Chapter 18
As Franz was answering, wrapping Brunhilde’s frail body in what seemed like a comforting embrace, his eyes suddenly flew wide open.
A cold, alien sensation—like metal piercing flesh—ripped through his spine.
By the time he reflexively shoved the princess away from his arms, a dagger—disguised within her ornate necklace—had already sunk into his chest.
Gripping the hilt with a slightly trembling hand, the princess spoke.
“I’m not leaving.”
“…Prin—cess. Wh—why…?”
“You don’t need to tell me what Brandt’s curse is. I already know.”
Blood trickled down the blade, wetting her fingertips. Brunhilde’s violet eyes curved with quiet resolve.
“Patricide.”
“…Th—that’s—”
“So if I kill you, Carl will be free from that curse. Isn’t that right?”
If I sever the breath of the father you were meant to kill with my own hands, then you can flee from fate with clean hands.
Isn’t that so, my beloved Carlos?
She drove the blade deeper into the chest of the stepson who had violated her for nearly twenty years.
Twisting the hilt to burrow the wound deeper, she murmured as if to herself,
“If all it takes is for you to disappear, why did you try to drag me along?”
“…Brun…hilde…”
“You couldn’t break your oath before the gods, so you planned to take me with you anyway—keep me as your plaything in exile? Enjoy watching me suffer, unable to see Carl?”
Franz shook his head despite the pain, trying to speak. But what spilled from his mouth was not words—only thick, dark blood.
With hands soaked in his blood, Brunhilde continued,
“I don’t care if you keep violating me.”
“Prin…cess, you’ve got it wr—”
“But you should never have tried to take me away from Carl. That child is my everything. The only sunlight in my filthy fate.”
The image of her son—shining so brightly like the sun despite carrying the cursed bloodline—filled her heart to the brim.
And for the first time in her life, she found she could smile even with another’s blood staining her hands.
“Consider today’s death the price you owe for everything you’ve done to me.”
“No… th—that’s not it, Princess…”
“When you meet your father in hell, give him my regards.”
Franz’s blood-slicked lips continued to move, struggling to form words like a fading breath—until, at last, a faint smile touched them.
Born a bastard of foreign blood, he had clawed his way up, determined to stand above those who despised him.
If he couldn’t possess the family in his own right, he had been willing to seize it through his bloodline—even committing unforgivable sins to do so.
And yet, the people he had once seen as mere means to an end had, little by little, become precious to him.
His final, desperate wish to protect them crumbled meaninglessly beneath the mockery of fate.
A faint laugh kept escaping him. Gathering the last of his strength, he exhaled a voice as thin as mist.
“In the end… fate…”
Was it something that could never be changed? You pitiful, tragic princess.
He reached out to her with blood-stained hands, but before he could fulfill that final gesture, his body collapsed.
Blood continued to pour from the wound in his chest as he fell to the floor, his breathing slowly fading.
Stepping aside so he wouldn’t touch her, Brunhilde watched her stepson—now nothing more than a corpse—and drew in a ragged breath.
In the end… I’ve done it. But I don’t regret it.
This was the best way to save Carlos from his fate.
Hadn’t she sworn she would stain her hands with blood if it meant protecting him?
“And besides… Franz tried to deceive me until the very end.”
Trying to separate her from her child. As if she’d ever allow that. If she can never see Carl again, then she might as well already be dead.
The trembling in her hands gradually subsided.
She took a deep breath in, then exhaled slowly, steadying herself. After dragging the stiffening body into the shadows, she wiped away the blood staining her clothes and skin.
Despite committing such a grave act, it was still that dim hour just before dawn.
Brunhilde glanced at the faint crescent moon, then left Franz’s chamber and hurried back to her own.
She’ll wash herself clean, erase every trace and at first light, she’ll go see her son. If she can see Carl’s face, she’ll gladly accept whatever punishment comes for this.
She was picturing everything that would follow when she quietly pushed open the door to her room and an unexpected voice greeted her.
“Are you only just coming back, Mother?”
“…Carl?”
Her beloved son’s voice.
At this hour—why was he in her room?
And tonight of all nights—after she had just killed Franz.
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