What Remains in the Damaged Place - Side Story 2 (4)

Despite having no prior relationship with Lady Ezra, Lirette found herself unable to look away. The bruises were too fresh in her mind, and the fear in Lady Ezra’s face lingered, as though she feared Lirette would say something, or worse, expose her secret.

Each time their eyes met, Lady Ezra would quickly avert her gaze, as if terrified that Lirette might confront her. Her reaction was more than embarrassment—it was fear, deep and palpable.

Why am I so suffocated? Lirette wondered, rubbing the back of her neck as if trying to ease the invisible pressure constricting her breath. The air in the room felt thick, her discomfort growing by the second.

The source of her unease became clear. In this grand palace, in this space of wealth and refinement, she had unexpectedly glimpsed another woman’s pain. That pain was far too reminiscent of the buried memories she had fought so hard to suppress. Memories of her own suffering resurfaced, clawing their way to the surface, like thorns lodged in her throat.

Lirette struggled to maintain focus, and then she noticed Lady Ezra quietly rising from her seat. None of the other women paid any attention to her departure, absorbed in their lively conversations. But Lirette saw. The sound of the salon door opening and closing was soft, unnoticed by anyone else. Lady Ezra had slipped out without a word.

Lirette took a sip of her now-cold tea, then stood from her seat.

“Lady Justitia, where are you going?” one of the women asked.

“I’m feeling a bit stifled. I think I’ll take a short walk. Please, continue your conversation without me,” Lirette replied, making it clear that she didn’t want company. She quickly left the salon and stepped outside.

Where could she have gone? Lirette thought, feeling the cool air brush her skin as she stepped into the hallway. If Lady Ezra’s bruises were from her husband, then this brief moment away from him might be the only peace she could find.

“Lady Justitia.”

Lirette turned to find Sir Tilin approaching.

“Sir Tilin. What brings you here?”

“His Grace sent me. Is something troubling you?”

It seemed Valderion had grown concerned, perhaps sensing her discomfort. Sir Tilin’s serious expression reflected that same concern.

“No, not at all,” Lirette quickly reassured him, shaking her head. “I just needed a bit of fresh air. I’ve been inside for too long, and it feels a bit stuffy.”

“I understand. Shall I accompany you on your walk?”

With a knight’s sense of duty, Sir Tilin extended his arm, offering to escort her. Lirette accepted, and together they stepped out of the banquet hall into the palace gardens. The night sky was a deep black, dotted only with twinkling stars, and the soft breeze that carried the scent of blooming flowers provided a brief sense of relief.

Where could she have gone? Lirette wondered again, her thoughts returning to Lady Ezra. She didn’t even know what she would say if she found her.

But why am I doing this? Lirette questioned herself. Even though there was little she could do to help, she felt compelled to act.

Because sitting in the salon, exchanging pointless gossip, would have only made me feel more suffocated.

Maybe I should just ask her directly. Lirette’s mind whirled with possibilities. I saw the bruises; she knows I saw them.

Sometimes, a person didn’t need grand gestures or interventions. Simply listening and offering a bit of understanding could be enough. Lirette had experienced that aching loneliness before, when she had felt like she was drowning in despair under Dylan’s oppressive control. What had made that time even more unbearable was the absence of anyone to listen, to acknowledge her suffering.

The isolation and emptiness had made her feel as though her life was devoid of meaning. She couldn’t just let Lady Ezra walk away from the same kind of pain.

Moreover, every time she thought of Lady Ezra’s fragile, anxious demeanor—always watching her surroundings, tense at the slightest disturbance—she couldn’t help but think of Roselean, her own shy and timid daughter.

Had Lady Ezra been more confident or lively, perhaps Lirette wouldn’t have been as moved to act. But seeing her so vulnerable had stirred something in Lirette, making her feel compelled to reach out.

Lirette’s mind swirled with conflicting thoughts. Rationally, she knew Lady Ezra was a completely different person, leading a separate life. Yet, she couldn’t shake the nagging sense of concern that tugged at her, compelling her to care. No matter how much she tried to push it aside, the emotional pull was too strong, reaching beyond the realm of logic.

Should I ask her if she needs help?

