Chapter 141

Rezette narrowed his eyes in displeasure. It wasn’t as though the warning had been unclear, so why had the conversation veered so suddenly off course?

Dried Mangjonghwa petals, known for their ability to calm frayed nerves and induce sleep, had been Rezette’s favored remedy for over a decade. It was also one of the few substances capable of tempering his bouts of mania.

As a medicinal flower with no harmful effects—at least under normal circumstances—he had often recommended it to Elise during their time in Rotiara. He vividly remembered her clear, curious gaze each time she quietly observed him. She had never resisted the unfamiliar herb, accepting it with a trust that now felt bitter in hindsight.

“Was this something the princess used for a long time?” Rezette asked, his voice steady but carrying a faint edge of unease.

Barnon’s response came swiftly, but the answer wasn’t one Rezette appreciated.

“Her Highness used it frequently as well, until the age of fifteen,” Barnon said.

“…Fifteen?” Rezette repeated, a chill threading through his voice.

“One day,” Barnon continued, “after consuming a handful of ground Mangjonghwa petals, she couldn’t open her eyes for an entire month. Since then, no one in the imperial capital has dared to bring that flower near the palace.”

Rezette’s hand faltered mid-motion as he rolled the remaining ash between his fingers. For a moment, he stared at the remnants, his composure visibly cracking. Barnon, keenly observing, smirked at the rare sight.

“They were preparing for the state funeral back then,” Barnon said, his voice deliberately slow, as though savoring Rezette’s reaction. “His Majesty exhausted every conceivable method to keep her breathing. It still took four months before Her Highness could move as she once did. Turns out overconsumption beyond the recommended dose can be toxic—who would have thought?”

Rezette’s silence hung heavy in the air, but Barnon wasn’t finished.

“After that incident, all sedatives, not just Mangjonghwa, disappeared from the imperial capital. Even if Her Highness requested them, they were never provided. Not that it mattered—she developed a degree of immunity after that ordeal.” Barnon leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp. “…You mean to tell me you truly didn’t know?”

Rezette’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Barnon let out a low laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Any physician would’ve noticed immediately during a routine examination. Or…” He paused, his tone turning taunting. “…Was it that the two of you weren’t close enough to share such intimate details? If that’s the case, perhaps it’s a small blessing. But how could you be so inattentive, my lord?”

The words struck like a lash, but Rezette remained silent, his expression unreadable.

“For some,” Barnon said, his voice softening into something almost contemplative, “a flower that heals can become poison to others. While Her Highness was by your side, she must have constantly breathed the scent of death, my lord.”

Before Barnon could finish, Rezette closed the distance between them. In one swift, predatory stride, he seized the younger man’s jaw with a grip that threatened to shatter it. His voice was a low, guttural growl, landing like a hammer on Barnon’s ears.

“Shut your mouth,” Rezette snarled.

Barnon winced but quickly masked his discomfort, his lips curling into a sneer despite the crushing pressure on his jaw. “Why? I’m merely explaining as you requested,” he shot back, his words slurred by Rezette’s unyielding grasp.

Rezette’s glare burned with barely contained fury, but Barnon Conrad, ever the provocateur, seemed unfazed. If anything, his defiance deepened. Speaking through clenched teeth, Barnon’s voice dripped with mockery.

“Elizabeth doesn’t suit someone like you. She’ll only know misery by your side.”

Rezette’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Those words…”

Barnon didn’t relent, his sneer twisting into something darker. “You’ll suffocate her day by day, even as you keep her in your arms. Forcing her to conceive in the first place was—”

Barnon paused just long enough for his words to settle like a poisonous fog. His gaze locked on Rezette’s, daring him to retaliate.

“If you have even a shred of conscience left,” Barnon continued, his tone sharpened to a blade, “let her go. If you truly love her, at least try to act human for her sake, my lord.”

The words struck their target with deadly precision. Barnon’s grin widened triumphantly as he noted the faintest flicker in Rezette’s expression—a crack in the duke’s icy armor.

Rezette’s face turned eerily blank, his voice chillingly calm. “…You have quite the skill for running your mouth.”

Barnon, even with death looming in the form of Rezette’s tightening grip, refused to falter. His smug defiance churned Rezette’s stomach, but it wasn’t Barnon’s words or even his insolence that stirred the duke’s fury. It was the bitter, unfamiliar sense of defeat clawing its way up from the pit of his gut.

The sound of something snapping echoed in Rezette’s mind. His final thread of rationality broke, the tension unraveling into a violent storm. His grip on Barnon’s jaw tightened further, his fingers digging into the bone as if to silence the man forever.

For a fleeting moment, dark thoughts clouded his judgment. Should I drag him before Elise? Kill him in front of her eyes?

Rezette’s mind spiraled, weighing the worth of the man before him. If Barnon remained alive and close to Elise, would she accompany Rezette to Rotiara? Or would it be better to make him disappear, leaving no trace, no closure, no answers?

Would she see me as the vile man? Or the cruel one?

The answer had seemed simple—until now.

The scent of the herbs clinging to him suddenly felt nauseating.

