Chapter 57
Chapter 57
Translation: godsn
Leila ran frantically through the forest path. She ran while scanning the trees where Phoebe often perched, running and running still. The sound of items clashing inside her bag tangled chaotically with her ragged breaths.
Autumn had already passed its peak, inching closer to winter. The cold, damp air burned her lungs, but Leila couldn't stop. With every gunshot she heard, the vision of Phoebe drenched in blood grew more vivid.
He might have shot Phoebe.
Each time she gasped for breath that smelled of rusted iron, Leila's terror swelled. The Duke's promise that he wouldn't shoot Phoebe now felt meaningless. All that consumed her mind was the memory of that cruel Duke of Herhardt—the man who had slaughtered countless birds just to summon her, who had shot another bird dead right before her eyes.
How could she have trusted that man's promise?
Knowing full well what kind of person he was, she had foolishly let her guard down over a single promise. The thought made Leila unbearably disgusted with herself. What could that promise possibly mean to him? It must have been utterly meaningless. So trivial that he might have already forgotten it long ago.
As Leila raced toward the path leading to the Schulter River, the corners of her eyes burned red. If she couldn't find Phoebe, she at least wanted to confront the Duke. To beg him one more time. Even if it was futile, Leila had to do something. Perhaps her desperation reached the heavens, for it wasn't long before she spotted the Duke and his entourage in the distance down the forest path.
No words came out, so Leila simply ran. Toward them—toward the group of nobles on horseback. Among them, one man was aiming his gun at a tree branch where a white bird perched. Leila soon recognized who it was. The slaughterer of beautiful birds—the Duke of Herhardt.
Phoebe!
She tried to scream, but all that escaped her trembling lips was a strangled whimper and a hot, anguished sigh. In that moment, the Duke pulled the trigger.
Bang—.
The cold gunshot shook the forest.
Liet and the rest of the party stood frozen in bewildered silence. As if time itself had stopped, only Matthias remained unperturbed, leisurely lowering his gun. The long barrel glinted in the shafts of light filtering through the branches.
"What the hell, Matthias."
Finally, Liet broke the silence.
"Even the great Duke of Herhardt misfires now? Wow, today's just full of entertaining sights."
The hollow laughter that started with Liet soon spread through the entire group. Matthias's bullet had grazed the very tip of the branch where the pigeon had perched. The bird fluttered away in a panic, and only the innocent branch snapped and fell to the ground.
Matthias chuckled softly as he watched the bird soar into the sky. The white pigeon was flying toward the eastern part of the territory.
"Hey, why's that girl here?"
Liet, who had been teasing Matthias with a grin, suddenly turned his gaze toward a woman standing dumbly at the edge of the path. Matthias soon noticed the woman Liet was pointing at. Leila. Her dazed eyes were fixed on him.
"L-Leila!"
Startled by the unexpected intruder, the attendants rushed toward her. Even then, Leila kept staring at Matthias. Without her usual hesitation or wariness—utterly transparent, as if nothing else in the world existed but him.
"It's dangerous, Leila. The Duke is out hunting today—didn't Mr. Remmer tell you...?"
"I'm sorry."
Only when an attendant grabbed her arm did Leila regain her senses.
"I... I got the date wrong. I'm truly sorry."
Still pressing a hand against her painfully pounding chest, Leila apologized again. She quickly averted her gaze, staring down at her feet.
After leaving a warning for her to leave immediately, the attendants returned to their positions. The Duke, as if entirely uninterested in this minor disturbance, tugged on his horse's reins.
Though she knew she should leave now, Leila remained standing there in a daze for a while longer. The Duke guided his horse toward the western part of the territory—the exact opposite direction from where Phoebe had flown.
Tears pooled in her eyes but refused to fall, only making them shine brighter. And with those eyes, Leila saw clearly. What the Duke had aimed at. And how he had struck it.
It wasn't a misfire.
Leila knew all too well how that man killed birds. And so she knew. That the Duke hadn't shot Phoebe. He had deliberately aimed for the tip of the branch. To startle Phoebe into fleeing. Far, far away—somewhere no one else's bullets could reach.
Before turning onto the broken path, the Duke looked back. Though the distance was so great they appeared no larger than a single joint of a finger, Leila instinctively knew—their eyes had met.
Once the Duke's figure disappeared from sight, Leila finally turned away as well. She trudged back along the path she had raced down in a frenzy. With the tension draining away, the strength seeped out of her entire body. It was as if she had become a weightless ghost, drifting aimlessly.
There had been a night when she'd felt exactly like this.
A faint thread of memory surfaced in her dazed mind, but Leila refused to dwell on it. It felt like something she shouldn't. She merely clutched the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder and walked on, staring straight ahead.
By the time her vision cleared and sharpened again, she had already returned to where the cabin came into view. Sinking heavily into the chair on the porch, she let out a long sigh.
The Duke had kept his promise.
That fact was as clear as the flawlessly high and blue sky today.
Tap, tap. The sound of knuckles rapping against the windowpane echoed quietly through the silent room. Leila, who had been sitting at the desk with a lamp lit, reflexively jumped up and rushed to the window.
"Phoebe!"
But as she flung the window open, calling for the troublesome pigeon, she was met with the unexpected sight of Duke Herhardt standing on the other side. Leila barely stifled a scream, clapping a hand over her mouth. Old Man Bill had returned and was chopping firewood in the front yard. If she screamed, he would come running in an instant.
After firmly latching the door, Leila returned to the open window. The faint metallic scent of blood reached her from the Duke, still clad in his hunting attire. Upon closer inspection, his red hunting jacket bore splatters of blood on its sleeves and lapels.
"Your pigeon is over there."
