Chapter 243

Chapter 243

Lucius clenched his fists, then released them, trying to relieve the tightness in his chest. His hands fell limply by his sides as if all his strength had left him.

“I’ve thought about it a lot—why you left me. It was guilt, wasn’t it? I understood that, in my head. But seeing your face now, it just makes me angry.”

Deatrice closed her eyes at his words, as if accepting a punishment she believed she deserved.

Lucius, unable to bear her expression, clenched his jaw and shouted.

“Stop looking like that! Do you think I’m angry at you just because of some issue with the Duke? I’m angry because you ran away again, because you left me behind so easily over something like that. Don’t you get it?”

“‘Just’ the issue with the Duke?”

For the first time, her composure cracked. Her breathing grew ragged, and anger flared within her, searing like fire. The realization that he had no idea of the torment she’d endured—that he saw it as something trivial—infuriated her.

“Six years, Lucius. Six years you spent on the battlefield, enduring horrors because of my father. You almost died! And you think that’s just some trivial problem?”

“That’s all in the past. It’s something we could have faced together if we were still together.”

Lucius spoke in a soothing, almost pleading tone as he slowly approached her and took her hand. Despite the anger and resentment he felt, he was also acutely aware of how fragile and shapeless that anger really was.

If she just said she loved him, that she still wanted him, all of that anger would dissipate.

“You love me, don’t you? I know I still mean something to you. That’s all that matters to me. Nothing else has ever mattered. As long as you’re with me… I…”

His voice, sweet and desperate, wrapped around her like a chain. Deatrice looked at him with disbelief, then pulled her hand away.

“That’s all nonsense.”

There was a trace of anger in her voice.

“Maybe that’s how you feel now. But as time goes on, you’ll start to see my father in me. And every time you do, you’ll resent me. You’ll have to stand by me while holding a blade against my father’s throat. Don’t you think you’ll feel guilty? After all the righteous vengeance, when you come home and see me—his family—lying beside you in bed? And I’ll feel the same. Every time I look at you, knowing you have my father’s life in your hands, I’ll be tormented by guilt and all these complicated emotions. Can’t you see that? Do you really think that just because we love each other, we can overcome all of that with something as flimsy as the power of love?”

“Deatrice.”

As she spoke with icy clarity, Deatrice’s mind drifted to her conversation with Fredhi. Back then, she had spoken to him in the same way she was now speaking to Lucius.

“But you’re mistaken about something. I didn’t marry him out of obligation. I love Lucius. And I’m content with our marriage. I’ve never been this happy. So if there’s any gratitude left for me, as you mentioned in your letter, all I ask is that you let me go.”

She had told Fredhi that she loved Lucius sincerely, and asked him to respect that love. But Fredhi had only mocked her, mimicking a scene from a play, saying, “Your words are sharp now, aren’t they? Or is it courage born of love?”

‘In the end, the love you speak so highly of means nothing.’

Just like Fredhi had, Deatrice was now telling Lucius the same thing. Realizing this made her feel as though ice had settled in her chest. She faltered, visibly shaken, as she stepped back from him, her voice trembling slightly.

“I left because I couldn’t bear it. When I think about all the time you lost, about the many things you rightfully deserved that were taken away, about the unjust criticism you faced—I can’t breathe. And it’s all because of my father. I still love you. I love you, but…”

“Then you should have endured!”

He shouted, his voice filled with a sense of suffocation, as if the twisted irony of their situation was overwhelming him.

“If you truly felt sorry, you should have just endured it. You should have stayed by my side. You shouldn’t have left me!”

Lucius cried out, his voice breaking as he slowly approached Deatrice, his strength giving way as he collapsed before her.

“Did you ever consider how much the truth would torment me? There was nothing in this world that kept me going like you did. You’re everything to me. You were six years ago, and you still are now. I gave you everything, my entire self. If you felt the same way, if you were really sorry—sorry enough to leave—you should have endured it. Even if I hurt you, you should have endured it. That’s what love is, isn’t it? Love is about sacrificing for each other. Please… so Deatrice…”

Lucius grasped her arm, slowly pressing his face against her limp wrist. In this spiraling situation where everything seemed to be slipping away, he believed the only way out was for Deatrice to show a little courage, to demonstrate her love for him.

But then, her voice, cold and distant, cut through the air.

“But why should I?”

‘Why should I?’ Lucius looked up at her, bewildered, wondering if he had heard her correctly.