Chapter 19
Yet even in her confusion, the sound of her beloved son’s voice clung warmly to her ears. Quickly smoothing over her surprise, she smiled and said,
“What brings you to your mother’s room at this hour? Is it because your coming-of-age is so close that you can’t sleep?”
In the dim room lit only by a single small lamp, the silhouette of her son—who had been sitting by the bed, idly turning a golden orb in his hands—rose to his feet.
Standing with the light behind him, Carlos blinked as he looked at her. Then, unexpectedly, he asked,
“Did you go to see Brother Franz again?”
The question struck her heart like a jolt. She faltered for a split second before forcing a smile.
“…W-what are you talking about, Carl? Mother just couldn’t sleep, so I stepped outside for a moment—”
“I’ve known for a long time, Mother.”
Carlos cut her off. His face shadowed, he stepped forward and said again,
“You’ve been sharing a bed with him every night.”
“I… I don’t know what you’re saying. I—”
“Even ten years ago, when I was five, you were beneath him, moaning.”
“……”
Step. Step. With each sound of his footsteps, her beloved son drew closer.
At last, stopping just a single step away from her, Carlos lowered his dark lashes. Then he gently cupped her pale cheek and whispered,
“Mother.”
“…child.”
“I can smell blood on you.”
There was nothing she could hide from her perceptive son.
Not the forbidden sin of sharing a bed with her stepson, nor the greater crime of taking his life with her own hands.
Under a familiar sense of resignation, she clenched her fists and confessed. As he quietly looked down at her, her son spoke again.
“Mother.”
“Yes, child.”
“Kiss me.”
With tears in her eyes, Brunhilde nodded and leaned in to give her son a final kiss on the cheek. But Carlos seized his mother’s face firmly. And pressed his lips to hers.
“Carl—!”
Her cry was swallowed by his breath. His eager mouth consumed her lips, again and again, delving deep into her mouth. Finally, he pulled back, looking at her trembling violet eyes with a languid smile.
“Haah… I should have done this sooner.”
“Carlos?”
“You’re my brother’s mother, but you’re mine too. Why did I hold back all this time, like a fool?”
If Franz could do it, so could he. So easily. So simply.
Suddenly, the world flipped. Disoriented by the spinning sensation, Brunhilde barely felt being pressed onto the bed where the golden orb lay. Her beloved son, now atop her, looked down and smiled like an angel.
“Don’t worry, Mother. My d**k is as good as my brother’s.”
“Chi-child…?”
“I’ve practiced on many women, always thinking of you.”
His red lips pressed against her neck like a brand.
A premonition she’d felt once seventeen years ago, in her dead husband’s bridal chamber—raced down her spine like an ill omen. A premonition of perverse climax.
As her son’s lips traveled lower down her throat, the scene with Franz flashed through her mind like a vision.
The words he had struggled to say to her, even as he choked on bloody foam.
“Prin…cess, you’ve got it wr—”
“In the end… fate…Was it something that could never be changed? You pitiful, tragic princess.”
The heretic of House Brandt, who had never once looked at another woman after taking her in his arms, what had he been trying to tell her at the end?
Perhaps… the curse of Brandt was not what she thought.
“Did I ever tell you, Mother, that I dreamed of you during my first e*********n?”
“Please, please, Carl…”
“Mm, yes. Say my name more. I’ll call you by yours too, Brunhilde.”
“Ah…”
She had been mistaken.
The sin running through Brandt’s blood was not patricide. The sin the first Brandt had harbored in his heart—perhaps it was something else entirely.
“Don’t worry about my dead brother. I’ll handle it.”
“Please don’t do this to Mother, Carl. Please…”
“If you wanted that, you should have run away with him, my dear Princess Brunhilde.”
Only then did she understand what Franz had tried to tell her. But it was too late.
The last chance to change her fate had shattered in her own hands, and the broken shards had scattered far beyond reach.
Her son’s heat spilled inside her.
Brunhilde reached for the golden orb, flailing—then slowly sank into an abyss of pleasure.
The dark whirlpool of fate swallowed her despair with satisfaction.
Down into the endless abyss.
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