Grace's condition looked bad even from afar. But when Jesse came to her side, she realized Grace's condition was beyond bad—it was serious. As Eliza left the hall, Jesse took hold of Grace's arm. Her body temperature, felt through soaked clothes, was abnormally high.
"Young miss, this won't do. Let us go back now."
Grace, too, thought it impossible to stand any longer. It was difficult to keep her balance as if the ground were swaying, and she was unbearably cold.
Grace gave a slight nod and turned her body in the direction of Ares. Even that small movement made the world sway as if water were pooled inside her head. In a gesture bordering on unconsciousness, she offered her respects and began walking toward the main entrance of the hall, struggling not to stagger.
She felt the aftereffects of the underground solitary cell flooding in like a burst levee.
Upon exiting the main entrance of the hall, a chill she had never experienced in her life enveloped her entire body. Every time the wind swept over her, it felt like dozens of knives were slicing into her flesh.
"Y... young... miss... Are... you... al... right..."
Jesse's voice drew out long and sounded distant.
The moment she mumbled that she was fine, that they should just go, and tried to take another step, a large, firm embrace covered her body. Before she could even realize what was happening, his face entered her hazy vision.
Ares held Grace in his arms and gazed down at her intently, and Grace, too, looked up at him blankly. Even as the world swayed endlessly this way and that, only his jet-black pupils were clearly visible.
The time spent locked in prison had been only a few days, but to Grace, it had been as long as several years.
She had been forced to witness her mother and father's deaths hundreds, thousands of times. The smell of that day, the humidity, the temperature, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and the young palms that had to cover her mouth.
Everything was so vivid that at some point, she even forgot that it was an illusion. Forgetting that this was merely part of the plan, that she only had to endure for a few days, she had merely gasped in uncontrollable despair and sorrow.
In that terrible illusion, what Grace had clung to and endured with was, once again, this man with jet-black eyes.
Ares, Ares Dekan.
Just as she had in childhood, she had called that name hundreds, thousands of times.
Yet something seemed different from back then. Each time she tried to let go of her mind, convinced that going mad would be better, there had been something holding her back.
A large embrace encircling her back, warmth, a hand stroking her hair…….
And,
'Ares…….'
To that hollow call,
'I'm here.'
An answer seemed to have come back.
"Grace."
Ares watched until the very end as her clear pupils disappeared behind her eyelids. The moment her eyes closed, her body went limp. The body temperature felt through her clothes was hot to a degree incomparable to the night before.
"Young miss!"
"Enough."
After restraining Jesse, who was beside herself with worry, Ares walked as if nothing were amiss.
"Bring a trustworthy doctor within the hour. The man named Eric—he has been inside Richmond all this time, so he should be capable of that much."
But unlike his heartless-looking gestures, his tone was clear and swift like that of a general commanding a war.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"I will have men waiting at the Northwest Gate. Have him come that way."
"Yes, Your Grace. ...Please take good care of the young miss."
Ares quickly moved away as if even the time to answer was a waste.
＊ ＊ ＊
Eliza walked slowly through the castle where autumn was in full swing. When she had been in the annex, even rising from bed had been difficult, yet somehow strength welled up from somewhere, and her body did not feel heavy.
"Are you returning to the annex?"
When Lady Isaac, who was following beside her, cautiously asked, Eliza slowly shook her head.
"There is nothing left to hide, nor any reason to hide it. Why would I go back there?"
The oak tree in the inner courtyard was the same as ever, and the thick pillars of the corridor remained unchanged. There was no corner of the castle where her life had not been woven into.
As she was slowly looking around the castle and had climbed the grand staircase of the main keep, an unusual presence and heavy footsteps were heard from behind. When Eliza and Lady Isaac looked down the staircase at the same time, Ares, holding Grace in his arms, was already climbing the stairs.
Lady Isaac gasped in surprise, but Eliza clicked her tongue as if she had expected it and commanded,
"Arwen, call the physician."
"Yes, my lady. But the physician residing in the castle is the Countess's cousin, so I shall send someone outside the castle. It will take some time."
"First, bring a fever reducer and send someone to the Northwest Gate. Grace's maid is supposed to bring the physician there."
Ares threw out the words abruptly, as if stopping his steps was a waste of time, then immediately went up the stairs.
Eliza also gestured as if to tell them to do as he said, then climbed the stairs.
At their backs, which looked so alike that one might believe them grandparent and grandchild, Lady Isaac muttered that blood was indeed thicker than water and hurriedly went down the stairs.
