The Sand Bride - Chapter 45

Her hands clutching his clothes were white-knuckled with tension. Please… Karzhen looked down at Esther, her eyes glistening with tears, and clicked his tongue. For the first time, Esther focused her entire mind on every one of his actions.

He didn’t seem pleased, but he didn’t shake her off either. Through her tear-blurred vision, his expression almost looked flustered.

But as she watched Karzhen lower the window and say something to the coachman and attendant beside him, her mind filled again with nothing but hope and desperation.

She saw his attendant approach a man who appeared to be the slaves’ overseer, watched the overseer scratch his head in confusion before shrugging and walking toward Esther’s father.

Karzhen fully closed the carriage window, blocking her view, but Esther could still hear her father’s bewildered voice questioning the overseer over the sudden change. Relieved, she pressed herself against the wall where his voice was clearest, though Karzhen dragged her back to his feet.

After struggling for a while, she stopped her feeble resistance at his grumbling.

“Got no gratitude?”

His low voice carried a hint of displeasure. Esther stiffened, terrified he might change his mind over even this small complaint. So she forced out words she never thought she’d ever say to him.

“Th-thank you…….”

At her awkward gratitude, Karzhen snorted, but the hand gripping her shoulder no longer felt irritated. Kneeling, Esther wiped her trembling body over and over. Tears streamed down her cheeks, soaking her knees, but the corners of her quivering lips turned upward.

For the first time in this country, something joyful had happened.

* * *

“It’s an infectious disease.”

The moment they arrived at the palace, the doctor who examined Esther’s father delivered his diagnosis, and Karzhen frowned.

“Infectious?”

“Yes. It’s a disease that’s become rare in Gharyam……. Think of it as a kind of endemic illness. Fatal to those from the southeastern regions.”

Whatever hardships he had endured, the disease was likely acquired during his grueling journey. Bought as a slave expected to die from overwork before the illness could take him, he had never received proper medical care.

The doctor glanced at Karzhen, gauging whether this man would truly provide treatment for such a wretched middle-aged slave.

As expected, Karzhen listened with an impassive face, but Esther, hearing her father was ill, pressed her stinging eyes before finally breaking into sobs.

Her wails filled the room, and Karzhen, now visibly annoyed, glared at her before sighing deeply. Esther clung to his arm, begging.

“I want to see him. Please……! Let me nurse him.”

“What nonsense is this? You want to die too?”

Karzhen looked down at her incredulously. If it was endemic, Esther was also at high risk of infection. Frail as she was, she’d easily catch it and die. He scoffed, cutting her off.

“But……!”

Tears welled in Esther’s eyes again. Rationally, she knew Karzhen was right, but her heart screamed the opposite.

How could she not? After finally finding her father—someone she had nearly given up for dead—how could she not see him? The thought of his suffering and his current state tore at her heart.

Just as she sniffled and wiped her tears again, Karzhen spoke.

“Who said I’d let him die? Medicine and a doctor will do.”

“R-really?”

At the promise of treatment, Esther blinked her wet eyes and stared at him. Though tears still pooled, they now held something closer to hope than despair. Her gaze bore into him, desperately seeking confirmation.

Seeing those eyes, Karzhen felt an unfamiliar sensation fill his chest. Uncomfortable with the foreign feeling, he turned his head away. Really? Huh? As he did, Esther frantically grabbed his arm, shaking it and demanding an answer.

An act she would never have dared before, but now, consumed by the need for certainty, she was beyond restraint.

Only after her pleading did Karzhen respond in a clipped tone.

“Yeah…….”

Esther finally released his arm, her body swaying with relief.

* * *

She flattened the paper on the table as much as possible, pressing its edges firmly with her fingernail. Not a single crease remained. Esther pursed her lips, her face lost in thought. The quill in her hand hovered over the paper, unable to touch it.

Even after considerable time, the nib refused to form words, hovering uselessly like a bee over a flower before pausing again and again.

Finally, Esther let out a deep sigh.

‘How should I start?’

Her hesitation wasn’t due to a lack of things to say—quite the opposite. There was too much, and she didn’t know where to begin. The words buried in her heart surged forward, burning behind her eyes as she tried to shape them into writing.

Her chest felt too full, tears threatening to spill at any moment. No amount of paper could contain everything she wanted to tell her father.