Perhaps if the conversation flowed naturally, Lirette could offer her assistance. While there wasn’t much Lirette could do herself, Valderion might have connections that could help Lady Ezra. Then again, family matters were delicate, even for someone as powerful as Valderion.

Lost in thought, she continued walking, her footsteps echoing softly in the quiet corridor.

“My lady,” Sir Tilin’s voice gently broke through the silence.

“Oh…”

Lirette looked around and realized they had wandered quite far, into a shadowy, secluded area of the palace grounds. She hadn’t even noticed how far they had gone, too focused on tracking Lady Ezra’s presence.

How could I have been so distracted? she chastised herself, realizing that Lady Ezra probably hadn’t gone this way. She turned to Sir Tilin, ready to suggest they return to the main hall.

But before she could speak, a sharp sound shattered the stillness.

Slap!

The noise came from just around the corner.

“Did you hear that?” Lirette asked, uncertain if her ears had deceived her.

She and Sir Tilin paused, holding their breath. Then, the sound came again, clearer this time. Someone was speaking in anger, the words muffled by the distance. Lirette’s heart sank as she and Sir Tilin cautiously rounded the corner.

In the dim light, they saw the silhouette of a large tree, and beneath it, something dreadful was happening.

“Worthless woman! You can’t even help your husband with the simplest of things!”

The harsh voice rang out, unmistakably filled with rage. Although they couldn’t see clearly in the shadows, the figure of a man loomed over another, and a soft, pained whimper followed each verbal assault.

Then, in the faint light from a distant lamp, something slid to the ground—a familiar blue shawl.

Lady Ezra’s shawl.

It didn’t take long for Lirette to piece together what was happening. The unmistakable shouting of Count Ezra, and the physical slaps, made it clear. He was beating his wife right there, out in the open, with no concern for anyone who might witness it.

Lirette’s breath caught in her throat. Her vision blurred as the horrifying scene triggered memories she had long buried—memories of a time when someone else had wielded power over her, reducing her to a state of helplessness.

Her feet faltered, and she stumbled, instinctively backing away. Sir Tilin immediately reached out to steady her.

“Sir… Sir Tilin,” Lirette whispered, her voice trembling.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Could you… could you please call for someone?” she asked, trying to maintain composure despite the growing panic inside her.

Though the situation was dire, Sir Tilin couldn’t directly intervene. For a knight of House Justitia to physically confront a noble like Count Ezra could lead to political repercussions, possibly igniting a feud between their families. As much as Lirette wanted to stop what was happening, she knew she couldn’t risk causing problems for Valderion.

What they needed was someone with the authority to act within the palace—one of the royal attendants.

Sir Tilin understood immediately and nodded. “Of course, my lady. I’ll return with help as quickly as possible. In the meantime, I suggest you return to the hall.”

“No, I’ll stay here,” Lirette insisted.

Sir Tilin hesitated for a moment, then disappeared into the shadows to find help.

“Useless wench! What good are you, when all you do is fail at your duties as a wife!” Count Ezra’s drunken slurring grew louder, punctuated by more slaps. Through it all, Lady Ezra’s faint responses—barely audible “yes” or “no”—mingled with soft whimpers of pain.

Lirette clenched her hands so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She could hear Lady Ezra’s muffled sobs, the desperate attempts to placate her husband. Her entire body ached with helplessness, wanting nothing more than to stop the violence happening before her.

How can he do this to her? she thought bitterly. Right here, in a public place, where anyone could see them!

The Count’s voice was filled with venom, and it was clear he was far too intoxicated to care about being discreet. His words were vile, demeaning his wife as if she were nothing but an object to be abused.

Lirette couldn’t stand it anymore. Every instinct screamed at her to intervene, but she also knew how dangerous that would be. The situation could spiral out of control if not handled carefully, and she didn’t want to risk making things worse for Lady Ezra.

Her hand gripped the fabric of her dress tightly, her heart pounding in her chest. All she could do was wait for help to arrive, but the seconds felt agonizingly long.

The memories of her own suffering at the hands of those who had mistreated her resurfaced, making her feel trapped, like she was watching her own past play out in front of her eyes. The loneliness and helplessness she had felt back then mirrored what Lady Ezra was enduring now.

No one should have to suffer like this, she thought, feeling a wave of anger rise within her.

