Previously
Sienna refuses Theodore Monches's suggestion to return to the capital with the Grand Duke's help, wishing to avoid Declan to prevent him from facing the Emperor's suspicion again.
How to Part with You Completely — Episode 8
Though strictly a violation of military law, drugs were tacitly permitted under the pressures of active warfare.
Now that the war had ended, however, using them was a severe offense that could hardly be overlooked.
‘Even if the culprit happens to be none other than His Grace the Grand Duke….’
Stepping into the tent with half a hope that he was mistaken, Rio’s face froze in horror. The sight that met his eyes was sheer pandemonium, fit for an utter wreck of a man.
To say nothing of the sickening, dizzying reek of opium, the liquor bottles scattered haphazardly across the floor were stuffed full of cigar butts in place of corks.
In the midst of a tent resembling a garbage dump, the only thing intact was the man standing before the mirror, dressing in his uniform.
For someone who had indulged in enough cigars and opium to turn his quarters into such a pigsty, he looked remarkably as he always did.
There was not the slightest tremor in his hands as he smoothed his attire, and the turbid violet eyes fixed upon the glass held not a shred of leftover euphoria.
Only the faint flush lingering around his eyes gave away that he was the sole architect of this chaotic scene.
“Your Grace. What were you thinking, what if someone had seen this…?”
“Even if they saw, what could happen? I would only die.”
Faced with an attitude that treated his own life like an onlooker’s affairs, Count Monches knitted his brows even tighter.
Sensing that arguing further would merely waste his breath, the count opted against a lengthy lecture, instead letting out a sigh drawn from the very depths of his heart. The Grand Duke frowned slightly.
“Careful, you might bring down the ground beneath us with that sigh.”
“I would be deeply grateful if you did not give me cause to do so.”
At the thinly veiled reproach, the man’s handsome lips twisted upward.
“What brings you here?”
“I came to deliver a report. We have recovered nearly all the bodies that could be salvaged, and we should be able to depart by next week at the latest.”
“Good work.”
The reply sounded exceedingly flat. His long fingers began fastening the final button of his uniform.
“Make sure those whose remains could not be recovered are properly recorded, and notify their families.”
“Understood. But have you decided on the route we will take for our return?”
“Did you not hear from Gaius?”
Turning his head slightly, the Grand Duke looked toward the count.
“According to the scouting party, there is hardly a surviving town left intact around here. We either cross the Kelt Mountains, or else…”
He paused for a beat before murmuring as though exhaling a weary breath.
“…our only option is to pass through Lopawell.”
There was something distinctly displeased in his tone, but unable to fathom his inner thoughts, the count assumed the Grand Duke’s distaste was merely due to the wretched conditions of the region.
It was hardly an unreasonable reaction. Not just the Grand Duke, but anyone familiar with Lopawell’s notoriety would shrink from the place.
Isolated in the middle of a barren expanse, the land was rife with every manner of vice. Perhaps it was only natural, given that people had been forcefully herded into an unlivable terrain and made to subsist there.
Ironically, those very worst of conditions had shielded it throughout this war. A territory coveted by no one had now become the only corner untouched by the devastation of battle.
The count nodded in full agreement.
“Though the environment leaves much to be desired, it seems the best course for now. We cannot march through rugged mountains with the wounded in tow.”
Despite the certainty in Rio’s words, his companion offered no reply. Taking the silence as an opening, the count added a few more remarks.
“It may well prove to be for the best. Poor as it is, there is a monastery there, which means a healer or two should still remain…”
“We will see whether it is for the best once we arrive.”
Count Monches studied him quizzically at the chilling remark. Stroking his cufflink with a blank face, the Grand Duke spoke.
“It is no place to linger. As soon as the wounded are treated, we will head straight for the capital. Keep that in mind.”
“Yes, Your Grace…”
The lingering, trailing response held a faint note of unease.
‘Why does he speak as though he has already been there?’
Rio Monches had grown up alongside the man before him, long before he was ever hailed as a hero of the empire, back when he was merely the young master of the Grand Duchy.
Nor was Rio absent when that noble scion lost both parents overnight, became a solitary orphan, and went on to drift from one battlefield to the next.
Yet according to his memory, the Grand Duke had never set foot in the land of Lopawell.
Of course, it was possible Rio’s own recollection was flawed, but the man was hardly the type to casually forget visiting a place of such ill repute.
Even after stepping out of the tent, that unresolved doubt clung uncomfortably to the edges of Rio’s mind.
