Chapter 17
In the Kingdom of Charlier, snowstorms as fierce as this were rare. The northern snows were always something of a marvel to Natasha. It felt strange to say it, but it was almost like encountering a new invention—something unfamiliar and wondrous.
Caught in that wonder, she played with the window latch, forgetting entirely about the cold. The chill seeped in through her fingertips and settled deep into her bones. The biting cold, at last, jolted her awake.
If I were buried in the snow… would my heart and body be cleansed? Would I be purified, forgiven for everything?
The snowflakes beyond the glass were white and beautiful—so unlike her. Rather than stay caged in this dark, dirty place, she wanted to disappear into that world. If she could cover herself with that pure snow, maybe this gutter of a life would finally be washed clean.
Kayeina had once tried to comfort her by saying her baby had gone to a paradise made by the gods. A place where only the kindest, most innocent children were allowed to go. A place with no pain, only joy and laughter.
To meet her child again, Natasha, too, would have to go there. But she was neither kind nor innocent. She carried too many sins, too much sorrow, too much failure.
The god who’s been so cruel to me would never let me into paradise. Even in death, I wouldn’t be allowed to see my child. I’d be left wandering some cold, lonely void—forever alone.
But if she were to close her eyes while buried in the snow…
If she let that white, silent world cover her body…
Maybe it would carry away all her sins.
She tightened her grip on the small blade she carried—one she’d held close ever since losing her child. Her fingers trembled, not from fear, but a strange, almost blissful thrill. Her face was tense with purpose, like someone who had just solved an impossible riddle.
Wrapped in only a thin blanket, the duchess stepped out of her room and made her way to the front entrance. Countless servants crossed her path, and just as many saw her hand reach for the doorknob.
But not one tried to stop her.
Perhaps they were too busy trading jokes about the mad duchess to care.
Natasha stepped outside, leaving behind those who never loved her. None of it mattered anymore. She was already walking across the shattered pieces of her hope—what threat could the leftovers possibly pose?
Once the door shut behind her, Natasha straightened her posture.
It was the first winter she’d truly faced on her own. The first time she had felt the rawness of the cold without help or protection. It was the harshest thing she had ever experienced—and the most beautiful.
Her feet sank into the quiet snow with every step. Her already small frame seemed even smaller against the vast, white field. The snow reached up to her ankles; she could barely feel her feet. The cold slowly crept through her body until even her breath was chilled.
Still, she didn’t stop.
She kept walking—defying the orders of the Duke of the North. She was headed to Douglas Forest, known for being so dark and deep that even hunters avoided it.
And finally, she arrived.
The deepest part of Douglas Forest. A place so black and forgotten that no one ever came. Here, even years later, no one would find her body. She would sleep beneath the snow forever—away from everyone’s eyes.
Without hesitation, Natasha knelt in the snow.
She pulled out the dagger she’d kept ever since her child died and drew it from its sheath.
She had faced life-and-death decisions before—but this was the first time she had truly chosen death. It was impulsive, reckless. But her hands didn’t shake. Her heart didn’t waver.
She gazed at the cold, sharp blade, then raised it into the air.
I hate you so much.
And she brought it down.
The snow piled on her shoulders scattered in all directions. The chilling sound of metal meeting flesh rang through the silent woods.
It didn’t take long for her body to collapse.
The beautiful snowflowers around her soaked in blood, their delicate petals melting in the heat of it.
Just as you hated me… now, I too—
As the scarlet blood—so much like someone’s eyes—spread beneath her, Natasha quietly embraced the end.
If there is a next life, Sieghart…
You killed my family, my child, and now me—without so much as blinking.
The man I once loved. Loved deeply. Loved more than anyone.
Sieghart Aschart.
Let’s never meet again.
At last—she let him go.
Where… is this…?
Natasha stirred and let out a faint groan.
Instinctively, she looked around, wondering if she had reached paradise. If this was the place Kayeina had once described to her.
But it didn’t match the image at all.
There were no seven-colored rainbows. No soft white clouds like cotton candy. No children with angelic wings, no sweet little animals.
Instead, it was a place she knew well. A place etched so deeply into her mind, she could never forget it—Sieghart’s office.
She clearly remembered her death in the snow-covered forest. She remembered the cold blade slicing through flesh, the warmth of her blood melting the snow.
So why… why was she seeing this?
She pressed her hand to her chest.
The wound that should have been there… was gone. She pressed harder, even struck herself. Still, there was no pain.
