Chapter 209
The elegant and lively Grand Duke’s estate turned into a sheet of ice in an instant.
The master of the house, who had returned home cheerfully to see his wife, turned deathly pale upon witnessing her suddenly collapse. He looked more like the one in pain than the woman who had actually fainted.
Under a suffocating tension, the doctor summoned by Madam Moriah examined Nerys. Sweat beading on his forehead, he checked her condition with various tools.
And then, with a despairing expression, he reported,
“There is nothing wrong with Her Grace the Grand Duchess’s body…!”
Cledwyn shot to his feet. The physician trembled in fear at the flickering, intense darkness in his eyes.
Madam Moriah, who had brought her trusted doctor and watched the examination beside him, immediately scolded Cledwyn.
“What are you doing! How can the doctor perform a proper examination when you’re frightening him like that!”
Cledwyn gritted his teeth and replied indifferently, as though the rational image he normally displayed before Nerys was a lie.
“Don’t be ridiculous. How could someone with no issues suddenly collapse?”
It was Cledwyn who had caught Nerys when she collapsed in the garden. Only God knew how terrified he had been upon seeing her bluish face and tightly shut eyelids.
Most people didn’t remain unconscious for long, but even after all the commotion and time that had passed, Nerys had shown no sign of stirring.
Even Madam Moriah—famous for never batting an eye at anything—was at a loss. She didn’t think she had any deep bond with Nerys. She merely liked her, a little.
And yet, seeing the girl collapse before her eyes shook something inside her. She recalled the funeral of a maid she had once considered like a daughter.
Hadn’t it been Nerys who caught the one responsible for that girl’s death?
In any case, she hoped this bold girl would wake up, spout some impudent remark, and approach her like it was nothing. Seeing her lie there like a corpse was simply unpleasant.
Then—
“…Hup!”
Nerys gasped for breath and opened her eyes. Cledwyn rushed to her side and looked into her face.
“Are you alright? Are you awake?”
His voice was once again endlessly kind and gentle. Madam Moriah clicked her tongue.
“It’s a relief she’s awake. I’ll take my leave now.”
The doctor understood—she had simply wanted to make sure Nerys opened her eyes. But Cledwyn didn’t spare her a glance and just held Nerys’s hand.
Until she pushed it away.
Her once-vibrant violet eyes were now unfocused. Watching the back of Madam Moriah as she exited, Nerys muttered weakly,
“Aunt…?”
Aunt? Cledwyn stiffened. Madam Moriah glanced back at Nerys with a puzzled expression.
“She’s been saying that since earlier… Is she confusing me with someone…?”
“Ahhhhh! Let go! It hurts, it hurts! Don’t burn me! It’s hot!”
Nerys’s delicate face twisted in terror and pain.
With a speed unthinkable for someone who had just been unconscious, she curled into the corner of the bed and screamed.
“It’s all a misunderstanding, I said it’s a misunderstanding! Call my brother!”
Cledwyn was dumbstruck.
Everyone else in the room was, too. Dora quickly moved to usher them out.
“She must’ve had a terrible nightmare while unconscious. Please, let her rest.”
The staff of the Grand Duke’s estate hurriedly obeyed Dora’s words. Even Madam Moriah left, knowing she would only become the subject of unwelcome gossip if she stayed.
However, the murmured words Nerys spoke just before the door closed continued to echo in Madam Moriah’s ears:
“I’m sorry, I was wrong, I’ll do everything you say, it’s all my fault, you were right, I’m sorry I’m alive…”
❖ ❖ ❖
Night fell, but the lights in the estate never went out.
The doctor Madam Moriah had brought—who had once examined Nerys before—was dismissed. Next came the priests. The capital was home to many renowned high priests, and Cledwyn brought them one by one before Nerys. Though they approached with confidence and poured out their divine power like fire, her condition didn’t improve at all.
One of the highest-ranking priests mentioned a “curse.” It couldn’t be resolved by divine power alone—a mage was needed. Either the one who cast the curse, or a mage of equal or greater power.
The household was on the verge of hysteria. Where were they supposed to suddenly find such a rare mage? And who in the world could have cast such a curse to begin with?
Nerys herself would briefly wake and mumble nonsense, then slip back into an unconscious state. When unconscious, her pallor was frightening. But when awake, her incoherent ramblings and failure to recognize those around her chilled everyone’s blood.
After hours of screaming, Nerys finally managed to sleep for over two hours just as the white moon rose high in the sky.
The Grand Duke’s bedroom, illuminated by countless candles, felt like a tomb. Sinking into a chair, Cledwyn stared at his wife’s sleeping form, consumed by the feeling of death.
He was terrified. That he might suddenly lose her.
Just like when he was a boy—when his mother collapsed and died before his eyes, and his father disappeared soon after.
Though a few people came and went to care for Nerys, no one dared speak.
Then—softly, the bedroom door opened, and the butler, Gilbert, entered cautiously. Cledwyn didn’t even lift his head.
“What is it?”
“A messenger came from the palace.”
“Tell them to go to hell.”
“They already did.”
“Then?”
“They left a card. I thought you should see it.”
Cledwyn was irritated. But he knew Gilbert wasn’t the sort to bother him about “respect for the palace” at a time like this.
So he glanced at the message card Gilbert handed him.
“What does it say?”
