ILTDAMH | CHAPTER 33

Chapter 33

 I Love You

“Are you saying… the curse has truly been lifted?”

Moses smiled softly and nodded at Tablo’s stunned expression.

The curse that could only be broken by a love deep enough to give one’s life—lifted?

Tablo’s mind flashed to the image of a haggard, sleepless Mercian, then to Ruan lying still, the faint lines on his wrist—marks of the curse—vanished without a trace.

He whispered in awe.

“Remarkable… That duchess must be extraordinary. The man who never showed a hint of feeling, who only believed that dying for the Empire was the most honorable death, that only the battlefield was a worthy grave… And she’s turned him into someone willing to stake his very life for love. Incredible. Still… this can’t be spoken of, not yet. Elder, please—keep this a secret for now.”

“Of course,” the elder replied gravely. “After all the Duke has done for us, it’s the least I can do. How fortunate, that the curse is finally gone.”

“My thanks, Edward. Allow me to see you out.”

Tablo cast one last look at the sleeping Ruan before leaving the room with Moses.

***

“Marquess, how is Ruan?”

“Do not worry. He will wake within two or three days. But… as you know, the poison has taken its toll. He may not regain his strength so quickly.”

“He will wake, though? Truly?”

Seeing Mercian’s once-round face now sunken with worry, Tablo hesitated.

He hated lying, yet forced a reassuring smile.

“Yes, my lady. Do not worry.”

“Thank you—thank you so much. And please give my gratitude to the physician as well.”

Moses waved his hands humbly.

“No need, my lady. I merely tended to the Duke for a little while. That is all. Now, I must take my leave…”

After Moses and Tablo departed, Mercian sat quietly by Ruan’s bedside, eyes fixed on him.

I love you.

Since the moment Ruan had mouthed those words to her, they echoed endlessly in her mind.

She had endured so well until now.

Even when her heart raced as he stole glances at her during meals, his gaze was warm and tender…

Even when she heard his footsteps pacing outside her chamber at night, lingering just to see her once more…

Even when she awoke in the dark to find herself nestled in his arms, his hand stroking her gently, so carefully—as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

She would feign sleep just to savor the warmth of his touch.

She told herself it was nothing.

He would leave her soon anyway.

These fleeting feelings were meaningless—just passing moments.

So she had buried them deep, denying them at every turn.

But then…

The moment she saw him collapse before her.

The moment she realized he could be torn away from her forever.

The moment he looked at her with desperate eyes and whispered, I love you.

The walls around her heart shattered.

The feelings she had hidden away, guarded so fiercely, surged up beyond her control.

What was she to do now?

She could neither conceal this love, nor destroy it.

And yet, in a month and a half, he would be gone.

Could she truly live on, carrying this love that overflowed from her heart, in a world without him?

“Ruan… Confessing to me like this, it’s unfair, you know? Do you know how hard I fought to restrain myself? Just a month and a half more and I could have left the ducal house quietly. Why did you have to do this to me now? Do you know—when your heart stopped beating, mine stopped too? When I clung to you and finally heard the faint sound of your heart again, I felt like I could breathe once more. You’ve shaken the love I’ve fought so desperately to contain until it’s beyond my power to control. And yet… there you lie, sleeping, while I’m left drowning in it. I hate you for that. I hate you so much… and yet, I love you. So please—wake up. Please, wake up.”

As Mercian whispered through trembling lips, Ruan’s fingers twitched faintly.

Unaware, she lingered a little longer by his side before quietly leaving the room.

Days later.

The Imperial Gazette blazed with headlines:

“Duke Luan Canoluph—Hero of the Empire, adored by the people—has passed away. Succumbing at last to the poison contracted in battle, he departed this life a month before his predicted six-month limit.”

The news spread like wildfire across the Empire.

Six months later.

Far from the capital, in the little town of Phenomenon, Mercian busied herself with sandwich-making in her modest shop.

“Rosaline!!”

Zelda entered with a bright smile, arms laden with parcels. 

Mercian set aside the sandwich she’d been preparing and quickly plated it, hurrying over to greet her.

“Zelda, what is all this?”

“Hehe, I went to the capital and found some new teas. I bought them all and thought you might like some.”

“The… capital?”

At that word, Mercian’s expression faltered for the briefest moment before she forced a gentle smile, leaning over to examine the tea.

“Oh—chamomile.”

“What is it? Trouble sleeping? Chamomile’s wonderful for that.”

“No, no. It’s just… someone I once knew struggled with insomnia. They’re fine now. I’ll take this one, thank you.”

“Good, then. And—ah, do you have any sandwiches left?”

Mercian chuckled, glancing at the empty shelf behind the counter.

“I thought you’d be coming, so I saved one for you. Wait just a moment.”

As she disappeared into the back, Zelda gathered up the teas she had spread on the table.

“Here you are,” Mercian said, returning with a plate.

“Thank you. You’re the best, Rosaline. I’ll see you soon.”

After Zelda left, Mercian boiled water and steeped the chamomile tea.

“Hm… it’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

She had always kept it ready, back when Ruan was alive—back when she knew he suffered from sleepless nights.

Ruan… wherever you are now, there must be no pain. No sleepless nights.

Mercian lifted the cup to her lips, took a small sip, and opened the window beside her.

The sunlight streamed in, warm and quiet.

When I first came here, it was early February. Now June is already upon us.

“I wonder… How is everyone doing?”

Just as Tablo had promised, Ruan awoke two days after falling unconscious.

Struggling for breath, he had whispered to her that she mustn’t worry anymore, that he would never again leave her alone, that he would tell her in words all the things he had once been too afraid to say—if only she would wait a little longer.

