Chapter : 41
As Cecilia looked over the names of the families written on the invitation envelopes, she found that most of them belonged to factions aligned with the emperor.
They must want to gawk at me like I’m some monkey at a zoo.
Perhaps they intended to humiliate the face of the temple or try to break her spirit.
Well, I’m not going anyway.
Cecilia indifferently flipped through the invitations one after another.
She had no desire to throw herself into the middle of a battle of wills. More importantly, she had no idea when another danger might arise, so she needed to be careful.
However, when she reached almost the very last invitation, her hand suddenly stopped.
It was an envelope with a black background and gold trim, decorated in a familiar style.
No way.
Cecilia opened the invitation and checked the sender.
As expected, it had come from the imperial family, but the sender wasn’t the emperor.
The person who had invited her was Regina Hill Rishatria.
The only imperial princess of the Rishatria Empire.
Cecilia recalled the information about the imperial family she had gathered before leaving for the capital.
The emperor had two children in total: a princess and a prince.
Of the two, the princess was said to be an intelligent and extraordinary person who closely resembled the current emperor, but she had been born with a frail constitution.
That was why most people assumed that the current succession would go to the prince rather than the princess.
Then why would someone like that invite me?
They had no connection whatsoever, and she would be seeing the princess at the banquet soon anyway. There was no reason for the princess to invite her privately.
Cecilia couldn’t even begin to guess what the princess was thinking.
It would be nice if Rien were here at times like this.
Putting the matter of trust aside, his knowledge and opinions would have been quite useful.
But she soon shook those thoughts away.
I’ll just ask the butler.
Having made her decision, Cecilia left the room with the invitation in hand.
For some reason, the mansion seemed quieter than usual. She had almost reached the bottom of the main staircase when—
She spotted someone standing motionless near the entrance.
There was little doubt about the identity of the suspicious man wearing a dark, gloomy robe. He was apparently someone who could enter the mansion without being stopped by the knights.
Cecilia slowly approached the motionless figure.
“Rien? You’re back?”
“I have returned, Lady Cecilia.”
“Where on earth have you been all this time…?”
She had intended to demand to know where he had been and what he had been doing without showing even the slightest trace of himself.
But Cecilia stopped speaking.
His face, visible beneath the hood of his robe, was deathly pale.
The sight of the cold sweat covering him made her heart sink.
“What happened to you? Are you sick?”
Cecilia hurriedly reached out and pushed back the hood of his robe. Under the light, she could see numerous red scratches that had yet to heal, covering his cheeks, the corners of his eyes, and even the back of his neck.
“What happened to you? Did you get into a fight? Don’t tell me someone hit you?”
Startled, she carefully examined the area around his cheek.
He gave a weak, almost helpless smile.
“…You’re smiling right now?”
“Because I’m happy. That you’re worried about me, and that you’re touching me without hesitation.”
I’m very, very happy.
Rien murmured softly as he rubbed his cheek against her palm.
The gesture was harmless, almost like that of a young, fragile animal, but Cecilia flinched and instinctively withdrew her hand.
His body was astonishingly cold.
Almost like a corpse.
Perhaps he interpreted her reaction as rejection, because he gloomily corrected himself.
“I misspoke. It’s just… your hand is warm. That’s all.”
Seeing him carefully watching her reaction even while he was in pain made something sharp and prickly stab at her chest.
Cecilia, troubled, finally withdrew her hand.
Having lost the source of warmth that had been of little use to him anyway, Rien looked as miserable as a puppy that had been rejected by its owner.
Cecilia tightly clenched the hand that still remembered the softness of his cheek. She swallowed the sigh rising in her chest and lowered her troubled gaze to the floor.
“…”
“…”
The uncomfortable silence didn’t last long.
He called out to her in a muffled voice.
“Lady Cecilia.”
“…Yes?”
“Have I done something wrong to you?”
She had deliberately been keeping her distance to avoid showing him that she suspected him.
It seemed that, ironically, her efforts had made him notice the strange distance and discomfort between them.
Even though he could barely keep himself upright, he clung to her sleeve.
“No, surely I must have done something stupid again.”
“…”
“If you just tell me what it is, I’ll fix anything. So…!”
Looking at his unstable state, Cecilia opened and closed her mouth helplessly.
What could she say?
That she suspected him of being the person trying to kill her?
That because of that, she could no longer trust even the emotions he showed her?
And yet she kept worrying about him, wanting to reach out to him, leaving her mind in complete turmoil?
She couldn’t say any of it.
Cecilia deliberately kept her voice calm and changed the subject.
“You haven’t done anything wrong. Now, don’t just stand here. Let’s go to your room first.”
