respectfully looked away.

“I never thought I’d return to this place,” Lageil said, straightening his posture as he surveyed the room. “And yet, here we are. It seems that, in the end, things unfolded exactly as you predicted.”

Valderion didn’t need to ask what he meant. The weaker members of the royal family, those who lacked both courage and conviction, had surrendered immediately once the rebellion stormed the palace. They had knelt before the might of Justitia, offering no resistance.

“Did you see their faces?” Lageil chuckled bitterly. “They looked like they were staring at a ghost when they saw me.”

Having believed Lageil to be dead, the remaining members of the royal family had been utterly terrified to see him return. It was as though a specter from the afterlife had come back to exact revenge, and the shock on their faces had been palpable.

“It made me realize… I don’t know why I was so afraid of them all this time.”

For Lageil, the victory was not just political—it was deeply personal. Backed by the power of Justitia, he had reclaimed his rightful place, and in doing so, he had avenged the wrongs done to him.

“When the soldiers finish securing the palace, we’ll be returning to the estate,” Valderion said, gently pushing a lock of Lirette’s silver hair behind her ear. “I want her to rest. She’ll recover faster there.”

Lageil nodded and stood from where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I’ll have a carriage prepared for your return. You’ll be able to travel in peace.”

Valderion accepted the offer, understanding that any disturbance could jeopardize Lirette’s fragile state.

“I’ll also place guards around the palace, just to ensure there’s no further threat. You needn’t worry tonight.”

“Thank you,” Valderion replied, grateful for the prince’s assistance.

After the brief exchange, Lageil left the room, and Valderion remained with Lirette, waiting for the preparations to be made.

When the soldiers finished cleaning up the remnants of the rebellion, Valderion carefully carried Lirette out of the palace. They boarded the waiting carriage, which, true to Lageil’s word, provided a smooth and quiet journey back to the estate. As the carriage rumbled through the streets, a sense of calm settled over Valderion, the tension of the past days slowly ebbing away.

Dylan may not have been captured yet, but with the pursuit team on his trail and Lirette safely back in his arms, Valderion felt a deep sense of relief. The rebellion had been a success, and the traitor emperor was now a fugitive, stripped of his power and status.

“Your Grace, we’ve arrived,” the driver called out as the carriage pulled to a stop.

The moment the door opened, the estate staff rushed forward, their eyes widening in surprise and relief at the sight of the duke’s safe return—and the woman he carried in his arms. The butler and head maid exchanged glances, their breaths of relief evident.

“Shall we take her to the guest quarters?” the butler asked cautiously.

Lirette was no longer a mere maid. Her pale complexion and frail state reflected the suffering she had endured, and she was in desperate need of rest and recovery. It was unthinkable to house her in the servants’ quarters after all that had happened.

“No,” Valderion responded after a brief pause. His voice was firm. “Prepare the bedroom on the third floor, in the inner chambers.”

The staff’s eyes widened in shock, though they quickly composed themselves. The room Valderion spoke of was no ordinary guest room. It was the chamber reserved for the duchess—the most honored position by the duke’s side.

Understanding the significance of this command, the servants bowed deeply in acknowledgment. They moved quickly to prepare the room, knowing that this decision carried weight far beyond the immediate moment.

Preparations were completed swiftly, and Lirette was brought to rest in the most secure and dignified room in the estate.

Valderion, feeling the warmth from use, placed Lirette in his bedroom where she could quickly regain her warmth. He then personally carried her to another bedroom further down the hallway.

As he gently laid her down, her shortened silver hair spread across the velvet cushion. The scene was familiar, something he’d witnessed occasionally, yet now it struck him deeply. Even though she had returned to him, Valderion found himself repeatedly reflecting on her presence, as if out of habit or due to lingering, unshaken anxiety.

“……”

Valderion gazed quietly at her sleeping face. He hadn’t noticed when they first reunited, likely due to the overwhelming emotions, but she had grown thinner. It was as if she had dried out, her skin clinging to her bones, devoid of nourishment. Her pale complexion and noticeable weight loss made her features stand out, making her look like a carefully crafted doll made by a meticulous puppeteer.

But this lifeless appearance—devoid of the vibrancy or soul one would expect from a person—cast a dark shadow over his heart.

He vividly remembered seeing her face being dragged away by Dylan, like an artificial lake obstructed by a heavy curtain. At that moment, the storm of fury and anguish that had consumed him vanished, and a realization dawned on him.

Forget about names, roles, or even his anger—all he wanted was to see her again. Every emotion that had swirled around him was a mere byproduct of that singular desire. If his longing for her was the tree rooted in the earth, all the other emotions were merely extraneous branches that could be cut off at any time.

And so, he finally understood his feelings. In fact, it was an obvious outcome, one he could have recognized from the moment he broke off his engagement and postponed everything just to have her.

“Lirette,” he murmured, the sound of her name rolling off his tongue and breaking apart in his mouth.

“……Lirette.”

The name felt oddly ticklish, even sweet.

His life had always been like a perfectly constructed painting—everything meticulously arranged. It was because of this perfection that his life had felt bland, devoid of excitement. But now, this woman had brought the first sweet taste into his otherwise dry existence, and that sweetness had utterly bewitched him.

Valderion reached out and caressed her cheek, feeling the faint warmth return to her skin. His hand gradually slid downward, tracing her delicate form, until it reached her ankle, hidden beneath her skirt.

‘If she tries to run again…’

Lirette had always been unpredictable, prone to unexpected actions that constantly surprised him. Their shared memories were littered with such moments, making him anxious whenever she wasn’t in his sight.

Then, as now, he couldn’t feel at ease unless Lirette was within his reach.

This time, he wouldn’t let her do as she pleased. Not again.

Absolutely not.

A cold glint flickered in Valderion’s eyes as his hand continued to stroke her slender ankle.

***

The sound of birds chirping stirred Lirette from her deep sleep. As the clear sounds began to register in her foggy consciousness, her eyelids slowly lifted. She was no longer startled by unfamiliar ceilings—this had happened too often.

She couldn’t quite grasp where she was now. Her memory was hazy, the edges of her recollection blurred as if burnt. Still, one thing was certain: the place didn’t feel threatening or tense. It was calm, safe.

“……”

Lirette lifted her arm. For a moment, she expected it to stop midway, as she had grown accustomed to being restrained, but to her surprise, her arm moved freely. She stared at her arm in disbelief, realizing that the cuffs that had bound her for so long were gone.

It was only then that she noticed the changes around her. The clean, soft sheets, the perfectly fitting indoor clothes, the absence of any discomfort after what seemed like a long sleep, and the neat, orderly bedroom—all of these details puzzled her, making her wonder what had happened while she was asleep.

Her eyes wandered the room, finally landing on something familiar: a crest, a large antlered stag entwined with roses and crossed swords, framed in silver on the wall.

That emblem could only mean one thing.

‘I’ve returned.’

To Valderion’s fortress…

Relief flooded her, pushing aside all other emotions. She had been terrified that she might end up being dragged away by Dylan. Now, knowing where she was, the questions began to rise: How long had she been asleep? How had she returned here? And what had become of Dylan?

With these questions swirling in her mind, she sat up in bed. But just as she moved, a faint clinking sound followed her motion.

Lirette’s gaze dropped, her head hanging low. Her heart sank as she realized it wasn’t her wrist that was bound this time—it was her ankle.