“Mother.”
In the haze of half-sleep, someone was calling out to Camilla.
“Mother, wake up.”
(…Who?)
She tried to respond, her awareness muffled as though wrapped in fog.
The only one who could call her “Mother” was her beloved daughter, Deidre. Yet Deidre had only just learned to say “Mama,” and there was no way she could speak with such a composed, grown voice.
“Mother, Mother… help me!”
Camilla jolted awake.
She sprang upright in bed, staring up at the ceiling of the bedchamber, swallowed by the deep darkness of night.
A strange dream had woken her. Yet she was not drenched in sweat like after a nightmare, nor was her heart racing wildly.
Instead she felt a vague, creeping unease.
“Help me!”
“…Deidre?”
An overwhelming anxiety seized her. Camilla slipped quietly into her slippers.
The banquet had ended three days ago, and Luke would return in four more. If nothing happened until then, that would be enough. She would just look at Deidre’s sleeping face, then return to bed.
The nursery lay in the corner of the second floor, opposite the lady’s chamber and the couple’s bedroom. It was the sunniest room in the estate. Camilla had even told Luke in her letters that she was using this room for Deidre.
Only Camilla and the butler held keys to the nursery. One additional key was kept in a locked case for the nursemaids.
Camilla inserted her key and gently turned the doorknob.
Inside the dim room, she saw dark figures standing around the crib, and she screamed.
“Deidre!?”
“…Tch! The princess is here!”
The figures turned sharply toward her. The instant Camilla noticed that one of them held something like a medical syringe, shock and fear vanished at once, replaced by raw instinct.
“Don’t touch my daughter!”
She charged forward without thinking, slamming into one of the dark shapes and snatching Deidre from the crib. Deidre slept peacefully, and at a glance there were no marks where a needle had pierced her skin.
As Camilla seized Deidre, one of the figures clicked their tongue.
“Damn it.”
“What about the drug?”
“No good.”
At their exchange, the strength drained from Camilla’s legs.
Thank goodness. She had made it in time.
Even so, fury boiled within her chest.
“Who are you? What are you trying to do to my daughter?”
Clutching Deidre tightly against her chest, Camilla shouted. The intruders hesitated and stepped back.
Only then did she notice the open window. They had entered from outside, never expecting Camilla to appear.
After a moment, one of them stepped forward.
“Princess Camilla. I’ll give you fair warning. Hand over the child. If you do, we’ll spare your life.”
“I refuse. I won’t live by sacrificing my daughter!”
Camilla shouted, her eyes blazing.
Of course she did not want to die. She wanted to live.
But living by handing over her daughter would be worse than death.
Her precious Deidre. Her one and only beloved child.
“I look forward to the day I can meet Deidre.”
(It’s all right, Deidre. I will make sure you meet your father.)
She forced her trembling legs to move and tried to run.
Pain exploded as her hair was yanked from behind, wrenching her backward.
“Ah…!”
“What now? Kill the princess too?”
“We have no choice.”
“The child comes first.”
With their decision made, one of them pulled something from inside his coat.
(That is…?)
Before Camilla could see it clearly, the object was thrown.
Straight toward Deidre in her arms.
“I look forward to the day I can meet Deidre.”
(Luke…!)
The instant her husband’s words flashed through her mind, Camilla twisted her body. The thrown object struck her waist instead, and something lukewarm splashed across her back.
“Tch!”
Released by the hand gripping her hair, Camilla collapsed to the floor. Deidre woke and began to cry.
As a dull pain spread across her back, Camilla desperately checked her daughter.
Deidre was unharmed. None of the liquid had touched her.
(Thank goodness…)
Still holding Deidre close, Camilla noticed something strange.
Her back felt unnaturally cold.
It was not just the night air from the open window. Sensation seemed to be draining from her body, little by little.
(…What’s happening? I feel… lightheaded.)
Perhaps because of the liquid on her back, her senses slowly faded. Even the sound of the intruders rushing about grew distant and unclear.
Then–
“Camilla!?”
A voice reached her.
A voice she should not have been hearing yet rang clearly in her ears. Amid the servants’ cries, firm footsteps approached.
“Camilla! Are you all right!?”
“…Luke?”
That voice.
It was lower than the last time she had heard it, but there was no mistaking it.
Her husband, Luke.
She wanted to lift her head. She wanted him to see Deidre’s face. But her neck would not move, and her arms would not respond.
Deidre, however, was crying and thrashing energetically. Unlike Camilla, she was full of life.
(I… I protected her.)
“Luke… are you there? I can’t see… I can’t see…”
“I’m here. It’s me, Luke.”
Realizing she could not move, Luke crouched down.
Then Camilla’s eyelids stiffened and refused to open. Her vision faded completely.
(Am I… dying? Is this what it feels like, when death comes?)
Only her lips moved, drawing shallow breaths.
Even her hearing slipped away, and Luke’s voice calling her name vanished.
“I look forward to the day I can meet Deidre.”
“Lu… ke…”
She forced her lips to move one last time and smiled.
“Please… take care of Deidre.”
She had protected Luke’s child.
Now she wanted him to hold her in her place.
To pour all his love into her.
To protect her, always.
Camilla’s lips stopped moving, frozen in a faint smile.
Her consciousness drifted farther and farther away, until at last, there was nothing at all.
