Chapter -07
Half a month passed since Emilia was born, then a month, and soon she was two months old.
On the doctor’s advice, Liddell had to remain in bed a little longer than most new mothers.
Several times, she ran a fever and spent days unable to rise at all.
During those weeks confined to bed, Oscar rarely showed his face.
Longing at least to let him see Emilia, Liddell asked Mina to convey her wish. It was the first request she had ever made of her husband since coming to this house.
What came back, however, was a rejection of even that modest plea.
“His Lordship says he’s worried that visiting might place too much strain on your body so soon after childbirth.”
Mina spoke hesitantly.
Had those words truly come from Oscar himself?
Perhaps, moved by pity for her mistress, Mina had lied—told a kind lie so as not to hurt Liddell further.
Two weeks after she was finally allowed to leave her bed, Liddell’s condition improved enough for her to see Emilia again.
To her surprise, Oscar had provided their daughter with fine, soft baby clothes, a splendid cradle, and a room full of toys.
The nurse laughed, saying the room was so full of dolls and stuffed animals it might overflow.
It comforted Liddell to know that, even though the child was not a son, Oscar did not intend to treat her coldly.
But the moment she reached for the door of the sunlit nursery, a voice stopped her cold.
“What a lovely baby… Her hair, her eyes—they’re just like yours.”
She had never met that woman, yet she knew the voice at once.
The voice of that beautiful woman from the village—the one like the sun itself.
Liddell froze in place. Then another voice reached her ears—Oscar’s.
“Would you like to hold her?”
Never before had she heard him speak in such a gentle tone.
So that was how he sounded when speaking to someone he loved.
“Are you sure? You said she’s shy with strangers… I’d hate to make her cry.”
“Don’t hold back. You’re special.”
The words struck Liddell like a blow to the head.
A faint rustle followed—the sound of fabric, perhaps the blanket covering Emilia—and then a soft sigh from the woman.
But Emilia did not cry.
“She’s adorable… I’ve never felt such tenderness before.”
“Just as I thought. Emilia seems happy in your arms. Please, come see her often, Charlotte.”
“Of course, Oscar.”
The woman’s meltingly sweet tone painted an image so vivid Liddell could almost see her smile.
She did not remember how she managed to return to her room after that.
When she next became aware, Mina stood before her, face full of worry, gently shaking her mistress’s shoulders and calling her name.
Days passed, but Liddell could not drive the memory from her mind—the sound of Oscar’s voice saying that woman’s name.
Charlotte.
The woman loved by Oscar so deeply that even the vice commander’s sister could not compare.
In her heart, a small crack sounded—snap.
Quietly, quietly…
Like a flower denied water, Liddell began to wither, little by little, while still alive.
Every fever left her weaker. She could hardly eat, nor could she find the will to read—the one pastime she had loved.
It was in those hollow days that Oscar, unexpectedly, came to see her.
He frowned upon seeing how much thinner she had grown. The words that followed were not of affection, but of polite dismissal.
“There’s a villa at the edge of the domain—my mother’s favorite place. The air is mild there, and the people kind. You should rest there for a while. Don’t trouble yourself about the castle or Emilia. Everything will be taken care of.”
Even a “useless” wife like her was not so foolish as to miss his meaning.
She had been cast aside.
With the vice commander’s sister to manage the castle, and that beautiful woman to care for Emilia, Oscar had no need for Liddell—never had, and never would.
Once she left, she would never return.
But she would not cling or make a scene. She would not burden him further.
“Thank you for your concern. I’ll do as you suggest.”
Because of her illness, Oscar could now send her away under the respectable pretext of convalescence.
No one could accuse him of cruelty; he could discard an unwanted wife without reproach.
Perhaps, she thought faintly, she had been of some small use to him after all.
Her lips, dry and cracked, curved into a smile. It was, she thought, a perfect smile.
On the morning of her departure, Oscar even came to see her off.
“The caretakers there are a kind old couple. Rest without worry.”
Those parting words were, she realized, the last kindness he would ever offer her—as a man speaking to a woman who had once been his wife in name alone.
“I love you.”
Liddell whispered the words as she kissed her daughter’s pale cheek.
No matter how far apart they would be, Emilia would forever be her treasure.
“Goodbye.”
Not I’ll be back, nor See you soon, but a final farewell.
Through the carriage window, she watched her husband holding their infant daughter. Even after they dwindled to tiny dots in the distance, she could not look away—wanting to etch their faces into her memory forever.
But no one could have foreseen that soon, Liddell’s eyes would close forever.
The carriage had entered a forest some distance from the castle. After a short rest, the party was ready to resume the journey to the villa when strange sounds arose outside.
Groans—perhaps from the guards.
Alarmed, Liddell exchanged a glance with Mina.
“H-hey! What’s going on? Are you all right?”
