Chapter 246
“The truth about the engagement. Or about your past with Cain.”
Had she revealed the fabricated relationship with Bariteon—had she mentioned Cain even once—
“The misunderstanding would have been resolved.”
He would have apologized and cared for her tenderly before things spiraled beyond repair. Just as he had inferred the misunderstanding from her feverish murmurs of Cain in her sleep.
Though his tone held no accusation, Ysaris bit her lip. She knew she wasn’t entirely blameless for how late the truth had come to light.
“…It was impossible. You know our reputations were at stake. And how could I risk speaking when I didn’t know what you—obsessed as you were—might do to Cain’s grave?”
“I know. That’s why I never blamed you.” His gaze lowered to the blood-soaked carpet, voice eerily calm. “You blamed me, but I didn’t blame you.”
Ysaris stared wordlessly as he continued, detached, as if observing his own bleeding heart from a distance.
“I always tried to understand your circumstances. Every time. When you attended social events with others while stringing me along, when you refused to discuss a future with me yet wouldn’t let go. Even now—you hating me for wronging you over a misunderstanding? I tried to understand that too.”
“……”
“If condemning me—even for things not wholly my fault—eases your heart, then I’ll bear any blame. Gladly. I always have. For you.”
“But, Ysaris.”
His eyes lifted, hollow as charred ruins.
“Have you ever tried to understand me? Even once?”
The question slithered out, so low it made her flinch.
“I was forced into misunderstanding you. Every action I took had justification. I just… loved you. Boundlessly.”
A contradiction in truth, a conviction in delusion.
“Why couldn’t you extend me the same grace?”
Why push me away? Why leave?
Why… won’t you love me?
His red eyes held only her. She braced for collapse, for violence, for tears—
But Kazhan did nothing. Just stared, memorizing her face.
“……”
“……”
Silence again. Ysaris couldn’t speak.
Rationally, she agreed. Bariteon’s schemes had warped their relationship. In another light, Kazhan too was a victim—not solely deserving of condemnation.
But he was the one who broke her. How could she not resent him? Even now, her body recoiled, screaming.
‘I hate you. I don’t want to see you. I want you to hurt more.’
The voice of Ysaris Tennilath drowned out Chernian’s whispers.
“……”
Kazhan nodded, as if accepting something unfathomable. Then—
“I love you.”
Sudden yet inevitable. A confession from a face pale as death, eyes devoid of light.
“I still love you. Ysaa.”
Was it a plea for a miracle, like his first confession? A declaration that her understanding didn’t matter? Or a prophecy.
‘I’ll love you even as you abandon me?’
Whatever the intent, her answer could only be one thing.
“I don’t love you.”
That was the end.
Ysaris left. Kazhan didn’t stop her.
And so, they parted.
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