With a sharp motion, Rezette flung Barnon aside, as if swatting away a persistent pest. His movements were stiff with anger as he stormed to the window. He ripped the curtains apart and threw it open with a violent shove. The frame rattled under the force, barely holding its place.

Leaning heavily against the trembling sill, Rezette exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Hah…” A hollow, bitter sound escaped his lips, more a release of frustration than amusement.

His breathing came in uneven bursts, each one harder to control than the last. Every time Elise revealed the fragments of herself she’d kept hidden, Rezette felt the weight of his ignorance pressing down on him like a heavy stone.

To unknowingly drive someone to death… Rezette fixed his gaze on the horizon beyond the window. A faint tremor ran through his fingers, and he clenched them into fists to suppress it.

So this was the filthy feeling that had been gnawing at him—this suffocating dread.

In one swift motion, he reached into his coat, pulled out the cigar he always carried for moments like this, and hurled it out the window. The small object disappeared into the air, a symbolic act of defiance against his own dependency.

Even though he knew the cigar had always helped calm his nerves and clear his thoughts, the idea of using it now felt unbearable.

I can’t even bear to share her with anyone, let alone protect her by my side, he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. What reason would I have to stand idly by?

Fool. Safety—what a meaningless word.

Rezette closed his eyes and took several deep breaths in quick succession. The rage simmering beneath his skin needed to be extinguished. Slowly, painfully, he forced himself to let go.

It’s done. I discarded it. The thought was steady, grounding him.

All that remains is to ensure I never light one in her presence again. He straightened, his hands gripping the windowsill as his resolve hardened. As for calming herbs, there were plenty of alternatives. Barley flower was hardly irreplaceable.

Yes, the plan was still intact. In just a few hours, they would be leaving this place together. The thought, like a balm to his scorched heart, eased the tension gripping his chest.

Only after filling his lungs with clean, salt-tinged air several times did his vision—darkened by frustration—gradually regain its clarity.

The peaceful view of the breakwater remained unchanged, its tranquility mocking his inner turmoil. Yet something caught his attention.

Someone was loitering near Ricardo’s mast.

Rezette’s eyes narrowed, the faint curiosity sharpening his focus.

***

Elise froze in place, her body betraying her as a creeping sense of danger slithered up her spine. The cold, unyielding press of a freshly whetted blade grazed the back of her neck—more precisely, the hood concealing it.

The blade sliced deeper with chilling precision, tearing through the hood’s fabric and catching strands of her hidden hair. The gleam of the blade, reflecting cruelly in the dim light, stabbed at her eyes, forcing them shut momentarily.

“Don’t make any sudden moves,” a cold voice commanded, each syllable like the edge of a dagger. The threat in their tone left no room for negotiation.

Rotiara’s knights? Elise wondered, her thoughts racing.

But Rezette’s subordinates wouldn’t dare point a blade at her. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, the sharp pain grounding her. The blade continued its clean cut through the hood, and a cascade of silvery strands spilled free, shimmering like liquid light. Her rare silver hair, unmistakable in its brilliance, betrayed her identity immediately.

The knight sneered, his expression twisting with cruel satisfaction. “So, the duke was right.”

Had Genovia betrayed me? Elise’s mind scrambled for answers. I was cautious to the end… unless Rezette planted someone without my knowledge.

Her answer came with chilling clarity.

“The exiled princess of a fallen empire,” the knight announced mockingly, “shall now submit to the decree of His Imperial Majesty of Van Yela.”

The emperor’s soldiers.

Her chest tightened as she pieced it together. They must have searched the manor and discovered her absence. It no longer mattered how they had found her; her options had narrowed to one.

Elise made her decision without hesitation. Slowly, she raised her hands above her head, signaling her surrender.

The knight’s grin widened, satisfied by her compliance. “Good. Now turn arou—”

“Andrei,” Elise interrupted, her voice sharp and steady.

“What?” The knight’s brows furrowed in confusion.

Too late, he noticed her right hand slipping behind the folds of her hood. Elise’s fingertips pressed against the familiar engraved circle beneath her left shoulder blade. A searing heat ignited at her touch, and her robe billowed violently, caught in a sudden surge of energy.

“What are you—”

His words were drowned out by a blinding flash of light, brighter than the noon sun.

“Gah!”

A guttural cry tore through the air, filled with agony. Warm, viscous blood splattered across Elise’s hair and the nape of her neck, its metallic tang assaulting her senses. She gagged but forced herself to focus.

Behind her, the knight staggered, his body scored with gashes so deep they exposed sinew and bone. Blood poured from his wounds like an unrelenting tide.

The attack spell she had unleashed was one she had initially prepared for herself upon entering Norella—a last resort. But now, all the mana she’d stored had been unleashed with devastating precision. The knight would be fortunate to survive even a few minutes.

Elise stepped aside, narrowly avoiding his collapsing frame, and bolted. The weight of her decision pressed down on her, but she shoved through the gathering crowd with single-minded urgency.

“Catch her!” A thunderous voice roared behind her. “The princess—the witch of Argan is escaping!”