He looked as though he might collapse at any moment, so she needed to get him lying down.
Growing anxious, Cecilia didn’t call for the knights or servants. She personally supported Rien.
She led him toward the guest room assigned to him, his pace noticeably slower than usual.
Since the bed had never been used, it was somewhat cold. She sat him down upon it.
Before he lay down, she reached out to remove his robe.
But Rien, looking even more depressed than before, quietly shook his head.
“It’s all right. Thank you for helping me. I’ll be fine after sleeping for a while. So you don’t need to worry about me.”
“Don’t say something ridiculous.”
You can’t even take your clothes off by yourself. What are you talking about?
His condition was far worse than she had expected.
His lips were blue from the pressure, and his broad shoulders were trembling like leaves in the wind. His chest rose and fell harshly, his breathing completely unstable.
Should I call Sir Miguel?
With Miguel’s tremendous divine power, perhaps he could make Rien’s condition improve quickly.
No. Divine power might be bad for a mage’s body.
He had said that the two powers were fundamentally different. They might not harmonize and could instead cause problems.
Even if that wasn’t the case, if Rien was in this condition, Miguel would inevitably discover his true identity.
Then I wouldn’t be able to keep him by my side anymore.
…How ridiculous.
She didn’t trust him and was pushing him away, yet why was she worrying about something like this?
She almost felt disgusted with herself for being so contradictory.
Cecilia gave a bitter smile before quickly casting aside her distracting thoughts.
For now, she decided she would at least call a doctor.
“Just hold on a little longer. I’ll call a doctor.”
Cecilia hurriedly turned around.
But before she could even take a step, her sleeve was gently caught.
“I’m really fine. It’s nothing serious. I’ll recover on my own.”
“Nothing serious? Look in a mirror before saying that!”
For some reason, anger suddenly surged through her, and she snapped.
She disliked how he had strangely shrunk into himself after she avoided answering him.
She also hated the way he pretended to be fine when he could barely even keep himself upright.
No.
That wasn’t what truly bothered her.
Why was he so suspicious?
Why did she have to suspect him?
And why did that fact keep getting under her skin at every turn?
As Cecilia furrowed her brows fiercely, Rien fidgeted like a child who had committed a grave offense before finally confessing.
“There’s no point calling a doctor, a healing mage, or even a priest. None of them will be able to heal me anyway.”
“Why? Is there really something seriously wrong with you? They can’t treat you?”
“No, it’s not that… Sometimes, when I use too much magic, I end up bedridden like this. Until my mana returns, no treatment will help.”
If even the Tower Master himself could be reduced to this state, what kind of magic had he used, and why had he needed to use it?
The questions rose all the way to Cecilia’s throat, but she ultimately swallowed them.
What good would it do to interrogate someone who’s sick?
Cecilia let out a deep sigh and trudged toward the door.
Rather than storming out in anger, however, she called over a nearby servant.
For Rien, whose lips were trembling from the cold, she ordered them to light a fire in the fireplace despite the season. She also asked them to bring warm water and painkillers.
After giving him the medicine, she reluctantly helped him remove his robe and carefully tucked the thick blanket up to his neck.
“For now, get some rest.”
But even at her almost commanding insistence, Rien couldn’t comfortably close his eyes. His gaze stubbornly followed her every movement.
As though afraid she would leave his side.
As though afraid she would abandon him.
He couldn’t even hide his anxiety.
In the end, Cecilia dragged a chair over beside Rien and sank into it.
“I’m not going anywhere, so rest. Please.”
“…Yes.”
Only then did his eyelids slowly close.
Perhaps he really had been pushing himself too hard, because he immediately fell asleep as though he had passed out.
Cecilia carefully wiped the cold sweat from his face with a towel soaked in warm water.
What happened to him?
What on earth had he been doing?
What was his true identity?
Could the reason he had been injured like this somehow be related to his work?
He had been suspiciously absent for so long without explaining why, and his current precarious condition was equally suspicious.
And yet, instead of finding him unsettling, she felt sorry for him.
What am I supposed to do now?
She continued asking herself questions without answers as she quietly watched the sleeping Rien.
The scarlet flames of the fireplace flickered.
Bathed in that sunset-like glow, he looked lonely, as though he were the only person left in the world.
No.
He simply looked pitiful.
The hair stuck to his forehead with cold sweat.
The bridge of his nose, painfully wrinkled.
The faint groans swallowed back into his throat.
And then—
“…Don’t abandon me.”
The feeble plea slipped through his dry lips, so faint it seemed as though it might disappear at any moment.
Cecilia watched him in turmoil, her expression finally twisting with distress.
“…What exactly do you want to do to me?”
She murmured the words hollowly.
But there was still no answer.