The driver’s voice shouted in confusion, followed by the clatter of heavy metal hitting the ground.
Even without looking, Liddell knew—the armored guards had fallen.
“What’s happening out there?!”
Before the driver could finish, rough shouts filled the air, mingled with the neighing of frightened horses.
“Who are you people?! What are you—Aaaaagh!!”
The scream that followed was like nothing one would ever hear in an ordinary life.
Liddell and Mina clung to each other, trembling violently.
The metallic clatter continued—but it wasn’t the familiar sound of their guards’ armor. It was something else, something harsher.
Their teeth chattered uncontrollably. Then, with a crash, the carriage door burst open.
Men stood outside—strangers, filthy and bloodstained.
Their clothes were soiled, their faces coarse and cruel.
There was no sound of horses breathing, no voice of the driver. Liddell and Mina understood what that meant almost at once.
“P-princess, please—hide behind me!”
Mina’s face was pale with terror, yet she stepped forward bravely, determined to protect her mistress.
But one of the men grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the carriage. Her scream echoed through the forest.
“Mina!”
Forgetting fear, Liddell tried to leap out after her—but a large man blocked the doorway.
A burly brute with a rough beard and vicious eyes. His bearing suggested he was the leader of the bandits.
“So you’re the lady, huh? Bit too thin, but prettier than the rumors said. Heh… this’ll be fun.”
Seeing his vile grin, Liddell knew what awaited her.
As he approached, she quietly reached for the ribbon at her waist, fingers brushing something hard and cold.
The man’s hand reached for her chest—and in that instant, Liddell drew the dagger hidden there and slashed with all her might.
She hadn’t aimed; she’d simply acted on instinct.
By chance—or fate—the blade cut off his ear.
The man’s scream was hideous.
He clutched his bleeding head and fell to his knees.
Liddell pressed the dagger to his throat and shouted, surprising even herself with her strength.
“Stay back! If you move, this man dies!”
The others hesitated, unsettled by their leader’s injury.
Seizing the moment, Liddell looked toward Mina, who had fallen near a tree, urging her silently to run.
Several of the bandits’ horses stood untethered nearby.
Mina was skilled at riding.
Together, they might not escape—but Mina alone could.
If they both stayed, they would die together.
Tears welled in Mina’s eyes as she shook her head.
“I can’t leave you, my lady…!”
That was the only time Mina ever disobeyed her mistress’s order.
And precisely because she was so loyal, Liddell wanted her to live.
“Go get help! Go—now!!”
Drawing a deep breath, Liddell screamed.
It was the first time she had ever raised her voice—usually so quiet and meek, now trembling with power.
Startled, Mina turned, tears flying, and leapt onto a horse.
The wounded man recovered almost at that same moment.
Liddell’s brief relief cost her—he tore free from her grasp and shoved her hard to the ground.
It was a miracle she still held the dagger.
She had told Mina to get help—but by the time anyone returned, everything would surely be over.
If the bandits didn’t kill her outright, they would do something far worse.
And when that happened, even if she lived, Oscar’s honor would be destroyed.
He would become the man whose wife was defiled by bandits.
That thought horrified her more than death itself.
Ah… so that was it.
Touching the dagger’s hilt, she remembered what Oscar had once told her.
“The wife of a knight must always carry a dagger, in case ruffians ever threaten her honor. Keep it with you always, and you’ll learn what it means to protect your husband’s name.”
He had given her that dagger—for this very moment.
Now she was the knight’s wife facing ruin, and if she were defiled, it would disgrace her husband.
A faint smile touched her lips.
The men shouted angrily—“What the hell are you laughing at?!”—but their voices no longer reached her.
She was happy—because at last, there was something she could do for him.
Pressing the blade to her throat, she pushed firmly—and drew it across in one swift motion.
Red—red blood spilled like rain.
Warmth spread across her skin, and her vision blurred.
Despite cutting her own throat, there was surprisingly little pain—only a dull ache in her chest.
I’m sorry… and thank you.
The first words were for Emilia.
The second, for Oscar.
The words never reached the air. They faded into the wind, soundless.
A single tear slipped from her closed, sapphire-blue eyes—
as if the last fragment of her life had taken physical form.
Even as her consciousness faded, Liddell could still feel the warmth of that tear.
Nothing more could be seen.
Nothing more could be heard.
All was swallowed by darkness.
And within that darkness, one scene rose in her mind.
“Are you all right, Princess Princia? Allow me to escort you to the summer palace.”
Black uniform, silver aiguillette.
A gloved hand, extended with hesitant courtesy.
Oscar’s clear, wintry-blue eyes—eyes she had loved so dearly.
That was Liddell la Sylphilia di Arling’s final memory.
Thus ended the too-short life of the bride scorned as the “failed princess”, unloved by her husband.
