Chapter 16
“Carl might come back, so I’ll finish quickly. We still have the night, after all.”
As soon as he pulled out, she quickly gathered her clothes and rushed outside.
“Carl!”
“Mother?”
The boy, who had been sitting with a sullen expression, widened his eyes in surprise—then broke into a bright smile. She pulled his small, soft body into a tight embrace.
“Are you finished talking with Brother?”
“Yes. It’s over.”
“You’re not hurt anywhere?”
“Of course not. Mother is perfectly fine.”
She smiled gently and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Closing his eyes, the boy smiled and stretched out his arms, planting a soft kiss on her lips as he wrapped them around her neck.
“I love you, Mother.”
“I love you too, Carl.”
At least you… I will not let this family’s dreadful curse touch you. Even if I must stain my hands with blood—no matter what.
Holding those unspoken words inside, Brunhilde kissed the bridge of his nose and rose to her feet. Taking his small, delicate hand in hers, she spoke softly,
“Then, my dear—shall we go for a walk together?”
“Yes, I’d love that!”
The warmth of his hand against hers gently melted the wounds in her heart. For once, she smiled sincerely as she led him out into the sunlit garden.
5. Unending
Time continued to pass.
Even as Carlos grew year by year, Brunhilde’s life changed little. Her days were spent raising her son as the powerless mistress of House Brandt.
Of course, her nights with Franz remained unchanged as well. They still shared a bed nearly every night.
For the first few years after giving birth, Brunhilde had hoped he might take a new wife. By the fifth year, she had given up that futile expectation.
Her new son was astonishingly faithful—to one woman alone. Unlike his father, who had taken any pretty woman into his bed without discrimination.
Because a life of debauchery was practically a tradition in House Brandt, those unaware of their relationship praised Franz’s restraint, even admiring it.
Yes, keeping one’s distance from women, or devoting oneself to only one, was certainly a virtue worth praising.
If only that one woman weren’t his stepmother.
Brunhilde let out a bitter, self-mocking smile at the thought.
Before she knew it, Carlos had turned fifteen.
The boy, soon to come of age, had grown into a gentle and graceful young man under her guidance. He was so mild in temperament that people joked he could hardly be of Brandt blood at all.
Of course, he possessed the same remarkable talent with the sword as any of that lineage. His penchant for women, so strikingly similar to the late Duke Brandt, silenced any doubts.
“Carl, were you with a woman again last night?”
“Haha… please let it slide, Mother.”
“You may be nearing adulthood, but you mustn’t indulge yourself so recklessly. What if some girl ends up carrying your child?”
“Don’t worry. I take precautions to make sure that never happens. Now, enough scolding—how about a kiss on your son’s cheek instead? Hmm?”
“…Taking advantage of your mother’s soft heart like that. That’s your only flaw.”
Her son, who would soon inherit the headship of the family from Franz, was Brunhilde’s sole pride, her only source of dignity.
Amid everything in House Brandt that had grown so unbearable, she loved him deeply.
And so—
“Have you come, Mother?”
She was able to endure even the nightly violation at the hands of her new son.
Late at night, when all had fallen asleep, Brunhilde slipped into Franz’s chambers. She removed the thin shawl draped over her shoulders; her clothing, light for the warm season, was sheer enough to reveal what lay beneath.
As she locked the door, Franz embraced her from behind, burying his face in her black hair. His lips trailed down slowly, grazing her ear as he murmured,
“You’re dressed rather lightly tonight.”
“So… you don’t like it?”
“As if. I meant I do.”
His rough fingertips loosened her waistband and slipped beneath the thin fabric. Brunhilde offered no resistance—she leaned back against him and tilted her neck.
His hand glided up her smooth skin and found her bare b****t, kneading it slow. Breathing shallowly, she reached up and traced his jaw, running her fingers over the stubble beginning to shadow his chin.
Franz, savoring her touch, spoke.
“What’s with all this tenderness?”
“Tenderness?”
“Yes. You almost never touch me first, Princess.”
He covered her hand with his and smiled languidly. His dark eyes looked down into hers as he asked:
“So what wind has blown you all the way to my room today?”
Their relationship had always been one-sided. Franz came to her. And she reluctantly opened her body to his will.
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