The child died.

It was a day when the winter wind showed no mercy. Snow fell suddenly and violent gusts soon turned it into a blizzard. Within moments, the drifts rose to knee height, making walking, let alone riding a horse, almost impossible.

As the child’s breathing grew weaker, the Grand Duchess felt utterly helpless. Trapped in the storm, she could neither summon the family physician nor take the child elsewhere. Damian, who had travelled to the capital, did not reply even after receiving news that the child was gravely ill.

Finally, fear overtook her completely — the terror of losing the child if nothing changed. She could not bring herself to stand by and watch the child’s breath fade away.

Driven by desperation, the Grand Duchess ventured alone into the forest, straight into the heart of the blizzard. She searched for medicinal herbs, knowing it would only be a temporary measure. But she had to try. She had to do something.

She wandered through the white wasteland, barely able to see what lay before her, desperately searching for blue-tinged herbs. After spending hours tearing through the frozen forest, she finally returned with a single, pitiful plant trembling in her hands — the only one she had found, at the edge of a cliff.

By then, the child was already gone.

The cries that had once echoed so loudly they rang in her ears had fallen silent. The faint breathing had vanished, and the feverish body was cold to the touch. No matter how loudly she screamed or how desperately she begged the child to open their eyes, the miracle she had prayed for never came.

After losing the child in such circumstances, the Grand Duchess was consumed by guilt. She sank into a deep depression and suffered from relentless insomnia, her condition worsening with each passing day. Soon, she would stare blankly into empty space, muttering to herself and tormented by severe auditory and visual hallucinations. Rumors quickly spread that the Grand Duchess had lost her mind.

Yet her husband showed not the slightest concern.

Whether his child was dead or his wife was unravelling, Damian continued to roam outside, absorbed in his work as though nothing had happened. In truth, things had been no different even before the child died.

Nearly a full week passed after the child died, and still he did not appear. Before long, whispers began to circulate that he had been spending his time with another woman.

“I heard that while His Grace was in the capital, he was with Lady Olivia?”

“They say Lady Olivia fell ill, so he even brought the family physician with him.”

Olivia Grance.

She is the beloved only daughter of the influential Duke Grance and was once considered a potential bride for Damian.

“So that’s why Dr. Wilton went to the capital that day? How devoted of him.”

“But what exactly was she sick with?”

The moment Belle heard that conversation, instead of erupting in anger or despair, she let out a hollow laugh.

“Your Highness, ah… hasn’t there been any word?”
“The child’s fever isn’t going down. The doctor—has the doctor arrived yet?”
“Please, anyone… hurry…”

“I heard Lady Olivia is pregnant.”

Damian: Olivia: Pregnant.

The desperate cries of a child on the brink of losing their breath tore at her eardrums. If only there had been a doctor, the child could have been saved.

The Grand Duchess had always understood Damian’s coldness. She told herself that there were reasons for the cruelty with which he treated her and that it was only right to understand him and endure it.

But the child was different.

The child was blameless — a pitiful child who had never once been held by their father.

He had promised her that he would protect the child. He had sworn to safeguard the child’s well-being.

Did you truly believe that Damian would care about the child’s safety?

At that moment, a mocking voice echoed in her mind.

A man who wouldn’t care if the child died — did you really think he would care about her? Why?

Why?

Why did you do that?

Tears sprang to her eyes and her throat constricted as though something were forcing its way up. A violent whirlpool of emotion twisted in her chest, and at last she collapsed.

She curled up on the cold floor, the chill seeping into her bones. With a single blink, her vision sharpened — only to blur again moments later.

“Hngh…”

Her slender shoulders began to tremble. Tears fell endlessly onto the floor. She dug her nails into the marble, sobs tearing free and splitting open her fingertips, sending blood rising into her throat.

She traced time backwards, trying to pinpoint where everything had gone wrong.

She should never have given birth to the child.

She should never have loved him.

She should never have married him.

“It’s your fault.”

Suddenly, the voice that had once accused her echoed in her mind.

“That’s right.

It was all her fault.

If only she had never existed, she would never have fallen out with Damian and lost the child.

Slowly, she uncurled her body. Clear tears streamed down her face, tracing fresh paths over the dried ones. Staggering to her feet, she opened the bedside table drawer and took something out.

Inside the small vial, a transparent liquid sloshed faintly. With hollow, emotionless eyes, the Grand Duchess stared at it. Then, in one swift movement, she pulled the cork out and swallowed the contents. The liquid slid smoothly down her throat, leaving no taste or sensation.

The empty vial slipped from her withered hand and rolled across the floor.

Without hesitating, the Grand Duchess left the grand ducal residence behind.

The winter forest was steeped in absolute silence; all the beasts were deep in hibernation. The only sound was the crunch of snow beneath her feet with each step she took.

“Haah…”

A pale breath escaped her bloodless lips, white and cold, like the breath of the dead. With each inhalation, icy air flooded her lungs, freezing her from the inside out.

Suddenly, she stopped and looked back along the path she had taken. Her gaze lingered in the distance, as though she were waiting for someone.

Was she afraid now?

Or was it regret?

She could not tell. All she knew was that she had to see this through.

The forest was packed tightly with trees and steeped in darkness. There were no cries of young beasts — no sound at all. The falling snow had already completely erased her footprints.

At this rate, it would be impossible for Damian to find the missing Grand Duchess.

Not that he ever would.

A bitter smile brushed her lips. After staring vacantly into the distance for a moment, she turned away.

Her feet sank deep into the piled snow. As she trudged forward, her leather shoes became soaked and stiff with ice. Slowly, the sensation drained from her feet. The same numbness crept into her fingers, which were clutching her cloak.

Then, an unfamiliar sound reached her ears.

Had a starving beast awoken?

The Grand Duchess bit hard into her lower lip and forced her legs to move. She had no intention of becoming prey for an animal.

After walking for a long time, she finally stopped.

Before her lay a small, pitiful grave.

The child’s grave.

Delrin’s grave.

“Urk—”

Blood spilled from between her lips. It gushed through her fingers and scattered across the white snow like petals falling from a rose. A moment later, her throat burned as though she had swallowed fire. The Grand Duchess clutched at her neck and staggered.

The nauseating stench of blood filled her mouth. Her lips, which had once been blue, turned crimson as she continued to cough up blood unrelentingly.

Breathing shallowly, she stepped closer to the gravestone. A trail of blood followed in her wake. Raising a blood-drenched hand, she brushed away the snow piled on top of the stone.

The name carved there.

Delrin Montevark.

Everything began to blur before her eyes. Her vision swayed violently. Her frail body finally gave way, causing her to collapse onto the grave. Shivering, she curled up into a ball.

“Y–Your… Gra… ce…!”

A familiar voice echoed faintly in her ears. However, as her hearing gradually faded, the sound fragmented, preventing her from identifying it.

Snow drifted down from the sky, gradually blanketing the Grand Duchess’s back. When all sensation had vanished from her hands and feet, and her vision began to flicker, a familiar face emerged from the haze.

Soft hair fluttered in the wind, revealing golden eyes. Bathed in moonlight, they shone brilliantly, like gemstones set in gold.

Suddenly, that day came back to her.

Those beautiful golden eyes that she had first seen through blurred vision.

The feelings that had quietly swelled within her, even though she knew her place.

The Grand Duchess gently curved her stiff lips into a faint smile. Unable to bear the weight of her heavy eyelids any longer, she finally closed her eyes.

It was as though every sound in the world had vanished, leaving only silence.