Chapter 40
Emily’s olive eyes flared sharply.
In that instant, a realization beyond reason pierced through her mind. Like a prophet struck by revelation, she spoke with sudden certainty.
“Ah… I see now. Your mother is pregnant too, isn’t she?”
“……”
“You’re planning to switch her child with mine and raise it as the true heir. Am I wrong?”
For a fleeting moment, Carlos’s violet eyes darkened with a chilling stillness.
But only for a second.
The next instant, he smiled brightly again, gently caressing his wife’s cheek as he whispered,
“You’re saying strange things, wife.”
He brushed his lips against her ear and continued,
“You don’t need to worry about that. The son born from your womb will be the one to inherit Brandt.”
His tone was firm, absolute. Looking into her eyes, he swore solemnly in the name of the one-eyed god.
An oath sworn before the god’s gaze was sacred. Something that could not be broken.
Emily’s suspicion wavered. Carlos smiled sweetly once more and held out the spoon again.
“Now, eat, wife. If you wish, I can swear it as many times as you like.”
Her eyelids trembled. At last, she opened her mouth and swallowed the soup he offered.
Carlos gently stroked her hair.
* * *
Brunhilde dreamed.
A sinister dream beneath a sky churning with dark red clouds, where black branches writhed like claws.
A formless, skeletal shadow tore at her lower body. She struggled, collapsed on the ground, trying to escape. But the shadow grew longer and longer, until it swallowed her whole.
Sharp, pointed branches pierced into her abdomen. They writhed, forcing their way deeper, invading even the most intimate parts of her.
The shadow coiled around her like something alive, ravaging her body as she clawed at the ground in desperation.
And then, a cold wetness suddenly spilled between her legs.
Her head jerked forward.
Blood spread before her eyes, making it unreal. At last, the shadow let out a grotesque, delighted laugh.
Its eerie laughter filled the world.
In that suffocating night, thick with blood-red air, Brunhilde in the dream clawed at the ground, gasping like a wounded beast.
“—Hahk…! Hah…!”
She woke with a gasp, her breath ragged. Beside her, her son—who had rarely stayed the night—stirred awake as well.
“Mother… are you all right?”
His concerned voice fell over her like a weight, and then his warmth followed, wrapping around her.
Her body was still trembling. Even as she sobbed, shaken by the remnants of the dream, she found herself relieved that he was there.
Relieved that there was warmth to hold her.
“It was… a terrible dream…”
“It was only a dream, Mother. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Ah… my child, my poor child…”
Clutching her belly, Brunhilde trembled with an emotion she could not name. Leaning into his embrace, she steadied her breathing for a long while before speaking again.
“…I’m sorry for waking you.”
“Don’t say that. I’m glad I could hold you after such a nightmare.”
“My sweet child…”
When she lifted her tearful gaze, Carlos pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Wiping the moisture from her eyes, he spoke gently,
“Go back to sleep, Mother.”
“Yes… I should. But before that, will you promise me something?”
“What is it?”
“That the child I give birth to… you’ll truly protect and love them.”
Brunhilde’s voice was careful, but her expression held an urgency that was almost desperate.
Carlos watched her in silence for a moment. Just as unease began to flicker across her face, he broke into a soft smile and answered,
“You’re asking something that goes without saying.”
“You promise?”
“Of course. How could I not love the child you give birth to?”
The child you bear will be treated no differently from a legitimate heir. His face, as he said it, was gentle and faithful.
Some of the tension in her chest eased. Brunhilde gavea small, fragile smile.
“Then rest now. Morning is still far off.”
“I’m afraid… the nightmare might return…”
At her quiet admission, Carlos’s expression softened with something like pity. Then he lifted the covers slightly.
A moment later, his lukewarm hand slid between her legs, slipping beneath her undergarments. His fingers pressed into her parted flesh.
And in a low voice, he whispered.
“I’ll make you feel good, Mother.”
“Carl, this is…”
“After you feel your peak, you’ll sleep so soundly that not even nightmares will come.”
With that reassurance, her son delved inside her familiarly. Soon, pleasure—unbidden by her will—sprouted like pale green shoots.
For a moment, she thought his touch resembled the shadow of a tree in a dream, but the pleasure that followed crashed over her like a wave, snatching that thought away.
“Haah—Carl…”
“You’re so beautiful when you cry, my Brunhilde.”
The climax finally came. She lay gasping in its wake, and only after she had also sucked her aroused son’s length did she finally sink back into sleep.
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