Chapter 59
“Do you really have to kill him? Wouldn’t it be better to just keep him imprisoned…?”
“Mother, you’re too soft-hearted.”
Carlos let out a quiet, almost amused laugh, as if indulging a naïve remark. His fingers brushed her cheek, then traced along her jaw as he continued,
“If we let him go, do you think he’ll just lie low and live quietly? No, he won’t. He’ll come back for you. That’s the curse running through this bloodline, isn’t it?”
“Ah…”
It seemed Carlos had fully grasped the nature of the Brandt curse through this incident. It wasn’t surprising—the family’s history was what it was, and Carlos had always been sharp. For some reason, her throat went dry.
As though he had noticed, her son poured her water and held it out.
“By the way… I didn’t expect you to oppose me, Mother. You were the one who tried to kill him first, weren’t you?”
“I… yes. I did.”
“Just a few days ago, you wanted him dead. And now you’re asking me to spare him… it’s a little strange. Don’t tell me you’ve grown attached to him? Or feel pity?”
Though he spoke casually, a chill crept down her spine. Instinctively, she shook her head.
At once, his expression softened again, as if the coldness had never been there. He steadied the cup for her, helping her drink.
“In any case, now that I’m the head of the house, there’s nothing stopping me. Everyone believes he tried to kill me, so there’s more than enough justification to execute him. Since the opportunity has presented itself, it’s best to remove any future trouble now.”
“……”
“After I deal with him, we should talk again about us, Mother.”
For a fleeting moment, the shape of her deepest fear flickered behind his smile… then vanished.
She forced the corners of her lips upward. No matter how many times it was said, she could not accept his desire. But she swallowed those words, leaned back against the pillow, and spoke instead,
“Yes… I’m very tired. Could you let me rest alone?”
“Of course, Mother. Get some rest.”
Smiling like the dutiful son he appeared to be, the boy pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek before stepping away.
Brunhilde had to pour every ounce of strength into her body just to keep from trembling.
* * *
The next day, Carlos left, saying he had matters to attend to regarding his brother’s “disposal.” He told her he would return the following day.
After confirming that her son had truly left the estate, Brunhilde hurriedly threw on a cloak and made her way to the underground prison.
By sheer luck, it seemed to be a shift change. The guard who should have been stationed at the entrance was nowhere in sight.
Letting out a breath of relief, she slipped inside.
The prison was dim, lit only by flickering torches. She wandered through the shadowed corridors, searching. Before long, she found him.
Franz. Locked behind iron bars, his entire body drenched in blood.
The sight of him—so badly mutilated that no bare skin could be seen—made her heart drop. Her throat closed, and for several moments she could only move her lips soundlessly before finally managing to speak.
“Franz…?”
“Brunhilde…”
The voice she had known for nearly twenty years was now rough, cracked. It was painful to hear. He lifted his head at the sound of her voice.
Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of his ruined face.
For a brief moment, life flickered back into his dark eyes when they met hers. His lips twitched, as though he might smile. But what escaped him instead was a dry, ragged cough.
Clutching the wound where she had stabbed him, he struggled for breath. Only after some time did he manage to steady himself enough to speak.
“This… isn’t a place for a princess…”
He said it lightly, almost teasingly, just like before. And for some reason, that made her chest ache.
Even now, he still called her princess. Perhaps it had been since that night, when she learned the truth of the curse, when she realized Franz had never deceived her.
She no longer hated him as she once had. No… perhaps it was more than that.
“Why… are you in such a terrible state…?”
“Carl… kh—! …seems to have quite a grudge against me.”
“Wait. I brought water.”
Brunhilde hurriedly reached into her cloak and pulled out a flask. She pushed it through the bars. Though his limbs were restrained, he could still move within a limited range. Franz slowly approached the bars, coming close enough to drink.
Then he simply looked at her.
“……”
Why did that gaze make her chest ache so much?
“Why aren’t you drinking?”
“…Tilt it more.”
His tone was casual, but his eyes never left her. Even with his lips parched from thirst, he didn’t so much as glance at the water.
She did as he asked.
Water trickled out, spilling more than he managed to drink—yet still, he never looked away from her.
When the flask was empty, she asked,
“What are you going to do now?”
“Well… that depends on Carl, now that he’s the head of the house. With my hands and feet bound, what could I possibly do?”
“…So you’re just going to wait? Until Carl decides to let you go?”
“He might not.”
His tone was so calm, so matter-of-fact, that for a moment Brunhilde thought she must have misheard.
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