Chapter 58
“Well, I already know what you’ll say. After all, Father and Brunhilde aren’t truly bound by blood. It’s different from me, her real son.”
“And you know that, yet…”
“But even so… don’t you understand my desire, Father? The curse that runs through the Brandt bloodline must be this very lust—for Mother.”
By now, Carlos’s eyes burned openly with undisguised desire. Embracing even the family’s curse as something exquisite, he spoke with unwavering certainty.
“Help me, Father.”
“Why should I obey you?”
“If you don’t… Brunhilde will witness her own son beheading his father.”
“……”
The boy smiled again, angelic as ever.
“Perhaps you could accept your own death. After all, you love her enough to forgive the blade that stabbed you. But imagine this—what do you think would happen if I were to force myself on her?”
Franz and Carlos reached the same conclusion at the same time.
“Suicide.”
“……”
“You know it, don’t you? Brunhilde is the kind of person who would give her life for me without hesitation. If it meant protecting my fate, she’d throw her own life away without a second thought.”
“……”
There was no arguing it. It was a truth Franz himself acknowledged. And reading that silent agreement, the son spoke again. An angel’s face whispering a serpent’s words.
“If you help me, Father… Mother won’t take her own life.”
“……”
“I’ll pretend I don’t know the truth about you—or about my birth. After all, what good would it do for her to know? It would only torment her more.”
The offer was cunning, devilish in its sweetness. So alluring that even knowing it was wrong, one could not help but be drawn in. From the moment Brunhilde’s life had been placed on the scale, the answer had already been decided.
At last, Franz lowered his head.
“You’ve made the right choice. I knew you would.”
Carlos chattered lightly, pleased.
“And if you do as I say, I’ll even give you another chance to have Brunhilde. Sometimes, I imagine how you must have shared her with old Lord Brandt… I’ve even pleasured myself to the thought. I’d love to hear what kind of expression she’ll make—being taken by both her old husband and his son.”
“……”
Looking at the twisted rapture settling over the boy’s beautiful face, Franz silently offered an apology that would never reach the woman he loved.
I’m sorry, Brunhilde. I may be the one to shatter your wish with my own hands.
* * *
After being captured while trying to flee with Franz, Brunhilde fell ill for two full days.
She drifted in and out of a fever worse than the summer heat, struggling to stay conscious. Whenever she asked about Franz, the only answer she received was to focus on recovering first.
“Your fever has gone down quite a bit. Still, you should take the medicine for a few more days.”
“…My child… where is Franz?”
That morning, when her fever had finally broken, she asked again, her mind still hazy from illness and medicine, but her heart restless with worry.
Carlos, watching her with clear, steady eyes, replied,
“Brother is in prison.”
“Prison…?”
“Yes. He killed thirteen valuable warhorses and tried to kidnap you and flee. There’s even a witness—the stable hand. There was no escaping punishment.”
“……”
So… they failed to escape. But at least… he’s alive.
Relief and sorrow tangled together, leaving her thoughts in disarray. Sensing her feelings, Carlos gently cupped her cheek in what looked like comfort. For a brief moment, her shoulders tensed instinctively, but she forced herself to relax, pretending nothing was wrong.
“…What do you intend to do with him?”
“Well… I’m still thinking about that.”
He paused, as though considering carefully, then asked, almost casually,
“Mother… what do you think about killing him?”
“What?”
Brunhilde recoiled in shock, but Carlos continued calmly,
“He forced himself on you for over a decade. And then he dared to try and take you from me and run. That’s a very serious crime.”
“……”
She stared at him, unsettled by the strange dissonance in his expression. He looked calm on the surface, yet faintly cold beneath.
The memory of that night came back to her. The look he had worn while gazing down at her and Franz, crushed beneath the fallen horse. A face that seemed kind, yet revealed glimpses of something dark underneath.
The son she had believed to be gentle and kind… might truly be capable of killing Franz for nothing more than that reason. Even if they had lived as brothers for fifteen years.
A sudden chill ran through her, and her body trembled. Carlos, noticing, pulled a thin blanket over her.
It was fortunate that she could blame it on the cold. Because in truth, she was trembling more from his touch than from anything else.
‘I can’t let Carl kill Franz.’
Carl didn’t know it, but Franz was his true father.
And patricide… was something she had once been willing to stain her own hands with blood to prevent. Even if it was no longer bound to the family’s curse, she could not bear to see her son take his father’s life.
…And, perhaps just a little bit more of sentiment stirred quietly within her heart.
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