Chapter 9
I was on the path leaving the distant, ancient estate.
Between the grain of the trees, where the fragrant scent of spring drifted in, fresh green leaves began to show themselves, quietly announcing the season’s arrival.
Only then did I feel like I could breathe again.
As I drew in a deep breath, the man’s face from earlier returned to me in a sudden rush.
He had narrowed his eyes at me, cruelly, as I stood frozen before the last sentence of the book.
As if to say, “Why won’t you finish it?”
And his eyes already knew how it ended.
I had thought the male protagonist was trash, but he wasn’t. To my surprise.
He had pushed the female lead away because he was afraid. Afraid she would wait for him after finding out he was terminally ill.
And so, the male protagonist lived his last 365 days in longing and silence.
Hidden away in a place where she no longer existed.
Even reading the story made it hard to breathe.
Maybe it was because Cassian was standing right in front of me.
Cassian, the young master who was also terminally ill, looked just like that protagonist.
To speak of the tragic fate of the character in front of someone just like him felt unbearably cruel.
The ending is far too obvious for someone already facing death.
It hadn’t been that long since I promised myself never to let emotions interfere with my work. But the moment I saw the emptiness in his eyes, everything collapsed.
The pages of the book, worn from being read over and over, clearly carried Cassian’s presence.
The sickly young master must have read them again and again, preparing himself for his own final days.
It finally felt real. That someone as unreachable as Cassian was dying.
The same Cassian who always looked at me with those cold, tormenting eyes, who seemed like he would live arrogantly forever, was counting down his final days just like the male protagonist in the story.
At least that protagonist had someone who would wait for him.
Cassian didn’t even have that.
I wondered if the people of the Blanchet family, far away in the capital, were waiting for him.
He was their only heir. It would make sense. But they had never once shown themselves. So maybe not.
Shouldn’t parents stay by the side of their sick child?
What were they doing, while their son waited alone for death in such a distant place?
Maybe they were busy silencing the vassals who rebelled after learning of the heir’s illness and preparing for a new future for Blanchet.
That’s what noble families usually did, at least according to the society papers.
Blanchet had been in constant turmoil ever since the rumors about the heir’s health began. Perhaps they were busy dealing with it all.
But still, could that really be more important than their son?
Then again, what would a commoner like me, without a title or name, know about the affairs of one of the Empire’s most powerful families?
Even so, just for a moment, the man who had everything looked pitiful.
Cassian asked me if I felt sorry for him.
Without thinking, Yurisiel said no.
It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t entirely true either.
I had pitied him, for a second. But when I thought about it, the idea of someone like me pitying someone like him was laughable.
Worrying about the heir to the noble Blanchet family was just as ridiculous.
With a cold sneer, he said someone like me had no pity to offer him.
He said that even in death, he would be buried in a better place than where I lived with my sick mother.
He spoke of being laid in a magnificent coffin, adorned with jewels. And though his lips were smiling, his eyes looked deeply sad.
That was the moment my foolish sympathy shattered.
He flicked open a lighter, the sharp click breaking the silence. He lit the flame, then put it out, again and again.
Then, with a flick of his fingers, he snatched the book from my hands.
Expressionless, he set the book on fire.
Cassian stared coldly at the rising flames, then tossed the burning book into the brazier next to his bed.
His behavior was so calm, so casual, that I went from shocked to afraid.
It felt foolish that I had seen him as someone like me, even briefly, and felt sympathy for him.
That alone was bad enough. But then he said he would summon the author and have the book rewritten.
He said something about it was wrong.
Behind his dry tone, a chilling smile formed. His expression stared straight at me.
I still had no idea what he was thinking.
Unlike me, Cassian would have people at his command until the day he died.
He could have whatever he wanted.
And I was just one of the toys in his collection.
Realizing that I had nearly forgotten my place made my heart race.
This dying young master was more dangerous and ruthless than anyone.
He could easily crush someone like me.
Just like he said, even his coffin would be more splendid and beautiful than the shabby home where I lived with my sick mother.
Letting my guard down in front of someone like him, even for a second, was reckless.
If I slipped up, I wouldn’t be able to protect my mother.
I had to stop thinking. Truly, I had to stop.
It was time to bury these indulgent feelings and move on to the next job.
Thankfully, that unpredictable young master had kept his appointment on time, so my next assignment wouldn’t be delayed.
Just in case, I had left some extra time, and now I found myself with a brief moment of rest.
The next location, Madam Ridlené’s merchant guild, was close enough to walk to from here.
I would need to walk briskly, but saving on the carriage fare mattered more.
I hurried past the fountain and through the garden, cutting across a dirt path that looked like a training ground.
Suddenly, the ground trembled.
I looked up and saw a familiar face growing closer, fast, riding toward me on horseback.
That couldn’t be him. It shouldn’t be.
But it looked just like him.
Maybe I was seeing things from overwork.
The well-groomed, elegant horse charged forward, then veered aside and came to a hard stop right next to me.
Even its trembling posture looked refined.
Wasn’t this the breed called a Holsteiner?
The thought passed through my mind for just a moment before I instinctively looked up to see the rider.
