Chapter 45
Chapter 45
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 45
Chapter Title: Like You, Me Too
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I have to run away.
I want to run away.
I want to leave him.
This time, perfectly.
The more she painted pictures of killing Asherad with her brush, the more Daphne discovered her own desires. She wanted to punish Asherad for making her so miserable. She wanted to hurt him just like this.
But punishing that man was impossible. To him, Daphne was less than a passing breeze.
Painting had been nothing more than a momentary diversion. She wouldn't paint anymore. After her meeting with Artemisia, Daphne had torn up the picture of herself severing Asherad's throat with a knife without a moment's hesitation.
What mattered was that she had drawn it.
That image would remain etched in her heart forever.
Just that filled her with satisfaction. Her motivation and vitality, which had drained away, were now brimming over once more.
How could she escape?
She wanted to ask Artemisia for help. But even setting aside whether she had the power to do so, would Asherad really leave her alone?
He was the man who had threatened Fabian's family.
Daphne thought of Fabian. Threaten his family...? The familiar chronic lethargy washed over her again.
She was Daphne, who had run away even knowing Sara might die.
She was already... a selfish, ugly person who could sacrifice someone else for her own freedom.
Yes, but still, let's think of a way. Apologize to Fabian's family, persuade them to run. Prepare every possible method.
She didn't want to die like this. She didn't want to give up on herself, cowering in fear of Asherad's whims.
There might be a way.
“I need to think about what to do after I escape, too.”
Life wouldn't sustain itself easily. Ironically, her time working as a maid had awakened a practical sense of finances.
It would be hard for a noblewoman to survive on the run, but she had to try something. She could do it. She could survive as a maid.
Hadn't she escaped the first time with that same resolve? She'd even succeeded once, so for the second time, she just needed a better plan.
Daphne's mind raced. She wasn't particularly clever. But she would thrash about and try.
Because she was human, with the name Daphne—not a dog, not a doll for his lust.
A knock sounded.
It was Asherad.
Daphne flinched. Her heart pounded, her body tensing. She tried to compose herself, smoothing her hair and checking her clothes.
He preferred her neat and tidy over disheveled. Of course, he liked the disheveled look when he created it himself.
Daphne frowned in confusion. Something was off about him as he approached.
His cheeks were flushed red. His shirt hung open. Though he walked with deliberate steps, there were many awkward hitches.
“You're awake?”
Daphne nodded. Asherad let out a small chuckle. In the moonlight, his handsome face gleamed softly, like a sculpture carved from white marble. Even disheveled, he was beautiful.
He was beautiful like poison, and that was what captivated Daphne.
Asherad approached the bed where Daphne sat, then wrapped an arm around her waist and buried his face in her lap.
It was clearly an uncomfortable position, yet he panted there for a long while with his head in her lap. She could see his ragged breaths and the massive back rising and falling.
It was a pitiful sight for a hero who had ended the Hundred Years' War, a sun god.
That large back somehow looked fragile. Daphne stared at it for a moment, then reached out to stroke his hair.
In that instant, she couldn't tell who was petting whom.
Daphne felt a strange pleasure. Asherad seemed indifferent to how it looked, accepting her touch.
“Haa... Daphne.”
“Have you been drinking?”
Daphne didn't force a bright smile. She knew this perceptive, sensitive man would notice if she suddenly acted cheerful.
“Yeah. I have.”
“...”
“You're not even asking why.”
He let out a small laugh. Asherad finally lifted his head to look at her. Seeing her expressionless face, he lowered his green eyes.
“I don't even know the reason myself.”
“...”
“Why did it bother me so much... that you assumed it was me, like it was obvious?”
She had no idea what he meant. As she made a puzzled face, Asherad giggled.
“Why did I feel so wronged?”
Asherad reached out and brushed her cheek. When Daphne didn't resist, he leaned his face against her chest.
It was utterly defenseless, undignified.
“Are you very angry with me?”
His voice was a little subdued. The words were brazen, repulsive.
Why was he asking if she was angry? Despite her hardened resolve, a bizarre, strange hope flickered to life.
Hope that something might change.
Foolish hope that this man, asking if she was angry while drunk, might see her differently.
But Daphne quickly reined it in. She tamped down the soaring hope and schooled her face to neutrality.
“I'm not angry.”
Daphne said softly. Asherad looked at her quizzically. Even blurred by drink, his eyes probed her intentions like a blade. His gaze pierced her, making her breath hitch for a moment.
“So, I'm saying I'm not angry anymore.”
“...”
“I won't paint anymore. I've decided to give up.”
Asherad lifted her chin with slightly clouded eyes.
“You hate me a lot, don't you?”
“...”
At his suspicious, self-mocking words, Daphne stared at him. Why didn't he know the answer? Why look at her like that after only doing things she hated?
When she didn't reply again, he spoke.
“Your eyes have changed.”
“...”
“I liked them better before.”
Daphne's eyes wavered. She tried to suppress the emotion bubbling up. Erasing her resignation ignited fierce anger toward Asherad.
Did this man really not know what was wrong?
Do you miss the me from back then? The me who worshipped only you, oblivious to everything?
Did you really not know what I was like then?
You...
You're telling me to be your 'dog' again.
You're doing this because you don't like my attitude. Pretending to soothe me. You're skilled at pulling people to your side like this.
She'd pretended otherwise, but harbored too much hope.
It returned to her as utter despair. Unaware of the emotional torrent, Asherad placed a hand on her cheek and caressed it.
“Would you... like me to go back to how I was before?”
She nodded without hesitation.
“Staying by my side without trying to run, like back then.”
Like back then, like a fool. Oblivious to her situation, just like that. She swallowed the burning in her eyes.
“I'll try.”
Her unexpected response made Asherad furrow his brow slightly. He tried to focus his hazy gaze. Even drunk, his mind was surely turning sharply.
As his sharp eyes fixed on her, Daphne said.
“I... was scared.”
“Of what?”
“I... didn't know when you'd send me back to that room.”
It was partly true. She had rotted away in that closet-like room for too long to enjoy anything.
It was comfortable but filthy, dark, and turned the occupant's heart to sewage.
“Why would I send you back there?”
“You left me in that room.”
Asherad slowly closed his eyes. He gave a cold laugh.
“That was...”
“...”
“No, not that.”
He paused as if thinking. Growing inexplicably anxious, Daphne pressed.
“You left me like that, then suddenly brought me here on impulse.”
“Ah...”
Asherad seemed to recall it. His breathing quickened. Unable to hold back, he pulled her waist and lay back on the bed.
As Daphne lay on her side, he buried his face in her bosom. The sharp scent of alcohol mixed with his unique fragrance.
“I didn't know.”
She didn't understand. Daphne gazed at Asherad with his head in her arms. A faint sadness seemed to emanate from him. She looked at his fallen black hair. Through his bangs, she saw his brows and nose.
“...Like you... me too... because.”
His mumbled whisper was too quiet to make out. Daphne simply gazed at Asherad in her arms.
His reddened eyes and lips, his moist eyes gleaming piteously.
But that emotion vanished in an instant.