RODH Chapter 79

79.

“Do you love Ian?”

It was a question that struck deep.

Seor feigned nonchalance and countered.

“Isn’t it you who harbors impure thoughts toward Ian?”

“It isn’t impure.”

“Don’t tell me you mean affection.”

“I mean love.”

“What?”

Seor’s eyes widened as if something hidden beneath the surface had suddenly emerged.

“Grand Duke, you…”

“You still haven’t answered my question. Do you love Ian?”

“I cherish him more deeply than you ever could.”

Though he tried to sound composed, Seor wavered at Nevan’s words.

Not impure desire, but love.

Why had he never once considered that someone else might love Ian?

Perhaps he had willfully ignored it all along. Because he had no courage to face Ian’s heart drifting toward another. Because he could not bear to see Ian being loved by someone else.

His arrogance and delusions crumbled to dust.

“Then follow me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because there is something wrong with Ian.”

“Wrong? Is he ill again?”

“If you want to know, come with me.”

Seor followed the cryptic words reluctantly.

The guest room they entered was plain.

It wasn’t the Kirias estate with imperial influence woven into every stone, which should have been displeasing—yet oddly, it comforted Seor that Ian hadn’t gone out of his way for Nevan.

But the feeling didn’t last.

Nevan placed an old book from the desk into his hands.

“What is this?”

“Open it.”

Seor disliked the way those red eyes bore into him, but his instincts warned him.

He had to see what was inside.

The first page was nothing but an illustration of a fairy. But beyond it lay countless photographs of people like withered winter trees.

Skin clinging to bone, their hollow faces stared expressionlessly ahead.

“What is all this?”

“It is written there.”

“Then tell me. What is this, and how is Ian involved?”

“There are spirits in the North.”

“I know. They call one of them Anna Tuatla.”

“You are quite well-informed.”

“The Empire’s intelligence is no less than the North’s. Don’t underestimate us.”

“I never did.”

Nevan stepped closer without blinking.

Seor stiffened at the sheer weight of his presence.

But realizing there was no threat, he straightened his stance.

“Read this page.”

The passage described the blessing of Anna Tuatla.

“Is Anna Tuatla truly a spirit? Or just a northern superstition?”

“In the North, we call her a great soul. Think of her as close to divine, if that makes it clearer.”

“A divine being, hm. That doesn’t suit the Empire.”

“I mean no insult to the crown.”

“Enough. I’ll read.”

Seor read aloud the words written beneath a photo of rough stone.

[(Excerpt)

Those blessed by Anna Tuatla bear a unique mana.

Unlike the mana naturally within the body, theirs carries the breath of forest, sky, and earth itself.

In truth, they become one with the nature of the North.]

Nevan’s finger slid to the next page.

There were the same withered husk-like figures again.

[When one blessed by Anna Tuatla lives outside the North, they slowly wither and die.

It seems the mana within their body seeks to return to its origin.

Thus, the blessed cannot survive beyond the North.]

Nevan spoke.

“On the day of the battle with the Demon Lord, Ian truly died.”

“Don’t speak of that.”

“I wish I didn’t have to. But now that he has been blessed by Anna Tuatla, we cannot ignore this.”

“…Is it true?”

“Yes.”

There was not a trace of falsehood in Nevan’s voice.

He clearly believed the spirit’s power had played a role in bringing Ian back to life.

And Seor, to some degree, believed it too.

Why else would Ian have been chosen by a spirit he had no ties to?

“Damn it! We should never have held a funeral that day.”

“…”

With a slam, Seor threw the book onto the desk.

He went to the window, breathing heavily.

“Ian will wither away?”

Seor knew well how vital mana was.

Like a Sword Master using mana to wield their blade, the flow of mana within was life energy itself.

[It is the same as slowly having one’s life force drained.]

The phrase echoed in his mind, unsettling him.

Ian was meant to be the Crown Princess Consort.

They were betrothed.

Even if Ian’s heart had cooled, someday—just once—he believed Ian would open his heart to him.

Not because Ian was weak.

Ian was stronger than he seemed. Stubborn, unyielding.

