What Remains in the Damaged Place - Chapter 99

The bullet pierced Dylan’s neck with brutal precision, instantly taking his life.

Splatter.

Crimson blood sprayed across the walls and pooled at Valderion’s feet. The choice of his neck as the target had been deliberate—an echo of the round bruise that had marked Lirette’s neck.

“I think it’s because he choked me.”

“…”

“It’s fine, really. I’m alive, aren’t I?”

Lirette had smiled when she said that, as if dismissing the bruise as a minor cost for severing her ties with Dylan. But she hadn’t realized how that smile shattered Valderion’s composure, piece by piece. He had felt a mix of emotions—shame that he hadn’t been there sooner, guilt for allowing her to be harmed, anger, and a profound sorrow.

Yet, Valderion knew his feelings couldn’t compare to the pain Lirette had endured. So he had imagined this moment over and over—the moment when he would exact revenge by slitting Dylan’s throat, again and again.

Now, that moment had arrived.

The smell of gunpowder filled the confined space, thick and suffocating.

Valderion, having executed the private and brutal punishment with flawless precision, lowered the rifle and loosened his stance.

“Even in your final moments, you’re nothing but pathetic,” he muttered.

Dylan had tried to provoke him by mentioning Lirette, knowing he would get no reaction otherwise. Valderion had carefully monitored her after Dylan’s capture. Despite everything she had endured, the most profound grief Lirette carried seemed to be tied to her miscarriage, not any violation Dylan had tried to claim. And Valderion’s bond with her, through the Neim, confirmed that Dylan’s disgusting words were nothing more than a desperate, vile attempt to rattle him.

Handing the rifle to Tilin, Valderion turned his attention back to more pressing matters.

“Any news from Pelini?” he asked, dismissing Dylan’s body like an afterthought.

Tilin nodded, quickly understanding. “Yes, the report arrived last night.”

It was the financial statement regarding the private army Valderion had discreetly nurtured in Pelini, an investment that had required careful management. Now it was time to settle those accounts.

“Adjust the imperial treasury’s budget to cover the costs. We’ll document it as repayment for the debts Dylan accrued from his indulgences at the Duke’s expense.”

Tilin nodded, immediately grasping the implications. By recording it as debts from Dylan’s misuse of funds, they would erase any trace of rebellion and ensure the Duke’s house remained untarnished, leaving no evidence of the plots that had played out in the shadows.

“And clean this up,” Valderion added, nudging Dylan’s lifeless body with his foot.

Tilin bowed deeply in response, taking care of the grim task ahead.

***

Returning to the mansion, Valderion’s steps instinctively carried him toward the third-floor bedroom. He entered silently, peeling off his gloves as he approached the bed where Lirette lay, still asleep in the gentle morning light.

He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, watching her sleep, her silver hair spilling over the pillows like moonlight. Though he had seen her like this many times, the sight never failed to stir something deep within him. Every glance at her peaceful face felt new, like a pleasure he couldn’t tire of.

Valderion gently took her hand, which was gripping the blanket tightly, and lifted it to his lips, brushing his mouth softly against her knuckles. His touch was light, playful even, but Lirette didn’t stir, still lost in slumber.

What had begun as a simple need to feel her close had now turned into something mischievous. He kissed her fingers, one by one, slipping them between his lips. As he playfully licked and nibbled on her fingers, she finally responded, frowning slightly in her sleep.

“Mmm…”

She stirred at last, her sleepy eyes squinting as she struggled to wake up. Still half-asleep, she blinked up at Valderion, her expression hazy and confused.

Valderion, not quite done teasing, lightly bit the tip of her finger, coaxing a soft laugh from her.

“I thought it was Camon,” she mumbled, her voice still heavy with sleep.

“Do you really think Camon could be this delicate?” Valderion chuckled.

“I was asleep…” she replied, her voice trailing off as she rubbed her eyes with her free hand.

“Are you awake now?”

“Yes… but I’m still sleepy,” she yawned, sitting up slowly with Valderion’s help. She looked around the room, still drowsy, as if unsure whether she should lie back down or fully wake up. Usually, when she seemed this tired, Valderion would tuck her back in, letting her sleep longer. But today was different.

“Eat first,” he said gently.

It was well past morning, nearing noon, and Valderion had grown particularly watchful of her eating habits since her return. Having lost weight after the ordeal with Dylan, he was especially mindful of ensuring she regained her strength.

“I’ll have the maids bring fresh water and your meal shortly.”

Valderion had pulled the bell cord to summon a servant, giving them simple instructions before handing a glass of water to Lirette. Despite sipping the water, she still seemed groggy, and without a second thought, Valderion lifted her gently into his arms and carried her to a nearby sofa.

