For the Savior’s Regret - ✿ dusk blossoms ✿

By the time Delilah finally reached the mansion that night, every ounce of strength had drained from her.

She shut the door behind her and slumped against it, pressing her trembling hands over her face.

Another day of misfortune. One among countless others. Nothing new, yesterday, today, tomorrow, it would all be the same. Even so, no matter how she tried to steel herself, every day’s misery brought a new kind of pain.

When will I ever grow numb to unhappiness? No matter how she searched, there was no answer.

Taking a deep breath into her palms, Delilah straightened her body and fixed her clothes and expression.

She turned the doorknob slowly, careful not to wake the boy sleeping in the first room on the second floor. A sliver of faint light spread across the floor, reaching the peaceful face of the child asleep in bed.

Leaving the door open just enough for a hint of light, Delilah stepped closer. She opened the bedside drawer and counted the medicine packets inside. Only when she’d finished did her shoulders ease slightly. There was enough to last until the day after tomorrow.

All of this tragedy had begun two and a half years after Delilah left for Cassley Girls’ Academy. The letter had come while she was studying abroad, news that her once-healthy mother had fallen ill.

“You’re the eldest daughter. Isn’t it your duty to take care of your mother? How can you think of school when she’s suffering?”

When she returned home, abandoning her studies, she found a baby boy barely a year old waiting for her. The sight of the child’s bright blue eyes froze her where she stood.

“Your brother. Luan. You’ll look after him too. Katarina worked hard to bring this child into the world.”

Delilah had been only sixteen. In her brief absence, the Earl household had changed completely. Once a dignified lady close to the royal family, her mother, Countess Katarina, had lost her vitality, and Delilah found herself caring for a brother whose birth she hadn’t even known about.

“Now that Katarina’s bedridden, I must work hard to keep this family afloat. That means it’s up to you, our eldest. You understand?”

Marcel’s hand had clamped down on her small shoulder as he drilled his words into her. Delilah, dazed, could only nod. Her mind was clouded with confusion, her mother’s illness, the newborn, her father’s demands, the heavy title of eldest daughter. Trying to comprehend it all seemed harder than simply yielding.

She believed that if she did her duty—if she cared for them all—she could one day return to her life. But Katarina hadn’t lasted five years. By the time Luan turned five and began coughing endlessly, their mother was already ash and memory.

Four years later, Luan’s cough still hadn’t stopped. He needed medicine constantly just to breathe.

Delilah brushed the boy’s hair gently off his forehead. Luan was the last trace of Katarina left in the Earl family. She had to protect him, no matter what.

***

Bang!

The door burst open with a violent crash. Half-asleep, Delilah jolted upright, her eyelids fluttering. Her father, he was back. After staying out all night, he must be in a foul mood. And worse, she’d left the gambling hall without permission.

If she didn’t go to greet him, the whole house would soon echo with his shouting.

Throwing on her worn shawl, Delilah stepped into the hallway.

Creak, creak.

The floorboards groaned beneath her feet, an eerie, protesting sound, as though the house itself were crying out. Halfway to the stairs, her steps faltered.

She didn’t know why she stopped. Perhaps it was the faint, unfamiliar glow coming from below.

A red, flickering light. The scent of smoke and soot.

Delilah turned sharply toward Luan’s room and quickened her pace. Just past the stairs was his door. She pressed her steps, heart hammering, to reach him faster.

But as she passed the staircase, she made the mistake of glancing down.

“Mmph—!”

Cold metal clamped over her mouth from behind. Her eyes flew wide. What shocked her wasn’t the grip itself, but the sight below, in the entrance hall.

Armored men. Dozens of them. Their blades gleamed in the firelight that licked through the air, threatening to consume everything.

“Search every corner of the mansion.”

The deep voice above her head issued the order. Delilah thrashed violently. She didn’t need to be told, they were knights. And knights never stormed a noble’s home at this hour for good reasons.