She had known from the moment she first saw Lady Ezra that something was wrong. The timid glances, the nervous behavior—it all made sense now. Lady Ezra was trapped, just as Lirette had once been. And that vulnerability, that fragility, reminded her too much of her own daughter, Roselean.

I can’t just stand by and do nothing.

Lirette knew, as she had sent Sir Tilin to get help, that this was a matter she couldn’t interfere in lightly. Domestic violence, after all, was a deeply private affair, and even the nobility often considered such matters to be beyond the reach of outsiders. Yet, despite knowing this, her body trembled, unable to stay still.

This wasn’t a one-time incident, and she knew it all too well. Abuse was a habit, ingrained and repeated. What happened here tonight would continue behind closed doors, where no one could see. If Count Ezra could act so brazenly in public, who knew how much worse it was in private?

Lirette could vividly imagine Lady Ezra’s unending suffering. The bruises would never fade completely, and the pain would never truly cease.

Enough, she thought.

In that moment, an idea struck her—a way to intervene, even though it might not have been the wisest. It wasn’t entirely logical, but Lirette could no longer sit idly by while her heart pounded with fear and anger. She had to do something.

Sir Tilin had likely assumed she would stay put until help arrived, but by the time she had fully grasped the situation, her feet were already moving forward.

This will end the moment Count Ezra realizes someone else is here, she told herself.

With deliberate steps, she silenced her footsteps and approached the scene.

“Please, stop—just let me—” Lady Ezra’s pleading voice came through the shadows, but it was cut short by another enraged shout from her husband.

“Get your hands off me! How dare you touch your husband’s arm!”

As Lirette drew closer, the stench of alcohol hit her, confirming that Count Ezra was deeply intoxicated. Lady Ezra, desperately trying to calm him, was struggling to block his erratic strikes.

Lirette spotted Lady Ezra’s discarded shawl on the grass. She bent down, picked it up, and continued forward.

It was Lady Ezra who first noticed her approach. Her tear-filled, green eyes widened in shock as she recognized Lirette. Before she could utter a word, Lirette moved swiftly, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her behind her.

With the support of another person gone, Count Ezra, who had been swatting at his wife, swung his arm with full force—and struck Lirette instead.

Smack!

The sound of the impact rang through the air, followed by a sharp cry of pain from Lady Ezra.

Though it was only a single blow, the force was enough to send a stinging pain through Lirette’s face, and a bitter taste of blood formed at the corner of her lips.

“Huh? What’s this—who are you?” Count Ezra slurred, stumbling as he squinted at her, clearly struggling to process what was happening. His eyes, dulled by alcohol, darted between Lirette and his wife. Perhaps, in his drunken state, he had mistaken Lirette for Lady Ezra.

He raised his arm to strike again, purely out of habit.

Lirette’s breath caught in her throat as old memories surged forward, memories of someone else who had once treated her like this. Dylan’s face flashed before her eyes, and the nausea hit her hard.

This can’t happen again, she thought as she braced herself for another blow.

But the strike never came.

Instead, she saw a blur of dark hair and, in the next moment, Count Ezra was forcefully shoved aside. His large frame staggered backward, barely avoiding a humiliating fall.

“Wh-what—what’s happening?” he sputtered, still disoriented. But now, his fate was sealed. Had he known what was coming, he might have preferred to fall and knock himself unconscious.

A cold, authoritative voice cut through the scene like ice.

“What’s the meaning of this disturbance?”

The voice belonged to Valderion.

Count Ezra, blinking through his drunken haze, struggled to make sense of the tall, commanding figure before him. He frowned, trying to focus on the man’s long, elegant frame and the cold, piercing golden eyes—the most powerful eyes in the empire.

“Agh… Duke Justitia?” Count Ezra stammered, his bravado quickly fading as realization set in. His hands, which had just been raised in violence, now folded in a gesture of submission. He blinked rapidly, as if hoping his vision had deceived him.

Valderion glanced briefly at the groveling Count Ezra, then turned his gaze to Lirette. His eyes swept over her pale, trembling hands, the shawl she held tightly, and finally to the thin line of blood on her lip.

The weight of what had just happened was clear in that fleeting exchange of glances. Valderion clenched his jaw, understanding precisely what Lirette had done.

“I see,” Valderion murmured, a note of disapproval lacing his voice as he clicked his tongue in frustration.