But in the end… he could not keep that promise.

Perhaps it was the Crown Prince’s provocation that worsened his condition, but even after waking he grew no stronger.

Blood poured endlessly from his lips.

And less than a week later—before even reaching the half-year limit the physicians had given him—Ruan was gone.

She had longed so desperately to see him one last time.

But Olivia, Tablo, everyone had begged her not to. 

They said his corpse was too dreadful to behold—whether from the poison or the blood he had lost, no one knew.

In the end, she had not been allowed to look upon him, not even in death.

The announcement was swift and merciless.

The Imperial Palace delayed Prince Harmon’s wedding, and instead held Duke Ruan Canoluph’s funeral as a full state ceremony, five days of mourning.

The Empire wept as one for its fallen hero, and when the rites were done, two more weeks of public mourning were declared for the man who had departed so suddenly.

Yet even as the coffin was lowered, Mercian could not believe it.

Hadn’t he, just the night before, stroked her hair and whispered that he loved her?

Hadn’t he promised he would come to her soon, if only she waited?

Perhaps the heavens themselves grieved with her, for through the five days of his funeral rites, the skies poured down winter rain.

When at last he was laid to rest in the ducal family’s cemetery, Mercian returned to her chambers and collapsed in tears.

After the Crown Prince’s incident, she had not been able to leave the ducal estate. 

The house in Yoteri Village had gone unclaimed.

She had nowhere to go.

And yet, she could not remain in the ducal house now that Ruan was gone.

So on that day, beneath sheets of torrential rain, she slipped away in secret.

She left behind everything—one thousand gold coins saved for living expenses, every dress and jewel she had received as the Duke’s wife, even the name Mercian Canoluph.

The estate was always well-guarded by knights, but after the funeral they had been busy preparing mourning banners and decorations. 

For once, no one stood watch outside the walls.

That was how she managed to vanish, unseen, into the storm.

She had left because staying had become unbearable. 

Yet she had nowhere to go.

So she walked aimlessly, letting the downpour drench her until she collapsed.

It was Zelda who found her. 

Zelda, who carried her out of the rain, nursed her through a fever that nearly claimed her life, and listened when, broken and trembling, she admitted she had no home to return to.

Zelda took her to Phenomenon, a quiet village far from the capital.

Even there, Mercian remained bedridden for over a month.

“Thank you… truly, for saving me,” she whispered when strength returned to her at last.

“No thanks needed. My name’s Zelda. And come to think of it, I don’t even know yours. What should I call you?”

“My name is… Me—Rosaline. Rosaline.”

Mercian chose the name in that instant. 

She wanted to forget everything of the ducal house, to begin anew. 

Even her name had to be reborn.

“Rosaline,” Zelda repeated warmly. “If you really have nowhere else to go, why not stay here in this village?”

“Here…? In this place?”

“It’s a bit far from the capital, and yes, it’s rural. But the people are kind. They’ll welcome you. I’ve already spoken to the village elder—he said he could repair an old house for you. You’d only need to pay a little rent each month.”

“Really? You mean… I could truly do that?”

“Of course. For now, just focus on recovering your strength. You can think about the rest later.”

And so Mercian—now calling herself Rosaline—settled in Phenomenon.

Elder Joseph gathered the villagers to help repair the abandoned house she had been given. 

What once looked ready to collapse soon transformed into a cozy, charming home.

“Wow… Are you sure I can really live here?”

“Of course, Rosaline. The rent is fifty penis a month.”

It was astonishingly cheap, especially considering that in the capital, rent usually cost between one and two hundred peins.

“S–so little?”

“Well, it was just a ruin. Better that someone lives here than standing empty. What do you say?”

“Th… thank you, Elder.”

Joseph’s kindly smile deepened.

“From this day on, you’re one of our villagers. Tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to everyone. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Yes!”

Phenomenon was a village of about a hundred souls—neither large nor tiny, but peaceful.

It wasn’t the vast plain with a great lake she had once dreamed of, but it had a small, gentle mountain for walking, a lovely little pond, and an air of quiet contentment.

Whatever Zelda had told the others about her, the villagers welcomed Rosaline warmly. 

Wounded as she was from Ruan’s death, she slowly began to adapt to life among them.

At first, she simply cooked the dishes she had once learned from the head chef, as a gesture of gratitude toward Zelda, who had saved her life. 

But Zelda insisted her cooking was far too good to be eaten by just one person. “Why not open a shop?” she suggested.

And so, the little sandwich shop was born.

What had begun as a way to cover her rent quickly flourished beyond expectation.

Four months later, Rosaline had not only earned her living but also bought the once-abandoned house outright, making it truly her own.

Now she raised chickens, ducks, and a dog, tended a small garden patch, and lived the simple life she had always longed for.

Her days were full: rising with the sun to feed the animals, watering the garden, working in her shop selling sandwiches until dusk, then returning home to close out the day in silence.

Yet in the rare still moments—when the kettle whistled, or when she sipped tea by the window—thoughts of Ruan, of the ducal household, of Olivia, would surface unbidden.

“If they could see me now… they’d be shocked.”

She murmured this as she looked into the mirror.

The illness that had gripped her after Ruan’s death had stolen much of her weight, leaving her a shadow of her former self.

Even now, though she had regained some strength, she was only half the woman she once was.

And her hair—once long and flowing—had been cut to her shoulders, too inconvenient to manage alone.

The reflection staring back bore little resemblance to the Mercian she once had been.

Enough daydreaming. It’s time to get to work.

Rosaline drained the last of her chamomile tea, tidied the shop, and began preparing sandwiches for the day.