I Will End My 10-Year Unrequited Love - Chapter 66

It was a deep autumn night shrouded in darkness. Cyrone’s face flickered in the unstable candlelight. The glow cast upon him made his features look unbearably beautiful. Almost divine, like the image of a god.

The commander, watching him, foolishly dared to hope that perhaps forgiveness might be possible.

“…Your Highness.”

The commander repeatedly wiped the sweat slipping from his hands. He tried to steady his cracked voice, but not even a cough came out.

“Aren’t you the commander guarding the palace? What brings you here at this hour?”

Before the commander could gather his thoughts, Nielsen, standing behind Cyrone, spoke first. Nielsen’s eyes were furrowed.

“…”

Cyrone abruptly set down the papers he’d been reviewing and lifted his gaze to look at the commander. Under the dim light, his lifted face resembled a vivid oil painting more than a living person.

The commander, staring at Cyrone, found himself at a loss for words and clicked his teeth nervously.

“Um, it’s about—”

A wave of discomfort swept from his toes throughout his body, and Nielsen silently made the sign of the cross. Praying fervently, Nielsen hurriedly scanned Cyrone’s expression, but his lord’s face remained as calm and unreadable as always.

“Elia?”

Cyrone tilted his head slightly as he looked down at the knight and smiled.

Unlike the way he coldly cut off the commander’s earlier words, this smile was gentle but carried a dry, chilling tone that made Nielsen’s neck stiffen. Cyrone’s sensitivity toward Elia was nearly instinctual.

“Your Highness, the Miss has…”

Nielsen’s anxious eyes darted quickly to Cyrone, who continued to wear that eerie, inscrutable smile, silently urging him to speak on. Nielsen knew all too well what expression would cross his lord’s face once patience reached its limit.

“We’ve searched the entire vicinity, yet the Miss…”

A strange pressure tingled at Nielsen’s fingertips. Cyrone wasn’t yelling or angry, so why did it feel so intense?

Closing his eyes tightly, the commander recalled the moment Elia disappeared and felt his legs go weak. Nielsen’s repeated warnings must have meant she was important. Either the person or the matter itself. Yet, here they were, losing her so suddenly and helplessly.

The underground castle’s structure was so complex and secretive that no one should have been able to enter or leave unnoticed. Their momentary lapse had sealed their fate. Leaving aside the fact that the knights and maids would lose their heads, the commander himself, who was on night watch, would suffer dire consequences.

“Do I have to ask twice?”

His gentle smile didn’t fade as he spoke. Though his tone was kind, his voice was chilling. It was so cold it made even trembling legs stiffen.

At that moment, the commander instinctively sensed what was coming. If he didn’t speak immediately, his mouth would be torn apart right here.

“The Miss… has disappeared.”

The commander shut his eyes tight and raised his voice as if spilling it out. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, almost comically.

“What?”

The reply came back surprisingly calm. The trembling commander finally opened his eyes slightly. Cyrone looked at him with a bewildered expression, clearly unable to comprehend the words.

His cold, blue eyes fixed on the commander insistently, as if urging him to speak again.

“So, the Miss didn’t leave by herself, but… someone, someone took her.”

Nielsen bit his lip hard. Even just standing behind, watching, Cyrone’s sudden shift in energy felt overwhelming.

“Th-there’s a witness who saw who took the Miss, so we’re, we’re looking for—”

Though the commander kept babbling, his words made no sense. His voice trembled, a jumbled mess. Unable to meet Cyrone’s gaze, he bowed his head deeply.

“Ah, so…”

Looking down at the commander’s bowed head, Cyrone let out a short, dry sigh. The tone was flat and sharp.

“So you’re saying Elia followed someone, and went away?”

The gentle, soft smile vanished. Instead, his lips twisted crookedly and parted slowly. Leaning back in his chair, Cyrone asked calmly, but his words broke off strangely.

He seemed unable to grasp what he had just heard, asking repeatedly as if trying to comprehend.

“Yes. I definitely heard that… ugh!”

The commander, nodding weakly, suddenly groaned and collapsed.

“Your Highness!”

Nielsen’s urgent shout was swallowed by a thunderous noise. A sharp, tearing sound cut across the commander’s face. He gasped harshly at the stinging sensation running down his cheek.

Instinctively, he touched his cheek and found it dripping thick with blood between his fingers. Near his feet, a metal candlestick lay broken in two, rolling on the floor. Just a graze caused that much blood. If it had hit his head or eyes, death would have been instant.

The commander’s teeth rattled as if paralyzed by fear. His trembling fingertips looked on the verge of giving out.

“Please, Your Highness, end my misery!”