“There’s nothing…!”
Henrik lifted his gaze to the cliff from which Sveta had fallen. It was dizzyingly high, its summit almost lost in the distance. Above it, the sky had just begun to darken, creating a sense of emptiness that mirrored his own desolation.
“Sir Meriner!”
A knight holding a torch urged him on. The sun was setting; they needed to return.
“We’ve searched for hours and found nothing.”
Perhaps they all shared the same conclusion. One by one, they began preparing to head back to the outpost.
“She must have been taken by a beast. This area is a habitat for Ballok wolves, after all.”
“….”
“And if she fell from that cliff… it would be better to return in daylight and recover the body. That is, if the wolves haven’t already carried her off.”
Henrik bit down on his lower lip.
Sveta Luce.
Her tear-bright, sky-colored eyes shimmered before him.
The thought made it impossible to turn back.
“I will take one final look alone. Go on ahead.”
“How can we leave you here by yourself, Sir?”
“I will follow shortly. Return and stop the Duke of Strilland. Enough time has passed—he will likely attempt to cross by force. You understand what that would mean.”
Henrik invoked the peace treaty.
The peace treaty—it was law, and sacred duty, to the border guards.
Reluctantly, the knight nodded and handed him the torch.
“…Please do not be too long.”
As he watched them retreat towards the outpost, Henrik turned and stepped into the gorge.
By then, it had grown dark.
He moved forward, crushing the snow beneath his boots as it stretched out in all directions like an endless white carpet. Under the starlight, the snow shimmered with scattered, fragile sparks.
Once more, he thought of the young Lady Luce — and of the last time he had seen her at the Marchioness of Matwood’s estate.
She had looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment. Yet there had also been something resolute about her, something unyielding.
Strangely, remembering that look eased his fear, if only slightly.
Henrik straightened his back and stepped forward with renewed determination.
Something hard crunched beneath his foot.
Glancing down absently, he let out a slow breath.
“This is…”
Gleaming red beneath the moonlight was a large ruby ring.
***
Henrik Meriner returned after midnight.
Standing before Aiden, he lowered his head weakly.
With his shoulders slumped, he held out several pieces of jewelry and a torn fragment of blue-grey fabric.
“We found these at the bottom of the gorge.”
“….”
Aiden took the piece of cloth from her with trembling hands.
The fabric was stained with vivid blood in places, resembling the trousers that Sveta had worn that morning.
Henrik Meriner stepped back carefully and began, his voice subdued.
“Y-Your Grace.”
“…Speak.”
“Judging by the animal tracks nearby, it seems certain that the young lady of Baron Luce is dead—”
His voice cut off abruptly.
At that same moment, all sound vanished from Aiden’s world.
The wind clawed sharply through empty air in the distance. The faint clatter of blades at men’s waists whenever they shifted their weight.
All of it disappeared without a trace.
Even the violent pounding of his heart, as though it would shatter his eardrums, ceased.
“Y-Your Grace…?”
“….”
Aiden’s face twisted in ruin.
His clenched fist trembled faintly. Language shattered. Thought dulled.
“Everyone, turn away.”
His voice cut off abruptly.
At that same moment, all sound vanished from Aiden’s world.
The wind clawed sharply through empty air in the distance. The faint clatter of blades at men’s waists whenever they shifted their weight.
All of it disappeared without a trace.
Even the violent pounding of his heart, as though it would shatter his eardrums, ceased.
‘Are you ashamed of your lord’s grief?’
The sky had disappeared. His world had collapsed. But was it shameful to experience a moment of emotion? Was that why they had turned him away?
He wanted to demand an answer. Yet the only thing that could force its way past his throat was a ragged, unrestrained breath.
***
At the first pale light of dawn, the Duke of Strilland summoned Henrik.
Swallowing hard, Henrik looked up at the towering figure before him.
Though his eyes were red-rimmed, his face showed no discernible emotion.
It was impossible to believe that he was a man who had just lost his beloved woman. He remained immaculate — flawless and resplendent.
And terrifying.
The air itself seemed to sting. Hunching his shoulders beneath the sharp aura the duke was exuding, Henrik asked.
“You summoned me, Your Grace?”
The duke parted his red lips and gave an order.
“Send a courier.”
It was not the polished tone one would use with a foreign nobleman. Yet the duke spoke without hesitation, and Henrik accepted it without protest.
“Pardon? I have already sent a courier to Duke Baiton, Your Grace. I requested permission for you to conduct the search personally.”
The duke lifted the massive composite bow resting on top of the sofa. He slung it across his back and seized his sword.
“What are you doing?”
Before Henrik could react, the duke strode into the corridor.
Henrik hurried after him, feeling confused.
Without slowing down, the duke said—
“Send a courier reporting that the Duke of Strilland has crossed the border armed.”