Talfrin asked with a note of irritation. Having learned some medicine for field missions, he and Dora were the ones caring for Nerys now that the priests and doctors had been dismissed.
Logically, someone from the professional staff should have remained, but no one questioned it. When someone who seemed perfectly fine suddenly collapsed, it was best to keep outsiders away. Especially if a curse was involved. Though little was known about such dark magic, it was believed that no curse could be cast without a medium.
Cledwyn’s face looked swallowed by the shadows of the room. After a moment, his lips curled into a dangerous smirk.
“They want me to come.”
“Who does?”
“The First Princess.”
Camille? Talfrin narrowed his eyes.
“She’s admitting she’s the culprit?”
“In so many words.”
Cledwyn handed him the card. Talfrin skimmed it.
A maze of elegant and indirect phrasing. But the message was simple.
If you want to save your wife, come to the palace now.
It was a cliché threat letter.
Talfrin had already considered the possibility that someone among their staff might be a Silver Moon spy. But what exact method they’d used still eluded him. He had been careful. Very careful.
And if Cledwyn went… then what? They’d say it was poison and offer the antidote?
Before Talfrin could finish his thoughts, Cledwyn suddenly stood. Talfrin asked in alarm,
“Where are you going?”
“To the palace.”
“Alone? Right now?”
“Bistor’s damn brat is calling for me.”
“It’s a trap!”
“Of course it’s a trap. So what? I was going to drag her by the throat and make her confess anyway. She’s saving me the trouble.”
It was foolish. Talfrin wanted to say that.
Camille’s message said nothing of substance. It guaranteed nothing. So Talfrin’s panic was entirely reasonable.
But once Cledwyn made a decision, there was no changing his mind.
‘Unless Her Grace tried to stop him herself.’
Talfrin glanced at Nerys lying in bed. His face darkened.
As a loyal vassal, he should’ve tried to stop his lord—but the words wouldn’t come. He simply didn’t have the heart.
And then, words he could hardly believe came out of his mouth.
“Understood. The fact that she summoned you so directly… it’s definitely proof she’s the culprit. Go and get something—anything—from her. Even if you have to drag her by the hair.”
“You’re not coming. The message said to come alone.”
And what kind of lunatic actually walks into the palace alone after receiving a threat? Talfrin froze, then quickly corrected himself. Right. One lunatic does.
“Don’t say something so absurd!”
“If her real target is this house, then you need to stay here.”
True. Who could guarantee Camille’s real goal wasn’t *this* estate? It was a checkmate either way.
If Cledwyn went alone, Camille could surround and kill him.
If he didn’t and brought people, the empty house could be attacked. Confidential documents, hostages—she could take her pick.
Either way, Camille could claim Cledwyn was rebelling. She’d benefit regardless, which meant they’d lose no matter what.
Talfrin clenched his teeth in frustration. Cledwyn calmly slipped on his gloves.
“If I’m not back before dawn, take the Grand Duchess and head north. Summon the Pope. See what he can do. Cooperate with that bastard Hilbrin if you must.”
The implication behind those words made Talfrin want to lose his mind.
Cledwyn donned his cloak and strode out of the room. Talfrin barely held back the urge to shout after him and muttered to Aidan, who stood outside.
“Follow him.”
“I know.”
Aidan nodded.
Watching Aidan’s shadow follow Cledwyn at a distance, Talfrin’s single eye gleamed coldly behind his monocle.
‘Let’s see what Her Grace says when she finds out.’
If she gets the chance to find out, that is.
❖ ❖ ❖
“You stink.”
At Megara Lykeandros’s words, Nerys sharply retorted,
“What?”
The children around them were all twelve years old. So was Nerys. They were in the first-year classroom of Noble Academy. The desks, lecterns, and books that had felt reasonably sized or even small by graduation now seemed overwhelmingly large.
It was strange. She had graduated over a year ago. She was fully grown. There was no reason she should ever meet these kids again like this.
“Didn’t you hear me? I said you stink. You lived with commoners—did you think the smell wouldn’t cling to you?”
Megara, sensing that Nerys was provoked, continued with smug satisfaction. Among the surrounding children, Alecto Isalani let out a sharp laugh, which soon spread to the others.
Seeing Aidalia Kendall awkwardly trying to join in, Nerys thought to herself: this must be a bad dream.
A dream she hadn’t had in a long time.
“Then I’ll just wake up.”
She didn’t want to stay in this dream. Nerys shut her eyes tight. Like she’d done before, when she realized mid-nightmare that she was dreaming. She resolved to wake up, to not be fooled by these false memories anymore—just like before, when she would awaken with a dull headache in an uncomfortable bed.
But when she opened her eyes again, the children were still there.
“Wake up? What are you even saying? You’re so weird. Always thinking strange things. You really think this is a dream?”
Rhiannon Berta, surrounded by friends, frowned and asked. Nerys felt something was wrong.
Megara had accepted that she wasn’t a marquess’s daughter and had become the Crown Prince’s mistress. Aidalia had fallen into a long coma after drinking poison Nerys had given her. Alecto had escaped blatant ostracism thanks to Megara but still didn’t fit in well. Rhiannon had become invisible after sending that letter to Nellusion.
Yes, all of those were “facts.” So why did this moment feel just as real?
Megara, wearing the radiant smile of someone utterly confident in her future and self-worth, said cruelly:
“You’ll find out soon enough which one’s the dream.”