Then she waited for someone to come out.

“Where’s Mom?”

“She’s with Dad.”

“Where’s Dad?”

“He’s asleep in the bedroom. Do you love your father, Mirabella?”

Aunt Liriette asked. Mirabella looked up at Aunt Liriette’s bright, beautiful face and thought of her mother. Her mother who had hugged Mirabella and told her who her real father was.

But for Mirabella, Daddy was still Uncle Theo. It felt strange and uncomfortable to suddenly call dad ‘Uncle Theo’, but since mom had said it while crying, there was nothing she could do about it.

Besides, even if she met the man who was supposed to be her real dad, she felt she couldn’t call him dad. Not that she disliked the man who was supposed to be her real father. Even though he scolded and hated her almost every day. That’s why Mirabella cried, because she hated and despised the man who was supposed to be her real father….

“I want to meet the man who is my real father.”

Mirabella, holding a pot of budding flowers, whispered as she looked out at the rain-soaked colonnade. Liriette looked down at the child clutching the pot and replied softly.

“You’ll meet him soon.”

The wound on his neck was said to be shallow. It was also said that there were no irreparable injuries visible to the eyes of the court physician. Nevertheless, the Emperor could not wake, they said, because he had lost too much blood. Swan could not believe this explanation and accompanied the Emperor himself to examine the situation. It was Swan who prescribed a kind of hallucinogen to alleviate the Emperor’s melancholy.

Of course, the court physician’s prescription wasn’t entirely wrong from start to finish, but Swan felt that if the patient’s abuse couldn’t be prevented, the prescription shouldn’t have been made in the first place. The court physician, who had entered the palace at dawn to examine the Emperor, who had returned to the palace drenched in blood, inspected the depth and location of the wounds and muttered sombrely with a dark expression on his face:

“It’s as if he sacrificed his neck and belly to end his own life.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Theo quickly regained his senses as his fever broke. Though it would be some time before he was fully recovered, it seemed that he was no longer hovering between life and death. Satisfied with Theo’s recovery, Swan returned to Atlion’s side and resumed his vigil.

He brushed Atlion’s dishevelled black hair back from his forehead and placed a damp cloth on it. Gently, he pressed his lips to Atlion’s pale ones, then held his large hand to his cheek. When she was alone, Swan sometimes cried. The thought of Atlion deliberately taking a blade to end his life haunted her and drove her to the brink of despair.

“Why? Why on earth…?” 

His trembling voice filled the bedroom. He pressed his face into Atlion’s hand, his tears falling on it, when suddenly Atlion’s thumb twitched. Startled, Swan looked at him. Atlion, who had seemed lifeless with his eyes closed, showed a flicker of movement.

“Your Majesty?”

He cried out in shock, repeating the words as if to confirm what he had seen. Atlion’s long lashes fluttered, and then his blue eyes slowly came into view. Swan immediately rang the bell to summon the servants and the court physician who had left their supplies behind. His heart pounded and heat rushed through him as he watched the impossible become reality.

The attendants and the court physician’s apprentices entered and began to examine Atlion. Swan took a step back, intending to release his hand, but Atlion refused to let go. Even in his weakened state, with the doctors tending to him, his grip was unyielding.

Swan struggled to free her hand, but finally gave up and stared at him in silence. From the moment he awoke, Atlion’s eyes had been on her alone.

The apprentices, their faces full of emotion, kept asking, “Your Majesty! Is anything wrong?” Their frantic movements and incessant chatter seemed to irritate Atlion, who dismissed them with a displeased expression.

He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, but his senses in the waking world were crystal clear. When he first regained consciousness, his head had throbbed like it was going to split open, but the pain subsided with time. Once Swan was in his vision, nothing else seemed to matter.

After shooing away the troublesome attendants and apprentices, he turned his attention back to Swan. She urged him to remain lying down, but he stubbornly sat up to face her. Without a word, Swan brought him water and held it to his lips. He drank it all and when she moved to put the tray on the table, he caught her wrist as she returned and pulled her down to sit beside him.

She let herself be led by his hand without resistance. Atlion, staring blankly at her, reached out and tucked a lock of her wavy hair behind her ear. The warmth of her neck, the radiant heat, was soothing to his touch. Swan just looked at him without saying a word.

“With my neck half tied and dangling, I must have looked pitiful to you.”

He said in a calm, distant voice. It was barely a whisper, but it reverberated through Swan’s core. Her lips trembled slightly, but she lowered her gaze in silence. Atlion lifted her chin to make her look at him.

“Must I always be in this miserable state to hold on to you?”

“Don’t say such absurd things.”

Swan finally replied, her lips barely moving. Atlion’s expression twisted slightly and his blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears, shimmered sombrely. Overwhelmed with emotion herself, Swan bit her lip as if to suppress her feelings. Watching her, Atlion gently pulled her neck towards him.

Swan collapsed into his embrace, looking up at him as she did. Their lips met.

No, it wasn’t just a touch; it was as if she was being swallowed. Clumsy, rough, desperate movements reflected his uncontrollable longing. From the moment his eyes had opened, he had been helpless, like a lost child, unable to do anything but fixate on Swan. He wasn’t even aware of what he was muttering – his whole focus was on her. He hadn’t meant to show her such a clumsy and foolish side of himself.

A curse slipped out under his breath. What if Swan left him again? What if she didn’t look back and went straight to Theodor? He wanted to hold on to her, but the only way to do so seemed to be to slit his own throat with his own hands. Like a hungry man devouring a meal, Atlion consumed her with a hunger that betrayed his desperation. But when Swan’s hand brushed against him, he flinched.

Her small hand traced the corner of his eye, hesitant and searching, without warmth. Atlion grabbed the wandering hand, pausing to stare at it as he pulled away from the kiss.

“Kill me now.”

“…….”

“Strangle me, or stick your fingers into my severed neck and rip it open… If it’s at your hands, I’ll die willingly.”

“Your Majesty.”

“I mean it.”

“Don’t say such terrible things.”

Swan’s expression hardened. Atlion cried out desperately, his voice filled with a raw, pleading urgency.

“Watching you leave a second time would be better than this!”

“Who says I’m leaving?” 

“You won’t choose me – you hate the palace, don’t you? No matter what I do…” 

Atlion’s breathing became ragged, his words faltering as he spoke. Swan, her eyes brimming with tears, glared at him. His blue eyes, wet with emotion, looked frightened, like those of a frightened boy. Swan slowly parted her lips to speak.

“Do you love me?”

Atlion, tears streaming down his face as he looked at her, twisted his expression in pain. Swan asked him again, her voice unwavering.

“Do you love me, Your Majesty?”

As the word love escaped Swan’s lips, her face slowly began to crumple, as if on the verge of tears. Atlion rose and, with deliberate slowness, knelt before her on one knee. Swan lowered her eyes and looked down at him.

He took her pale, delicate hand and brought it to his own. Closing his eyes in reverence, he kissed the back of her hand. Then, looking up at her again, he spoke.

“With all my heart and all my life, I love you, my Absentee.”

***End of main story***