The Duke lowered his gaze and pointed to the far end of the windowsill. Phoebe sat there quietly, having returned at some point.
Suppressing the urge to yell, Leila stared at the Duke standing beyond the window. His dark brown horse stood obediently behind its master. Beyond them, the sky had already darkened into evening—the same vivid, crystalline blue as the Duke's eyes.
"Have you thought about it?"
The Duke's abrupt question snapped Leila out of her daze.
"How you'll repay this favor."
His gaze bore into her as he jerked his chin toward Phoebe.
"That's..."
Leila swallowed dryly, flustered.
"Can I really call it a favor when Your Grace merely kept your promise?"
At her hesitant whisper, Matthias let out a sharp laugh.
"O-Of course, I'm grateful."
"Just 'grateful'?"
"I also think you're an honorable gentleman who keeps his word."
"Didn't you take that back with your own mouth? Said I was no gentleman at all."
Matthias leaned casually against the window frame.
"That was... I think I was too rash back then."
The more she spoke, the more she felt like she was sinking into quicksand, but Leila struggled to find the right words.
"A gentleman, then not, then a gentleman again."
"If you say so."
"Then are you the queen?"
"Huh? Ah—!"
At his reminder, Leila's nose scrunched up. She had shouted it by the stream—If you're a gentleman, then I'm the queen!
She wanted to pretend she didn't remember, but her cheeks were already burning red. Losing her temper always led to humiliation like this—why couldn't she control herself around this man? In front of everyone else, she could force a smile if she had to. She could do it easily.
"...I'm sorry about that day. And I truly am grateful you kept your promise. I mean it."
Between her halting words of apology, the sound of Bill Remmer's axe strikes and grunts carried over. Leila was unbearably tense, but the Duke looked utterly at ease.
"What a shame, Leila."
Suddenly, the Duke's hand reached through the window and caught her chin.
"I didn't come all this way just to hear such formal pleasantries."
A sense of foreboding washed over Leila as she tried to step back, but as always, the Duke was faster and stronger. Before she could evade, her glasses were snatched away, and her blurred vision filled with the Duke's face.
The moment their lips met, Leila jerked back in shock, but Matthias fisted a hand in her hair. The sharp pain was enough to draw a whimper, freezing her in place—just as his hot tongue invaded her mouth.
The booming shout of Bill Remmer and the sound of splitting firewood echoed once more.
Leila raised the hand that had been gripping the windowsill and pushed against Matthias's shoulder. But the more she resisted, the deeper the kiss became. It was slightly different from that day last summer, which remained etched like a scar in the depths of Leila's heart. Instead of devouring her with savage ferocity, he moved more slowly, tracing her soft palate with deliberate gentleness before sucking on her lips and tongue.
Gasping for air, Leila seized the brief moment when the duke's grip on her hair and cheek loosened slightly to wrench her head away. As she gulped in ragged breaths, the scent of cool peppermint mingled with the metallic tang of animal blood. Shuddering, Leila bit down on her lip, but the duke did not relent so easily.
"Is this all Phoebe's life is worth to you?"
His voice was as damp as her lips as he murmured the question lowly. There was a faint trace of laughter in his tone, making it seem almost playful at first glance.
But Leila had no composure left to discern the true intent behind his words. A sensation like her blood freezing over swept through her, leaving her only able to stare blankly at the duke. She didn't even realize her tightly sealed red lips had parted again under the force of her ragged breathing.
"Ah—!"
The distance Leila had struggled to create collapsed in an instant.
Matthias, who had been silently observing her just moments before, lunged forward with startling urgency. Gripping her jaw hard enough to nearly shatter it, he forced her lips apart and thrust his tongue back inside. Leila would have preferred the pain from the hands clutching her hair and face, but the entwined tongue, its texture vivid with minute ridges, moved with excruciating slowness and persistence.
The kiss continued as Bill Remmer let out several more shouts and split more firewood.
Each time Matthias tangled and sucked on her tongue, Leila was forced to gasp out wet, choked moans that seemed scraped from the depths of her throat. It was horrifying, yet her body had slipped beyond her control. Eventually, her hands, drained of strength, fell limply against his shoulders.
Only when faint sobs began to mingle with her moans did Matthias finally release her. Even in the deepening darkness, his saliva-slicked lips gleamed vividly. Realizing she must look just as disheveled, Leila wanted nothing more than to collapse right then and there.
"Leila!"
Bill's voice calling her name snapped her out of her daze.
"Leila! Could you bring me a glass of cold water?"
An answer. She needed to answer quickly.
While Leila floundered helplessly, Matthias pulled out a handkerchief and slowly wiped his lips. Then, still cupping her face, he drew her close and dabbed at her damp lips as well. Only after placing the glasses she had tossed aside back onto the bridge of her nose did he finally let her go.
"Leila?"
Perhaps puzzled by the lack of response, Bill abruptly stopped chopping wood.
"Wash it and return it to me."
Matthias pressed his handkerchief into Leila's trembling hand and issued the quiet command. With that, he turned away, mounting his horse with effortless, infuriating nonchalance.
"Leila, child! Is something wrong?"
As the sound of Bill Remmer's footsteps thudding across the wooden floor inside grew closer, Leila hastily shut the window and drew the curtains tight. Rushing to the door, she flung it open to find Bill standing there.
"Sorry, Uncle. I just... dozed off for a moment."
Leila hurriedly smoothed her hair, which the duke had tousled into disarray.
"I thought something might have happened."
"Dinner. I'll go prepare dinner right away."
"No need to rush. Take your time, take your time."
Bill chuckled in relief before heading back outside to finish his work.
The moment the front door clicked shut, Leila's legs gave way, and she crumpled to the floor. The handkerchief the duke had pressed into her hand fluttered down onto the wooden planks.