Chapter 38
Dominic instinctively put distance between himself and Daniel before stammering.
"M-Me?"
"Yeah, you, brother."
No, why bring up 'brother' again all of a sudden? As if anyone wanted to hear that. Dominic, ready to bolt, backed toward the door slowly.
"Did I... say that? I don't really remember...."
"Quit playing dumb and get out. Stop by upstairs on your way and let them know the guests arrive tomorrow."
"Who? The Duchess?"
"Anyone else in this castle besides the lady of the house who needs to know?"
"Well...."
Dominic scratched behind his ear, looking troubled.
"I'm in an awkward spot right now to face the Duchess, who's with Lady Rosivalt."
Seeing Daniel's eyes screaming 'What nonsense?', Dominic pouted his lips.
"She found out. About me knowing of the secret vault all along but keeping my mouth shut. She glared like she wanted to kill me, asking if I'd just stood by knowing everything. She's probably spilling it all to the Duchess up there right now—how am I supposed to go? I can't."
"Since when did you care about that?"
"I don't."
"Then?"
Dominic crossed his arms and plopped half onto the desk.
"Can I speak freely?"
"If you wanna die."
"Haa...."
Sighing as if the ground would cave in, Dominic covered his face.
"Even if you don't kill me, I might die soon. When I do something I wouldn't normally, my conscience keeps pricking me weirdly, Daniel."
"Didn't know you had one, brother."
Dropping his hands immediately, Dominic yelled at Daniel.
"That's what I'm saying. Where would I have a conscience? Dominic Molly can't have one. Look at all I've done. A person with a conscience couldn't do half of it."
Springing up, Dominic paced seriously before the desk. His right index finger tapped his left forearm restlessly, tap tap, tap tap without cease.
"You know too. I learned scamming before letters. Pretending sick, weak, scared to deceive and fleece others. Of course. Father off in war, dead or alive—who knows? Mother that mess—what was I supposed to learn from?"
If Laura hadn't taken him in and raised him, he'd have lived worse. He'd tried acting human to impress her, but nature doesn't change. Without her dying words, he'd have died long ago living wild.
"If you die like a dog, I won't forgive you, Dominic."
Her plea to the raging fifteen-year-old vowing revenge.
"Dying's meaningless. Revenge can wait till you've built strength. Dominic, survive no matter what. Stay by that child's side. Rush and die, I won't meet you in heaven."
Dominic's life goal was simple. Survive at all costs. Save Daniel too. Avenge the old fox in Shendal Castle. Lived thinking only that. Never looked back. His tapping hand now scratched his nape vigorously.
"What kind of guy am I? The bastard who bragged to comatose you after Laura passed, mocking I'd cause trouble. Yet never once felt conscience prick me."
Stopping his pacing, Dominic approached the desk again where Daniel sat. Propping his left arm on it, he thumped his chest with his right hand, shoving his face at Daniel.
"And I tell you, these past three years, this spot's stung endlessly. Believe it? Believe it!"
Honestly, he dreaded facing the Duchess. Imagining disappointment in those bright, sparkling purple eyes.... Ugh, torture. Bowing his head deeply, Dominic clutched his skull with both hands.
"Should've just given her the key. When did I ever show you loyalty? Laura just said stay by your side. Never said prioritize you above all. Damn. Rosivalt must've told her everything—how do I face the Duchess now?"
Watching tormented Dominic impassively, Daniel shoved back his chair and rose. Passing the head-clutching Dominic sprawled on the desk, he yanked the office doorknob. As the door swung wide, Daniel's low voice settled heavily in the room.
"Quit whining and scram."
Dominic tormented by conscience? One more memory he'd rather forget. *** Spotting Daniel ascending the stairs, Muriel stepped back and bowed. She, who never spoke first, called to him heading to the bedroom.
"Y-Your Grace."
Daniel lowered his gaze without fully turning his half-turned shoulder. Slightly shorter than Dominic, she met his eyes with just a tilt of his head. Rosivalt's signature solemn, calm gray eyes met his.
"Speak."
"Could you check on the lady before dawn? Seems she has a slight fever but keeps insisting she's fine."
Daniel, glancing at the Duchess's bedroom door, looked back at Muriel.
"Physician?"
"Too late at night, she stubbornly refused to call. Said if really bad, take Anton's old medicine—no need to worry. But I don't think it's fine. She's been out over half a day; must've strained herself."