‘Did I hear him wrong…?’
Perhaps it was the toll of spending day and night amid battered, pulverized corpses. No matter how accustomed one was to death, it was bound to wear down the mind.
Chalking the nagging discomfort up to his frayed nerves, the count brushed it aside as nothing consequential.
* * *
The hand endlessly fidgeting with the cuff was moving almost unconsciously. Staring intently into the mirror, the man seemed to have no intention of properly fastening the button.
The gaze that took in his own reflection was bitterly cold.
He had lost consciousness alongside a deafening gunshot, only to find himself in this state upon waking. The hair that had turned snow-white had regained its original shade, and the harsh hardships etched into his face had completely vanished.
He felt along his temple, the place where he had once fired a bullet into his own head, but no trace remained.
To think that after all this, he had failed even at dying—what a pitiful life. Just as the thought crossed his mind…
With a sharp snap of threads breaking, the cuff tore open. Only then did his gaze drop to the edge of his sleeve. His previously impassive face slowly contorted.
“Damn it…”
He had never wished for anything like this.
He had truly been glad to bring an end to his own existence. He had grown thoroughly sick of the world, and ever since the child died, even drawing breath had been nothing short of agony.
Yet God had made a mockery of him, as if out of sheer spite.
With a heavy sigh, Declan let the hand touching his sleeve fall limp.
In the end, everything had returned to where it started. He was once more entirely alone, and even the ill-fated tie he had clung to so desperately was gone.
‘Perhaps it is for the best.’
Even if it meant enduring an endless repetition of meaningless days for him, it was certainly a blessing for her in this life. His wife had always regretted marrying him.
Declan squeezed the torn button in his fist as if intending to crush it to powder.
For his soldiers to recover from their wounds, Lopawell, where healers resided, was the most suitable choice, and going there meant running into her was unavoidable. Yet he had no other alternative.
What had she looked like in these days? Try as he might to picture her, all that came to mind was her gaunt figure lying bedridden. In his memories, she had always been weeping.
Following the removal of her mangled womb, his wife had suffered severe aftereffects. Trapped in harrowing pain, she could not even fall asleep without analgesics, and taking a stroll through the estate’s garden was an agonizing ordeal.
Even warm sunlight was poison to her. Even in midsummer, she had been terrified to venture out from beneath the heavy blankets.
‘You made me like this.’
And before her, weeping every day in torment, Declan could never utter a single word. Because what she said was an undeniable truth.
The baby born dead had been a boy. Had he survived, he would have become his rightful heir.
Declan had no regrets about sacrificing the child, for it was ultimately a choice made to save her. Yet when he considered how Sienna had lived a life worse than death from that day forth, his decision could never be justified.
Women who died in childbirth were common, and they were met with public sympathy. But a woman sentenced to death on charges of murdering her own child was trampled underfoot even after dying.
Had he chosen to save the child instead, Sienna could have at least met an honorable end. Even in death, she would have proudly left her name behind as the Grand Duke’s wife and the Grand Duke’s mother, not as a heartless murderer.
Before long, a voice called out from beyond the tent, reporting that all preparations to depart for Lopawell were complete.
Declan’s gaze shifted from the mirror toward the outside. Realizing once again where he stood, the faint heat in his eyes gradually died away.
“…Then again, there will be no need for that now.”
Declan muttered under his breath.
So long as he stayed in Lopawell, avoiding her was virtually impossible. But he could at least prevent their interaction from growing beyond a chance encounter.
Now that everything had returned to square one, what he had to do was already decided.
* * *
While the army’s visit brought a rare wave of vitality to the monastery, Theodore Monches found himself facing an untimely dilemma from the early morning hours.
Since an army laden with distinguished achievements had arrived at the very place the princess was staying, it was standard etiquette for her to step forward in person and extend her greetings.
After all, offering commendations on behalf of the populace to those who had brought glory to the empire was the foremost duty of royalty.
Exiled to the frontier though she might be, Sienna was still a daughter of the Malony imperial family, and their guest was none other than the Grand Duke of Monferrato, who commanded the imperial citizens’ utmost respect and adoration.
The moment word spread beyond Lopawell that she had snubbed the Grand Duke without cause, the princess’s already tarnished reputation would plunge even further into the abyss.
Yet despite the circumstances, the princess had locked herself in her room since dawn under the pretext of being unwell, refusing entry to anyone.
He had even brought along a priest skilled in healing arts just in case, only for the poor woman to find herself stranded beside him, standing blankly before the closed door.