Meanwhile, the servants tidying the corridor where the duke's bedroom was located were surprised once by the duke, who appeared with a terrifying momentum, and again by the woman hanging limp in his arms.
"Open the bedroom door."
At the duke's cold command, they quickly opened the bedroom door, and Ares, carrying Grace, walked straight toward the bed.
A quick-witted maid rushed ahead of the duke to pull back the covers, and Ares laid Grace upon the white bedding. When the maid tried to quickly cover her with the blanket, he stopped her hand and swiftly commanded,
"Fill the bathtub with lukewarm water and call four maids to attend her bath. Bring a wet towel and comfortable clothes, and raise the room temperature higher than this."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Then Eliza, who had followed behind Ares, entered the room. Her eyes fell upon Ares standing stock still, watching over Grace. Eliza's eyes reflexively narrowed. Then, as the maid who had received the command went out, she walked to the bed and placed her hand on Grace's forehead.
"Her body is a ball of fire. Well, she endured three days in that terrible room."
"……"
Eliza straightened up and glanced at Ares. He still had eyes only for Grace. Eliza tilted her head. His expression and actions did not harmonize. His eyes and expression seemed cold at a glance, yet his actions somehow seemed tinged with impatience.
But when Ares raised his eyes, feeling her gaze, Eliza realized that what covered his black eyes was not cold-heartedness but a very thin layer of ice. What lay hidden beneath the thin ice covering the unfathomably deep, black water—even Eliza Richmond could not muster the courage to peer into it.
While she momentarily lost her words, Ares opened his mouth.
"Have you had enough sleep?"
"Am I to save my remaining sleep for when I enter the coffin?"
"How is it to see Richmond's vast grounds after so long? Did you see a well-tended garden?"
It was a remark both highly metaphorical and biting.
"...The weeds have grown aplenty. It is the great fault of the garden owner who neglected the land and only slept."
Eliza let out a long breath and spoke in a low voice.
"Thank you. For not setting the garden on fire just because weeds grew."
Ares glanced down at the sleeping Grace. Even unconscious, Grace was curled up and shivering from the cold. Reflexively, Ares gripped the blanket, then put it back down.
"When the fever reducer comes—"
"I will handle it without being told, so leave now."
Eliza, too, disliked unnecessary words. She cut off Ares's words at once, then shouted sharply toward the outside.
"Is the wet towel not ready yet?!"
"Yes, yes! It is ready, my lady!"
"Move quickly. Come here and undress the young lady...... Are you still standing there instead of leaving?! Must I shove you out?!"
Ares turned away, raising both hands as if to say he would pass on witnessing such a sight.
"Where on earth did he learn such coarse gestures!"
The peevish nagging came from behind, but he let it go in one ear and out the other. And he went straight to the underground dungeon from there. Upon entering the underground, he felt the cold, damp air clinging to his entire body like a magnet. Joseph, who had seized control of the underground forces, welcomed him with a disciplined gesture.
"Each person has been locked in solitary cells, Your Grace."
"Well done."
Then, from somewhere, crazed weeping echoed.
"Hueeeeeee, uueeeeeee."
A knight standing off to the side vaguely realized that the cry was the voice of his superior, Count Luwen. When he, his bones turned to ice, rolled only his eyeballs to look at the duke, Ares was sitting in the judge's chair that the Countess had usurped a few days prior.
His figure, elbows on his knees and lost in thought, was like that of a war god contemplating what punishment to bestow upon the defeated. Then, a loud sound of banging and shaking the iron door was heard.
"Let me out, let me out, please!! Fire, fire!! It's dark, ugh, uwaack!!"
Ares slowly raised his eyes and stared at the dark opening. It was the entrance to the stairs leading to the solitary cell where Grace had been imprisoned.
Thoughts sprang forth again before he could even catch them. Her body, which had been so cold he had feared she might die, was today like a ball of fire. Ares clenched and unclenched his palm, which still seemed to hold that heat, and spat.
"How long has it been since you were locked up, and already you're crying and wailing?"
He pressed his eyelids firmly with his fingers. Because he had been unable to sleep for the past three days, his eyes were dry and sore. Running his hand roughly over his face, Ares straightened his back and spoke.
"I will interrogate them one by one."
"Whom shall I bring first?"
"Bring 'Iron Foot' first."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Just as the south wind suddenly shifts to the north wind, the flow of the wind swirling in the ducal castle changed. No, it was not merely a change in airflow; it felt as though a storm would soon rush in. Because it was so difficult to even guess the scale of that storm, or whether anything would remain after it passed, the soldiers drew in their necks.