"......Understood."
As Daniel finished, Muriel bowed once more politely.
"Thank you, Your Grace. Good night."
This time, Daniel halted Muriel's steps.
"Did you tell the Duchess?"
"Pardon? May I ask what?"
Gazing at Muriel briefly, Daniel slowly spoke.
"About Dominic hiding the secret vault."
Her calm gray eyes twitched faintly. Despite her turbulent expression hinting much to say, Muriel replied evenly.
"No. I didn't."
"Why?"
"......Didn't want to see her hurt."
She bit back words several times but held them. When the lady sold her dowry jewels, castle furniture—Dominic handled it all. He'd been there shedding tears over regrettable sales, grieving lack amid endless tasks. That shameless bastard smiling consolation.
"The lady trusts others easily. Knows nothing of deceit. Assumes all treat her with the same heart."
Oblivious to his deception, she'd trusted him infinitely. Smiling brightly, 'Lucky Dominic's here.'
"She...... trusts Dominic greatly. Likes him."
How to say it? His actions toward her all lies, no truth. The lady meant nothing to Dominic Molly.
"She'd be deeply hurt."
Chewing it over fueled her rage; Muriel clenched her fists. If she knew? No way. Absolutely not.
"Hiding it fearing she'd be hurt...... A knight's dream. Perfect."
In the empty corridor, the low but resonant voice evoked echoes. Sensing faint amusement in Rihardt Duke's lingering tone, Muriel's brow twitched. Peering to confirm, Daniel smirked, twisting his lips.
"You truly believe that."
"What...... do you mean?"
Muriel saw the unmistakable smile on Daniel's face.
"That my wife won't live long."
"......"
Perfect mockery, scorn, disdain toward her.
"What to do? I differ from you—might hurt her."
*** Lying in bed, Frida weakly massaged her clogged throat.
"From the dust piles? Kek kek."
Her throat felt terribly scratchy. Over a month since cleaning the library. Cobwebs everywhere, unventilated musty mold stench. Didn't notice living sparsely, but Boild couple's arrival made her mind every corner.
"Time to spruce Brabant Hall too? Sigh, Skadi Hall cleaning cost plenty. That money buys more bulbs."
Turk merchants arrive next month with bulbs. Thanks to Ricardo, fields nearly sorted.... What else? Muriel seemed quite angry—hope she delivered the money for Dominic?
"Cough cough. Can't get fever."
Coughing into bedcovers up to her neck. Warm room in peak spring—why chills?
"No worries, Frida. Fine by tomorrow."
Took Anton's old medicine right after Muriel left—sleep deep, good as new. First thing tomorrow: find the Duke. 'Today's you not my type' shocked him; silent whole way back to Marian Hall.
"Why mope with needless self-blame? Sigh. No help for it. I'll soothe you."
One more task tomorrow. Flicker flicker. Wall lamps left on till dawn for fear of dark dimmed with each blink. Body heavy, Frida smiled faintly and drifted off. *** Hours later. Even as Daniel approached silently and checked her face, Frida still wore a faint smile. Holding breath after footsteps, Daniel gazed down at sleeping Frida, reaching for her forehead. Gently brushing aside strands veiling it, he pressed his hand's back there. Slight fever. Lifting his hand, he reached for the dimly lighting wall lamp. Flexing his fist in air—the one that touched her forehead—he stared blankly. Always warm, hard to tell if heat was his or hers. His quiet gaze settled back on Frida. Small. Clearly tiny, yet...... his wife oddly seemed large. Everyone around fussed anxiously, minding this little woman. From rough Molly duo to Rosivalt knight dubbed empire's sword.
"Not sure. Today's Duke just...... not my type."
Why did that irk him?
"Didn't want to see her hurt."
Why begrudge Rosivalt's protective layers wrapping his wife like fragile glass?
"Mm......"
Frida stirred in sleep; her cheek seemed flushed.
'Fever for real?'
As Daniel reached fingertips to her cheek, a memory surfaced: his mother with young him.
"Daniel, come here. My son, seems feverish."
Daniel's long legs mounted the bed. His sturdy arms braced the mattress framing Frida's face. Brushing back his forelock, he slowly leaned in, holding breath to not wake her, carefully bringing his forehead to her smooth one. Hot.
"You...... have a fever."
Or maybe the feverish one was him.