If she could just free her mouth, she would beg, anything, to spare her brother.

“Stay still, please.”

The man holding her murmured politely, yet his tone was absolute. Delilah kept struggling, but his hand only tightened.

“Ugh—”

The pressure felt like it would crush her face. The sharp edge of his gauntlet scraped her cheek, leaving it burning hot.

Pinned against his chest, Delilah lifted her eyes. She could barely make out his mouth, no more. The defiance she’d found earlier that night had vanished completely. The weight behind her was suffocating.

“Count Marcel is not in sight, Lord Valden.”

“That boy… is the young viscount? Well then, I suppose this should satisfy you.”

At the sound of a new voice, Delilah looked up.

A man stood before her, carrying someone slung over his shoulder like a sack. Luan.

The moment she saw her motionless brother, the pain in her crushed limbs no longer registered.

Valden glanced down at Delilah, who was still thrashing weakly, then turned away. There was no need to knock her out—her trembling breaths alone showed she was already close to fainting.

***

When consciousness returned, she was kneeling in a cold, damp space that reeked of bl＊＊d.

A soldier’s boot pressed down on her bound hands, pinning her in place.

Beside her lay Luan, breathing faintly. His feverish warmth brushed against her leg.

“Let, let me go!”

Her whole body was freezing, yet her words escaped in white puffs of breath. Even under the crushing pressure, Delilah stubbornly kept her eyes forward.

Fear clouded her sight. She could barely make out the flickering torches along the walls; the figures in the distance were just shadows, some standing, one seated at the center. Everything else blurred into darkness.

When her knees grew damp, her head drooped unconsciously.

“Ah—!”

Her dirty shift was soaked in bl＊＊d, not her own, she realized.

A crimson trail led to a white sheet draped carelessly over something.

That was where the stench came from.

Delilah’s stomach churned. Saliva pooled bitterly in her mouth.

Why… why did this happen? I only…

The words dissolved into a sob.

Years of Marcel’s cruelty had worn her pride to dust, but even she could no longer contain the despair welling up inside.

“Delilah and Luan of the Earl family.”

Came a calm, detached voice. Papers rustled. Someone was reading from them. Delilah kept her head bowed.

“Answer.”

The command rang through the empty space. Valden studied the two silent captives for a moment, then looked back to the paper in his hand. His tone remained steady, indifferent, as he began to read.

“The Earl of Ailey is hereby charged with high treason. Any direct heir capable of continuing the line shall be executed.”

Delilah’s tears fell silently down her pale cheeks. Her heart seemed to stop.

Her lips parted soundlessly, as though something were lodged in her throat.

“And all others, are to be exiled to the North.”

The light drained from her gray eyes. It felt as though every drop of bl＊＊d and water had been wrung from her body.

The word treason echoed faintly in her skull, a sound too foreign to fit her family’s name.

High treason.

Could any word feel more wrong, more absurd, when paired with the House of Ailey?

Her face twisted as she lifted her head, desperate to speak.

“No… no! There must be some mistake—!”

The sudden surge of panic choked her. If her hands were free, she would have beaten her chest just to breathe. But bound and trembling, all she could do was gasp in silence.

It’s not true. It’s a mistake. We’re not traitors—we’ve lost everything, even our title… how could we commit treason?

Just as she raised her face to speak again, cold hands seized her cheeks and forced her upward.

Her unfocused vision wavered, and she couldn’t make out the face of the man standing close.

His thumb brushed softly over the cut on her cheek, as though smoothing a blemish from something he owned.

“Why did you stop speaking?”

Through her blurred sight, she saw the shape of elegant lips.

They seemed to curve, not quite a smile, not quite restraint.

Drawn to his quiet voice, Delilah’s lips trembled.

She tried to plead that it was a misunderstanding, that her brother be spared.

The man listened without interruption, his hand still cupping her face.

That touch, it was a sensation she knew all too well.

“If you don’t come soon, I might die here. I can’t leave this place whenever I want, you know.”