Soon, warm water and a clean towel were brought to the room. Valderion dipped the towel into the water, wrung it out, and began to gently wipe Lirette’s face and neck, careful to avoid pressing too hard on the areas where bruises still lingered. His touch softened even more when he brushed over the discolored marks, ensuring not to cause her any discomfort. When he finished cleaning her, he kissed the faded bruise on her neck—a silent gesture of comfort and care.

“I can do it,” Lirette mumbled, now more awake and slightly embarrassed, trying to take the towel from him. But Valderion didn’t hand it over so easily, insisting on finishing the task himself.

After carefully wiping her face, neck, hands, and even feet, he finally set the towel aside. In place of the wash basin, a lavish meal was presented.

The table was laden with various dishes: spiced grilled chicken, a rich seafood chowder with clams, shrimp, and crab, herring dressed in garum sauce, crispy baguette with quince jam, and finely cut cheeses.

“This is too much for breakfast…” Lirette remarked, her eyes widening at the feast.

“It’s not breakfast,” Valderion said with a teasing smile. “It’s lunch.”

Seeing that he was about to feed her himself, Lirette quickly grabbed the utensils to avoid the embarrassment. She scooped up a spoonful of chowder and took a bite. Despite the lack of strong spices, the seafood’s rich flavors filled her mouth. She had barely taken a few more bites when Valderion gently took the bowl from her.

“You’ll fill up on just that,” he said, ensuring she didn’t miss out on the other dishes.

Lirette, smiling at his overprotectiveness, picked up a piece of the chicken he had prepared for her and ate it. As she chewed, a quiet laugh escaped her.

“What’s funny?” Valderion asked, looking at her curiously.

“I was just thinking about the meals we used to have at the annex,” she said, reminiscing. “If the me from back then saw me now—sitting on your lap while eating like this—she would have thought it was impossible.”

Back then, she would have been indignant at such an idea. Her past self would never have imagined such a situation, much less accepted it.

Valderion chuckled too, as the memory surfaced. “You were quite something back then…”

“So were you,” Lirette teased, recalling how both of them had abandoned proper decorum during those tense days. She poked fun at him, pointing out that they were equally guilty of casting aside formalities.

Valderion simply gave her a look that urged her to keep eating.

As she continued her meal, Valderion suddenly shared a piece of news. “I received a report today. That woman has regained consciousness.”

“That woman… do you mean Bonita?” Lirette asked, her concern evident.

“Yes,” he confirmed, and she immediately felt a weight lift from her chest.

The incident had been troubling her for some time. On the day of Dylan’s rebellion, there had been a cruel moment when both Lirette and Bonita were placed before him, like pawns for his sadistic amusement. In a fit of rage, Dylan had stabbed Bonita after she had made an unintentional mistake.

Fortunately, one of Valderion’s knights had found Bonita shortly after and administered first aid. She had survived, and now, according to Valderion, she was resting and recovering.

“That’s a relief. But… where is she recovering?” Lirette asked.

“At the Imperial Palace. Bonita wasn’t under my protection but that of my cousin, so His Majesty has taken it upon himself to oversee her care. They were acquainted from their time in Pelini,” Valderion explained.

Lirette sighed in relief. It was good to know Bonita was safe, but something about what Valderion had said struck her as odd.

“Wait… who has assumed the throne?” she asked, realizing the gap left by Dylan’s fall couldn’t have remained vacant.

“The new emperor is Prince Rageil.”

Lirette nearly dropped her fork, her eyes widening in shock. She quickly swallowed a sip of water before speaking, her voice filled with disbelief.

“Prince Rageil? But… wasn’t he supposed to have passed away long ago?”

“He didn’t die,” Valderion replied calmly. “He was under the protection of House Justitia the entire time.”

“…How is that possible?”

“My father arranged it. It was a matter of utmost secrecy, even hidden from the Imperial family. The world believed him dead because it had to.”

As if to drive the point home, Valderion gently fed her a bite of the herring dish, though she was still processing the enormity of what he had revealed.

“Do you remember the letter we received from Pelini?” he asked.

“Yes,” Lirette replied.

“It contained news of Prince Rageil’s well-being. The prince had been living under our protection, and when the time came, he was ready to take the throne.”

It became clear to Lirette that the prince—who the world had thought dead—had been quietly sheltered by the Duke’s house all these years. And with House Justitia’s meticulous planning, they had orchestrated the rebellion, ensuring that everything fell into place when Dylan was overthrown.

As she slowly chewed her food, her mind pieced together the broader picture.

The entire coup had been executed with precision and foresight, leaving nothing to chance. The Duke’s house had made preparations for every eventuality, ensuring that when Dylan was toppled, there was no chaos—only a smooth transition of power.

Lirette couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer thoroughness of it all, even as she found herself amazed by the lengths to which Valderion’s family had gone.