When he jumped off the horse with ease, I gasped without meaning to.
There was no way I wouldn’t recognize him after all this time.
Hael.
He had once been my first love.
He had grown taller, his body more refined, now carrying the presence of a full-grown man. But there was no doubt. It was still him.
“It’s been a while,” he said.
“It really has,” I replied.
His voice had changed. It was deeper now, very different from the soft tone I remembered.
But the way he smiled brightly was exactly the same.
Hael was someone rare in our rural village of Alphonse. His name was as beautiful and elegant as mine, Yurisiel.
The difference between us was that our lives were worlds apart.
Hael came from the most respected horse ranching family among the commoners in Alphonse.
His father was the second son of a noble family. Because he wasn’t the eldest, he hadn’t inherited a title, but he still carried himself like a nobleman.
His older brother was generous enough to share part of the family’s fortune with him.
To the noble families in the capital, a horse ranch meant little, but even that was something impressive in its own right.
Among noble households, it was common for the eldest to drive out the rest of the family in power struggles. So what Hael’s father had was rare.
Thanks to that money, Hael’s home stood tall above the other modest houses, its high roof unmistakable.
When I was little, their house seemed like a palace.
Hael’s father was clever with business. He raised and sold horses skillfully and even built trade routes with foreign merchants, bringing in rare breeds and growing wealthier over time.
Their home kept growing larger and more impressive.
Back then, all the village children, including me, believed Hael’s house was the biggest in the entire empire.
That was our world. Children live inside a very small well.
Ordinary villagers like us would never dream of entering the lord’s estate, but Hael’s family was the exception.
The lord and his wife, like most nobles, enjoyed hunting and needed good horses.
Even though they detested having commoners in their home, they allowed Hael’s family to come and go freely.
No one else in the area had horses as fine as Hael’s father did.
Hael grew up in that environment. He knew everything about horses.
He was the one who told me what a Holsteiner was. A horse I would probably never see in my life, yet he made it sound familiar.
He taught me how to brush a horse’s mane, what each of their names were, and the name of the black stallion his family was so proud of. If it weren’t for him, I would never have known.
With that talent, Hael soared far above us. All the way to the capital.
He left this tiny village of Alphonse behind, as if he would never look back.
His mother bragged so much about him that there wasn’t a single person in the village who hadn’t heard the news.
“Hael is going to be sponsored by the famous Blanchet family. Yes, he was chosen as a scholarship student. Can you believe it? He never even had proper training, but he handles horses better than anyone. They say there’s no one like our Hael in the entire empire.”
There had once been people who mocked him for following in his father’s footsteps, calling him names. But they disappeared the moment he was selected.
My mother, who sometimes worked under Hael’s mother, would smile politely and agree with everything she said. But I knew she secretly hoped Hael and I would end up together.
She was always worried that I’d be left alone because of her illness.
Maybe, because of her own painful past with a noble husband, she thought Hael was someone I could safely hope for. Someone I could reach.
And honestly, I thought the same.
A wealthy commoner’s son who liked me. Someone kind, someone real.
Hael and Yurisiel. The villagers used to say our names sounded perfect together, and I agreed.
Not that any of that really mattered. I liked him for who he was.
Who wouldn’t fall for someone with such a gentle and bright smile?
I wasn’t the only girl who liked him.
But back then, he had chosen me.
And even now, after all this time, he still sent me letters. Even though I never replied, he kept writing. That had to mean something. Maybe he still liked me, just the same.
I thought that if I ever saw him again, my heart would race.
But now that it’s actually happening, I feel strangely calm.
There was always a part of me that felt a little uncomfortable around him, as if he were standing on higher ground than I was. But now that discomfort has settled into something quieter.
Now, I just feel still.
Maybe it’s because I’ve seen something much grander than Hael’s house, which I once believed was the biggest in the world.
Or maybe it’s because he seems smaller after I met that overwhelming presence of the frail young master.
Meeting someone as powerful and intimidating as Blanchet must have broken something in my sense of reality.
After settling my thoughts with that vague definition, I turned to greet Hael properly, returning his warm welcome.
“Since coming back from the capital, your face looks just like a snowman.”
Hael let out a small laugh, then frowned slightly.
“Didn’t you get my letters?”
“I did.”
“Then why didn’t you write back? I sent dozens. Isn’t that a little cold of you?”
“I was too busy. I couldn’t help it.”
Hael’s expression twisted in clear disappointment. But then he gave a small nod, as if he understood.
“Have you… been doing well?”
I began explaining everything that had happened during that time. One by one, I shared the details, almost like I was offering an excuse.
I left out only the strange things that had happened since I arrived here, and anything related to that young master.
I wasn’t sure why I kept that part secret. I just had the strong feeling that I shouldn’t talk about it.
As our long-overdue reunion continued, Hael’s gaze suddenly fixed on something behind me. He didn’t move.
Slowly, I turned my head and saw a man leaning precariously against the far window.
Even from a distance, the way he held himself was unsettling. He looked relaxed, but there was a sharpness to him—like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.
Cassian de Blanchet.
The moment our eyes met, he gently lowered his gaze.
And with that, the corner of his lips curled into a crooked smile.