But above all, Ian’s heart was warm.

Seor had grown up starved of affection under a cold emperor and a frail empress.

His arrogance and bravado were a mask for how fragile he truly was.

Like a restless river, his heart wavered often.

Ian, raised in overflowing love, was his opposite.

At first, Seor had hated him for it.

Hated that someone born into endless affection still sought love from him.

But once Ian began to walk with conviction, he saw him differently.

Seor asked seriously,

“What part of Ian do you love?”

“All of him.”

“When did it begin, this closeness between you?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Coward. I’ve watched him far longer. Even before his coming-of-age, I saw him every day—he came to me constantly.”

Seor recalled how Ian would burst into his study like a flower or a star.

Even Peter had laughed in disbelief.

“Ian was lovable. No—he was never not lovable.”

“……”

“And I only lost him because of my own fault.”

Seor, staring long at the window, turned back.

His sharp golden eyes fixed on Nevan.

“I’ll let him go north.”

“Thank you.”

“But don’t mistake me. I haven’t given up. I will find a way for Ian to live in the palace.”

“I expected nothing less.”

“One more thing.”

“Go on.”

“Why tell me this? What if I report it to my father?”

Nevan’s expression didn’t change.

“Because when it comes to Ian, I know you would be earnest above all else.”

“…I see.”

Seor said he’d been in the room too long and turned to leave.

“Send Ian north quickly. His body is not strong.”

“I understand.”

“And tell the others as well. Just make sure Ian never knows. I don’t want to burden him with needless fear.”

When Nevan nodded, Seor gave a long sigh and stepped out of the room.

* * *

Snow was falling in faint, stinging flakes.

Not the kind that piled up on the ground as in the North, but the kind that hardened into ice.

I lay my weary body on the bed and thought,

“Will you go ahead of me first?”

It was the first time Nevan had ever asked such a thing.

Was something wrong?

“I hope it’s nothing serious…”

I muttered as Bain entered to announce it was time for luncheon.

I hurried down the stairs, forcing my heart to beat faster on purpose.

I distracted myself by wondering what today’s menu would be, whether Nevan would eat with appetite.

It was one of my ways of lifting a sinking heart.

At the table, Seor was absent.

“He said he had urgent business,” Father remarked.

“I see,” I replied, nodding as I took the seat beside Nevan.

He glanced at me as I sat, then turned his gaze to his plate.

The meal was light.

The appetizer was a fruit salad, a fashionable trend lately, while the main dish and dessert were vegetable courses to supply nutrients often lacking in winter.

I felt reassured to see Nevan finish his vegetables without leaving a single piece behind.

My etiquette tutor had told me Northerners ate nothing but meat at every meal.

So focused was I on Nevan that I didn’t join the rest of the family’s conversation—until a sudden question struck me.

“Ian, have you grown close with His Grace the Grand Duke?”

“…Pardon?”

“Ahem, I mean… closer. Closer.”

The word was closeness, but both Father’s and Mother’s expressions hinted at something else.

Then Nevan suddenly spoke.

“Please grant us permission to court properly.”

“Oh my.”

I choked, coughing violently as water went down the wrong way.

This was not in the plan!

I must have looked at Nevan with wide eyes.

His crimson eyes shone brighter than ever as if to ask, “Why not?”

I had completely forgotten he was Northern.

A Northerner would state a relationship openly, and before long, the talk would leap straight to marriage.

Suppressing the urge to retch up everything I’d just eaten, I forced a smile and addressed my parents.

“Ha… ha… Yes. Just as His Grace says—couldn’t you grant us your blessing?”

Father and Mother looked at one another, unable to hide their surprise.

They hadn’t expected such words from an unexpected guest at the end of a meal.

Neither had I.

Mother spoke.

“Oh ho. To think our Ian was in such a relationship… We’ve been terribly blind. But since you’re both adults, I trust you’ll handle yourselves well.”

At her wholehearted support, I inwardly cried yes!

But her next words froze me stiff.

“Of course, you know well enough not to share a bed during a cycle, don’t you? Otherwise, you might end up with a child.”