Chapter 278
Once again, light surged up from the floor. Blue radiance filled every corner, and the spring garden slowly melted away.
When Rosalyn finally opened her eyes against the dazzling light, she found herself in a landscape both familiar and horrifying: a mountain range.
“Ah—!”
But this time was different. Instead of pitch darkness and pouring rain, bright midday sunlight streamed down through the forest. Unable to adjust to the constantly shifting scenes, Rosalyn bit her lip hard.
Suddenly, she caught sight of movement beyond a large boulder. Digging at the ground like a madman, a gaunt man with chestnut hair looked up.
Beneath his gentle features, his golden eyes glimmered with madness. Covering his face with dirt-stained hands, he rose with a pained groan.
He was almost unrecognizable—nothing like the man who had once laughed and held his niece and nephew in the spring garden. Blood seeped through the bandages beneath his open shirt, suggesting a serious wound.
[Rosalyn, Rosalyn…]
The mountains, washed by a torrent of rain, were treacherous to cross. Still, he continued, step after desperate step. In his golden eyes burned both despair and a desperate spark of hope.
[Rosalyn, can you hear me? Rosalyn, please. If you’re there, make a sound. Please?]
He looked like a madman—those pale, shining eyes, the way he called her name over and over, it was enough to choke the breath from her lungs.
But this wasn’t the look of someone who had given up; it was the look of someone who simply couldn’t let go.
[Rosalyn. Uncle is here.]
Please answer me. Even as she heard his voice—cracking with tears—Rosalyn couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t even manage a belated reply.
And the scene kept shifting. The green forest, a snow-covered wood—always the same place and person, but the time and season changed endlessly.
[Rosalyn. Another fruitless search. Someone said there was a child who looked like you, but it wasn’t you after all.]
Now aged and burdened by the years, the man knelt on the ground, pressing his forehead to the soil that no longer bore any trace of old tragedy.
[It’s all right. Even if you never appear before me again, just… please, stay alive.]
Rosalyn closed her eyes, trembling as she fought to steady her breath. Blood seeped from her clenched teeth. She couldn’t bear to watch the man’s tear-stained face any longer.
The truth was, she had never forgotten. No matter how much time passed, she could never fail to recognize him.
Because she had never lost those memories.
* * *
“She’s asked for some time alone to think.”
After closing the door behind her, Sebelia turned and spoke. The two men who had left the room earlier were waiting for her in the hallway.
“Did we do the wrong thing?”
Claude—once again wearing the face of Karl Appenz—asked nervously. Sebelia shook her head, reassuring him.
“No, not at all. This was necessary—for both her and for you.”
Choosing to show Rosalyn Claude’s memories had come after much deliberation.
Given the affection, longing, and even the look on her face when she clung to the former Duchess’ belongings, it was clear Rosalyn might not be as cold or hard-hearted as everyone thought.
Even if she is, I at least wanted to clear up the misconception that no one ever searched for her.
Sebelia had hoped that, if nothing else, she could heal the old wounds buried deep in Rosalyn’s heart. Thankfully, it seemed she’d succeeded.
After seeing all of Claude’s memories, Rosalyn had simply stared at him. Her gaze was a whirlwind of resentment, longing, anger, and yearning.
To spend a lifetime believing no one searched for you, only to realize it wasn’t true—Sebelia knew that feeling, the fire that starts in your heart and burns through your whole body.
It must be like when I met Balak.
And just as she’d needed time to accept things, so would Rosalyn. Now, it was their turn to act.
“Is the Third Prince still causing a scene, demanding Lady Rosalyn’s return?”
“Yes, but it’s really nothing more than empty threats. If it were the First Prince, maybe I’d worry, but the Third has no real power—he can’t challenge the North.”
Dehart gave a cold, thin smile as he spoke.
“I think it’s best to put off sending her back to the palace for now. Up close, she’s even thinner and paler than I’d expected.”
“What about Lady Fria?”
“That’s a bit of a headache…”
Dehart leaned back against the wall, frowning.
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