Chapter 02
Dante lounged lazily against the seat, flicking through the papers in his hand before his brow creased with irritation.
“Would it be faster for me to finish reading this entire report, or to arrive at the palace where they’re so desperately waiting for me?”
The words, low and edged like the growl of a beast, carried an undercurrent of menace.
His voice reverberated through the car, making his attendant flinch.
“M-my apologies, Your Grace. Since even the bourgeoisie were invited to this year’s Crown Prince’s birthday banquet… the roads are terribly congested.”
The attendant risked a glance at the rearview mirror, but the instant his gaze met Dante’s gleaming golden eyes, he hastily looked away.
His fingers clenched the steering wheel as though it were a lifeline, and his teeth worried at his lip in nervous agitation.
The Grand Duke of Venachert was a man obsessed with time.
He wasted not even a single minute.
His habit was to arrive everywhere at least thirty minutes ahead of schedule.
Yet now he was trapped in this unmoving line of carriages and automobiles, forced to squander precious hours in the most meaningless way possible.
“If this thing moves slower than a carriage, what’s the point of riding it?”
Dante clicked his tongue sharply, his voice cold as a knife’s edge.
“I-I’ll accelerate the moment the road clears, Your Grace.”
What in the world were those carriages and cars at the very front doing?
Truthfully, the attendant was just as close to bursting with frustration.
All he could do was pray desperately for the jammed court road to unclog.
At last, Dante tossed the shabby report he had been perusing aside, deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble.
He turned his head toward the window.
The attendant had not lied.
Beyond the glass, opulent carriages and gleaming automobiles were wedged so tightly across the narrow road that not a hair’s breadth of space remained between them.
All this pomp and traffic—for nothing more than clapping and fawning over the Crown Prince on his birthday.
In Dante’s eyes, they were all worthless, idiotic creatures.
With another irritated sigh, he flicked a glance at the watch on his wrist.
The hour hand had already moved forward by one mark.
An entire hour, wasted here in traffic.
Enough time for him to have met with at least two new investors.
His finger tapped impatiently against his crossed leg, a long-ingrained habit whenever something displeased him.
How many times had he tapped before the attendant finally spoke again, this time with a hint of relief in his voice?
“The road’s beginning to clear, Your Grace. We should arrive shortly.”
The car eased forward, gaining speed.
Dante cast a brief look at the crimson-tinged light seeping through the window, then closed his eyes.
***
“You seem to be suffering from depression.”
After a careful series of examinations, the chief physician of Behern Palace delivered his diagnosis in a cautious tone.
“…Depression?”
It was not Riena herself but Margaret standing beside her who reacted in shock.
“Benjamin, are you saying Her Ladyship isn’t ill, but merely… depressed?”
“Yes, madam. It appears so. Her recent fatigue and drowsiness all seem to stem from this condition.”
Margaret’s face was painted with bewilderment.
For weeks now, the Grand Duchess had barely eaten and spent most of her days half-asleep.
Even a short walk left her exhausted within minutes.
The symptoms bore a disturbing resemblance to the absurd rumors whispered among the servants—rumors Margaret had dismissed but never fully shaken.
Perhaps it was fortunate, then, that it wasn’t a physical ailment after all.
Gathering herself quickly, as only a seasoned head maid could, Margaret began to question Benjamin insistently about how such melancholy might be eased.
Riena, reclining against the bed, listened silently to their exchange.
…Depression.
At least it wasn’t some outlandish misdiagnosis like pregnancy.
She had already sensed the rumours spreading through the palace.
The sidelong glances at her stomach, the veiled words of concern from the maids—it was all too obvious.
But such foolish gossip wasn’t worth correcting.
And, in truth, the symptoms did resemble it.
Enough so that she could understand why others might think it.
A faint, bitter smile touched her lips as she fixed her gaze on Margaret.
“…Madam Margaret, I’m thirsty.”
“I’ll have a maid bring something at once—”
“No. I’d prefer the tea you brew yourself. Please bring three cups, one for Doctor Benjamin as well.”
