Chapter 54
“I’ve only ever wanted you, Mother. For a very long time.”
Ah…
So that was what it meant by his desire for her.
At last, the vague, clouded question that had lingered within her cleared away, and a stark, piercing realization spread through her like a sky after rain. A truth she had failed to grasp even as her son kissed her, even as he stripped her bare.
No, perhaps she had simply refused to see it. Because she couldn’t accept it. Because the moment she did, everything would come crashing down.
Only now did Franz’s low words from earlier spoken words take on a new meaning.
So the curse of the Brandt family was…
“I love you, Brunhilde.”
A desire rooted in blood.
“From the moment I saw you gasping beneath my brother, there hasn’t been a single moment I didn’t want you.”
To lust after the mother who gave birth to him.
So that was why you had asked me to disappear with you. Because the one who needed to flee beyond the reach of that curse… was not you, but me.
Only then did she finally understand Franz’s words. Why he had not cut her down, and instead sent her back to her room. Tears surged forth again—different from before, heavier, sharper. Carlos gently wiped them away as they spilled anew.
“I won’t kill her.”
“Carl…”
“But I don’t like being interrupted. So I’ll have to take her arms and legs—”
“—It seems I’m not too late.”
At that moment, another voice slipped through the half-open door.
Brunhilde instinctively turned toward it. Even through her tear-blurred vision, she recognized the man at once.
Franz.
She could not see him clearly through her tears, but his face was so pale it looked as though he might collapse at any moment. Bandages were tightly wrapped around his chest, and though they had only recently been applied, they were already soaked through with blood.
And yet, as he stepped slowly into the room, there was something feral about him—like a powerful beast. Walking past Heen, Franz spoke in a low voice.
“Step away from your mother, Carlos.”
“So you still came, even in that condition, Brother.”
“In a few days, you’ll become the head of the Brandt family. Surely you don’t intend to be pointed at and scorned for violating the very mother who bore you.”
“So it’s only a problem if she’s my birth mother?”
Franz’s stern question was met with an immediate, mocking reply. The boy smiled brightly—utterly at odds with the content of his words—and continued,
“You, who acted as acting head, managed to hide your depravity with your stepmother for nearly fifteen years. Why wouldn’t I be able to do the same? I’ll be careful not to get caught, so don’t worry.”
“Empty words. You know perfectly well this isn’t a simple matter.”
“Ah, of course it isn’t.”
Surprisingly compliant, Carlos lowered himself further, drawing Brunhilde into his arms as if to cradle her. He brushed his lips over the trails of her tears, then lifted his gaze to meet Franz’s dark eyes directly.
“To you, isn’t this simply a serious matter of having to share the woman you’ve monopolized… with your younger brother?”
“…I thought only the princess had lost her senses over you. It seems my own judgment has been clouded as well.”
Franz’s expression darkened further. He had known that the madness granted by their divine bloodline slumbered within Carlos. But he hadn’t expected it to bloom so fully.
There was no point in continuing the exchange. Their positions would never meet. A heavy stillness settled within him as Franz reached for the hilt of the sword at his waist.
At that sight, Brunhilde trembled in Carlos’s arms. He tightened his hold on her and whispered gently,
“Go wait over there for a moment, Mother.”
“Carl… you’re not—?”
“My brother is badly injured. It’ll be over quickly. If you stay here, I won’t be able to fight properly. Hmm?”
Her tear-drenched violet eyes took in the face of the son she loved more than anything… and then the face of the other son—who had spared her even after she stabbed him. Her delicate features twisted anew. Clutching Carlos’s arm, Brunhilde pleaded through her sobs,
“No… please don’t do this…”
“I’ll try not to kill him. I’m a Brandt too, after all. Someone as injured as him—I should be able to subdue him without killing—”
“Franz, you mustn’t either… You promised you wouldn’t kill Carlos…”
“……”
Different smiles touched the two men’s lips.
One, displeased that their mother still believed he might lose, even against a wounded opponent.
The other, bitter that Brunhilde, who he had forgiven even after stabbing him, cared only for her son’s safety.
In the end, even now, Carlos was nothing more than her small, young son. And Franz—no matter that she had stabbed him—remained someone she could cast aside without hesitation.
What the two men truly desired… was this fragile, pitiful woman who could never give herself wholly to either.
“Carl… Mother will go. I’ll leave… I won’t ever appear before you again, so please…”
Brunhilde begged, her voice trembling and thick with tears.
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