The memory of dying—freezing in the snow, feeling her breath fade—was still vivid. It wasn’t a dream. She was certain she had died.
Or maybe… this is the dream.
People often said that just before death, one’s life flashes before their eyes. Maybe that was what this was. Maybe she was dying, and her mind was simply sorting through its final memories.
And then—
“So, what brings you here, Princess?”
Just as Natasha was beginning to gather her thoughts, a familiar voice called out.
The tone was sharp, as if the speaker’s patience was thinning, barely held together. Of course it was his office—of course he was there. But so lost in thought was she that she hadn’t realized it.
Only then did Natasha truly look around. As she glanced away from Sieghart’s weary face, urging her to speak, her gaze dropped to the item in her hands.
A flowerpot—one with a blooming canary-yellow flower.
That was all it took.
It didn’t take long to understand where she was—or what day this was.
“I won’t keep asking questions,” he said coldly. “State your business and leave.”
His voice had grown even colder, more rigid, as if to say he was done humoring her hesitation. Knowing his temperament, he was urging her to get it over with and go.
His voice and expression were as monotonous as ever—so familiar it bordered on contemptuous. Even as she relived it, Natasha couldn’t help a bitter smile. It was the kind of smile that comes when something tastes sour but you can’t help but swallow it anyway.
“That day… I came here with something very important to say.”
She could never forget it.
The day she had come, heart pounding with joy, full of trembling hope. A day she’d been willing to trade her freedom for love and purpose.
She hadn’t come expecting congratulations. She was ready for harsh words, for rejection. She had braced herself for anything. If he wouldn’t be a father, she would become a mother twice over. She believed she was prepared for it all.
Truly, she did.
“If only you had said clearly that you could never love the child of a woman you hated. Then it wouldn’t have hurt this much.”
And yet, the moment had returned—the most painful one of all. Even as she neared death, God had chosen to bring her back here.
Crushed by the weight of her predestined future, Natasha finally lifted her head. Her fingers clenched around the flowerpot. Her lips, sealed for so long, parted at last. Her voice was soft and resigned.
“I’m pregnant.”
Even if the future was fixed, she—trapped in this moment—still had the right to say the words.
“This child is yours. Even with your endless denial, your relentless doubt—I can say this with certainty. This beautiful little life is ours. It’s mine, and it’s my truth.”
Even if her heart had to be pierced again and again, she would never deny her child.
“I see. So you knew I’d doubt you,” he said coolly. “Then allow me to meet your expectations.”
The hand resting on his sharp jaw moved abruptly. With a swift, harsh motion, he swatted the flowerpot from her hands. It arced through the air and crashed to the marble floor.
Glass shattered. Soil scattered. Petals were crushed underfoot.
“That is not my child.”
“…”
“If you don’t want to leave a stain on House Aschart—get rid of it.”
A reply that would never change, no matter how many times she heard it.
Natasha stood there in silence, letting the blade of his words pierce her once more. They were sharper than any sword, more brutal than any wound.
“You’re wrong, Sieghart,” she whispered with a faint, bitter laugh.
She rose slowly.
“If anything is a stain on your noble house… it’s me. So why would I be afraid of what a child could become?”
She stepped forward, her foot crushing the broken glass as if it meant nothing.
Her destination was not the door—but the window.
Looking into the reflection on the glass, Natasha saw her own pale, worn-out face. And at that moment, she made up her mind.
It wasn’t fear she felt—it was freedom. As refreshing as the winter air that slipped through the open window.
She took a deep breath, then turned back one last time.
“There’s something I never got to say to you, Sieghart.”
To the man she had once loved.
To the man she now loathed with all her heart.
“I hate you. So much it consumes me.”
She didn’t bother to see his reaction. She didn’t want to.
After gauging the height of the fall, Natasha threw herself from the window.
Her last words, disguised as a confession, echoed behind her as her body plummeted—straight into the pond below.
And with that, she prayed for this wretched memory to end.
Her ears felt muffled, as if water had filled them. Maybe it was the aftermath of falling into the pond…?
No—she had died. She was sure of it. There should be no sound in death.
“…isn’t it? You filthy little princess.”
A voice slithered into her thoughts.
Muffled at first, as though wrapped in water, it soon became clearer—unsettlingly so.
The confusion brought nausea and dizziness. Struggling, Natasha lifted her head—and finally saw the owner of the voice.