Riena’s smile was soft, but Margaret’s eyes widened in surprise.
She had interrupted.
In all of Margaret’s memory, Riena had never cut someone off mid-sentence.
She always waited patiently, listening until the other finished before speaking.
And Margaret, who had served as head maid for twenty years, was no fool.
She caught the meaning immediately.
Her lips parted as though to protest, but no words came.
At last, she pressed them shut and quietly left the room.
Riena waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded completely before she spoke again.
“No one knows my body better than I do. Tell me honestly, what illness do I have?”
Depression? Impossible.
Whatever this suffocating tightness in her chest was, it was real.
Benjamin was no second-rate doctor.
He had long served as the palace physician, and he would never mistake something so serious.
He knew.
Her eyes lingered on him, unblinking.
“When you listened to my heart with the stethoscope earlier… it wasn’t good, was it?”
She had seen the fleeting shadow cross his face, seen his hand tremble faintly on the stethoscope.
It had been serious.
He had simply chosen to hide it.
The reason was obvious: he knew her past.
Once, she had been nothing but a bruised beggar girl on the streets—who could have imagined such a creature becoming Grand Duchess overnight?
He must have worried about what fate awaited a woman with no family, no backing, no love from her husband.
Illness would mean only one thing: dismissal.
And if word of it leaked?
His own position would be at risk.
Confronted with her direct question, Benjamin faltered, lips moving soundlessly before he finally nodded.
“Your Ladyship, you’ve been unwell for quite some time, haven’t you?”
“You can speak freely when it’s just us, Uncle.”
Riena’s smile was gentle.
“Please. Tell me the truth, without sparing me. Is it a cruel illness?”
“…I hardly know how to say it.”
“Uncle.”
Her quiet insistence left him no choice.
“…Listen well. At least here in Bermark, this illness cannot be cured.”
Her eyes widened.
“It is bradycardia. Your heart beats far slower than most. Rare, and with no known treatment.”
Her voice cut in, calm but steady.
“It means I don’t have long, doesn’t it?”
“…Medication can slow it. Two years, perhaps, at best.”
“I see. And the symptoms?”
“Outwardly, none. Only the occasional cough—sometimes with blood. But with careful treatment, even that can be managed. What matters most is that you avoid stress.”
Riena inclined her head slightly.
Benjamin, however, felt his chest tighten.
She sat there with the serene composure of someone already resigned to death.
She had always been that way—mature beyond her years, even as a child covered in bruises, hiding her pain as best she could.
How much must she have endured to become this way?
He glanced toward the door, ensuring no one was near, before asking softly, “When did it begin? You must have felt ill long before this.”
She hesitated.
How long has it been?
It was hard to say.
The heaviness in her chest had been constant for over a year.
“At first it wasn’t so bad. But a few months ago, it worsened. Sometimes… coughing brings blood.”
“Why didn’t you summon me sooner? If you had—”
She shook her head slowly, lips curved in a faint, ironic smile.
“If the Grand Duke learned I was ill, he’d cast me out. Why would he keep a useless duchess? And… even if that weren’t reason enough, you know how desperately I’ve wanted to leave this life.”
She had never once wished to live—not since she was five years old, perhaps.
By then her drunken father had driven her mother away, and his rage had turned on the daughter who resembled her.
Beatings until she collapsed, a brief reprieve, then more.
“Since the day you first treated me, when I was left half-dead on the ground… I’ve always been like this.”
She laughed faintly at the memory.
She should have run then.
Should have died then.
Her gaze drifted to the window, unable to bear the pity in Benjamin’s eyes.
Her dark brown irises caught the light, tinged with red as the setting sun spilled through.
She had seen countless sunsets, yet today seemed strangely different, drawing bitter laughter from her lips.
“I’m not sad. But it does feel… unfair. If I had known, I’d have tried to run at least once.”
Her calm voice wavered, just barely.
The bitter truth, once spoken, left only emptiness.
So this was her end.
After all her stubborn endurance, to be defeated so pitifully, by an illness.
Her lips trembled as she released a hollow laugh that sounded more like a sigh.
Curious about the background