Chapter 140
Arzeletta’s hand, which had been gently stroking Yoseph’s disheveled hair, paused. Arzeletta’s eyes, which had answered all of Yoseph’s questions without concealment until now, wavered.
Just hearing Ragnar’s name brought back his touch.
…In truth, the memories of her time with him, helplessly, had been suppressing Arzeletta’s heart all along.
The black and red darkness, and within it, the unrealistically mysterious and pure silver hair.
His hands, stroking her skin, were both strong and gentle. His shoulders, always impeccably wrapped in his uniform, were barbarically broad and firm. Even when Arzeletta carelessly dug her nails into his shoulder, making clumsy scratches several times, the man’s steadfast face revealed nothing.
His eyes, which contained her as if to remember even the shape of a single stray hair, were a deep, transparent violet. Those eyes, which she had never not feared while living in this domain, now conveyed an incredibly intense passion to Arzeletta at every moment.
As if her senses were numbed by experiencing unbearable stimulation, Arzeletta found it difficult to gauge the temperature in the Lord’s violet eyes.
Whether it was excessively cold or… the opposite.
Ragnar’s breath on her entire body was unrealistically tender, even after experiencing it hundreds, thousands of times.
His lips were not cold. His breath, his warmth, his scent. All of it felt like an infinite protection.
She recalled the sound of his heartbeat, audible when she closed her eyes in his arms.
And the sensation of his fingertips and lips tracing her body as if touching a fragile glass.
And the heat of the moment when, after being consistently gentle, he suddenly gripped her as if exploding.
…And most of all, the wounded look in his eyes that he showed in those moments when he paused.
No matter how, no matter how much he tried to hide it, it was ultimately never concealed, always revealed whenever she looked at him, that wounded, messed-up look in his eyes.
“Ah, Arzeletta.”
Only upon hearing Yoseph’s helplessly calling voice did Arzeletta realize she was crying.
Just thinking of Ragnar’s name, emotions overflowed like a tidal wave. She felt she would quietly sink into those emotions and never surface again.
“Arzeletta.”
“I can’t.”
Arzeletta said, pressing firmly on her heart. It was a painful voice, like someone confessing.
“I cannot love him….”
Cannot love. Arzeletta spoke as if uttering unfamiliar words. And then she slowly mulled over her own words.
“Yes. I cannot love him.”
“What on earth is that…”
“I cannot love the Lord.”
“What on earth are you talking about, Arzeletta?”
Cannot love. Her one and only love had already been decided long ago. That was the major premise of her life. Even at this moment, Theogrim’s voice calling her, his daily fear and pain, pierced deeply into Arzeletta’s heart.
If she loved the Lord, if she could just love him, Arzeletta would not have been so unbearably sad. Even if it was unrequited love, if she wanted to give herself to him solely out of love for him, she would not have hated herself like this.
No matter how much she yearned for his warmth, no matter if his gentleness brought tears to her eyes, no matter if her heart pounded with an overwhelming emotion she couldn’t understand… this was not love.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking.”
Yoseph rubbed Arzeletta’s eyes with his blunt thumb, shaking his head.
“It’s not that you don’t love him, but that you cannot love him.”
“……”
“I don’t understand you, Arzeletta….”
Yoseph buried his face in Arzeletta’s skirt. Arzeletta pitifully stroked the large, dark man who clung to her as desperately as a child.
“…If, by any chance, something like that happens,” Yoseph continued, leaning his face against Arzeletta’s black skirt.
“Marry me, Arzeletta.”
“Yoseph…”
“I’ll say it’s my child.”
Yoseph’s voice was as unpolished as ever, but the sincerity in his words was firm.
“Everyone will believe it if I say it’s mine.”
“……”
“I’ll protect you no matter what. So…”
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