“…Pardon?”
“Inform them that the peace treaty has been broken.”
“B-But how can you say that? If you wait, permission will surely be granted. If you would only wait—”
“Is that so-called peace more important?”
“…What?”
He had to ask again. The duke’s expression was cold, yet there was something deeply dissonant in it.
Henrik could not comprehend his intent.
“My woman is somewhere out there, trembling in the cold. And you ask whether your lord’s permission matters.”
“….”
“She hates the cold.”
“….”
Henrik fell silent.
Was the duke talking as if his lover were still alive?
The next instant, the duke strode out of the outpost. His knights followed him without hesitation.
This was undoubtedly a violation of the peace treaty. Surely it would soon become a diplomatic issue? Those who had failed to stop him would not escape responsibility.
Yet no one tried to restrain the duke.
They were overwhelmed.
His momentum was too fierce. They were too desperate.
***
Half a month later…
The private soldiers dispatched by Duke Baiton joined the search party organized by the Duke of Strilland.
Thankfully, the diplomatic conflict that so many had feared never came to pass. Prisada had chosen to yield.
This was an outcome that no one had anticipated.
Was this due to the overwhelming influence of House Strilland, whose power extended across the continent? Or had the duke’s sincere determination to find his missing lover been taken into account?
Whatever the reason, Henrik felt only relief at having escaped reprimand. All that remained for him was to carry out his orders without fail.
But not everyone welcomed those orders.
“All this trouble over one dead mistress? Does that make sense?”
“She’s as good as gone. The wolves must have eaten her.”
“Even if they find her, she won’t be in one piece. Who could bear to see that? I’d leave her be.”
Such murmurs passed quietly between sealed lips.
Yet even the Prisada soldiers, who had complained so freely, fell silent the moment they stood before the duke, closing their mouths like clams.
The search began at the mouth of Shadow Gorge and gradually widened to encompass the entire ravine and the surrounding area.
The duke did not stop.
He allowed himself only the bare minimum of rest. His movements remained disciplined and his expression composed as he led the search without wavering.
This was probably a habit he had developed from childhood, having been raised and trained as a knight.
He was steadfast. Tireless.
Because their lord endured, so did his knights, persevering in silence.
Before long, even the Prisadan searchers found themselves wishing for only one thing.
“Please—just let us find even a fragment of her bones. Even a strand of her hair.”
Their wish was granted shortly after the final month of the year began.
Two months had passed since the duke’s woman had fallen from the cliff.
“As you know, Your Grace… this is the territory of the Ballok wolves.”
Henrik began hesitantly.
The sun was setting. Bathed in the deep pink glow of dusk, the duke took a drink from his waterskin and looked at Henrik without turning his head.
“What is that?”
Still gripping the waterskin, he gestured toward the object Henrik had concealed behind his back.
“….”
When Henrik did not answer, the duke’s interest faded almost at once.
He turned to resume the search, walking steadily through the snow that swallowed his boots at every step.
Henrik wanted nothing more than to die.
‘How am I to tell him?’
He could see no way to present the proof that the young lady of Baron Luce was dead.
And so he could only release a long, weary sigh.
“Your Grace!”
Henrik ran after the duke, who had already moved far ahead. The look that returned to him was far from gentle. A faint irritation creased the duke’s perfectly straight brow.
“You must have heard that at dawn yesterday, a Ballok wolf was killed.”
“And?”
“This was found inside its stomach.”
Henrik held out a clump of blood-soaked hair with trembling hands.
Though it was tangled, it was clearly well cared for: long, black hair.
Anyone who knew the duke’s woman would recognize it at once. While it was fashionable for young ladies to braid their hair and coil it high on their heads, she had always worn hers long and loose.
It had been beautiful.
A pale cloud of breath rose like mist around the duke as he sighed sharply.
As Aiden stared blankly at the hair, Henrik hurried to continue.
“It appears she was devoured by the wolf. The trousers of the same color as the fabric we found earlier were also recovered from its stomach. Therefore…”
“….”
In that moment, Henrik was met with dry eyes.
He watched the green eyes that had once captivated him lose their light in an instant.
Guilt coiled in his chest. He feared the duke might somehow see straight through him.
Unable to bear the sight any longer, he pushed the hair into the duke’s hand.
The duke did not shake him off.
His large hand, clutching the hair, trembled faintly.
“Call… the apothecary.”
“Pardon?”
“Call the apothecary.”
It was an incomprehensible demand. Yet Henrik did not dare ask why.
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Danes96
Igual se lo merece, Sveta estuvo viviendo en la indiferencia y el maltrato por tanto tiempo y él no se inmutó en ningún momento. Incluso se unió para humillarla y finalmente confinarla.
Su arrepentimiento es demasiado tardío