Chapter 110
With those words,Sierre fell silent.
Now that he had tried to voice what was inside him, it felt like a fishbone stuck in his throat—impossible to spit out, yet equally impossible to swallow back down.
As Sierre closed his mouth, silence descended between them.
But Riina neither pressed him to continue nor left his side.
She simply waited quietly, brushing back her hair as it swayed in the breeze.
After hesitating for a while, opening and closing his mouth several times, Sierre finally smiled with tears threatening to fall as he scratched at the corner of his basket full of mushrooms.
“She hurts other people.”
Unable to say “she’s trying to kill me,” Sierre instead offered something similar but greatly softened.
With those words, he hung his head low and missed what happened next.
The moment he closed his mouth, blue flames leapt up in Riina’s azure eyes.
With his head bowed, Sierre felt somewhat relieved to have unburdened himself of what had been weighing heavily on his mind, though not completely. Yet at the same time, regret began to wash over him.
He hadn’t meant to speak so impulsively.
Fortunately, since he hadn’t specified who he was talking about, the Bolshevik lady would likely assume the protagonist of his story was the nursemaid.
“Your Highness.”
Riina’s call cut through his thoughts like shears.
“Hmm?”
Riina gazed steadily at Sierre and spoke.
“You said she was a good person, right?”
“Yes. She really is a good person.”
The nursemaid truly was such a person to Sierre, so he nodded without hesitation. But Riina’s next words stopped him cold.
“No, she isn’t.”
Her denial was sharp and resolute, leaving no room for argument.
Before Sierre could express his confusion, Riina continued.
“Because of the flaw you mentioned, that person cannot be good. Absolutely not.”
Riina’s blue eyes had grown so cold that Sierre unconsciously swallowed dryly.
“Everyone has weaknesses and flaws. Sometimes strengths can cover for flaws. But…”
Riina paused briefly, and Sierre leaned toward her.
As the child’s round forehead drew noticeably closer, Riina’s expression softened momentarily before hardening again as she spoke.
“A flaw that causes harm to oneself or others cannot be covered by any strength. Unless, perhaps, we’re at war or they’re the only hero capable of saving the world from destruction.”
Even then, no matter how great a hero they might be, the end for someone with such a fatal flaw would not be beautiful.
To earn someone’s hatred was a heavy burden to bear.
After watching Sierre’s slightly parted lips slowly close, Riina added, as if delivering a killing blow:
“The person you’re speaking of is not a good person.”
A bitter smile, unsuited to his age, spread slowly across Sierre’s face.
Perhaps he had been waiting for someone to push him forward.
Someone who would firmly declare that the nursemaid was not a good person.
Someone who would speak the harsh truth that he needed to cut ties with her.
But there was one thing, just one more thing he needed confirmation on.
Unable to look directly at Riina, Sierre asked in a small voice:
“Even if I love that person so much, should I still distance myself?”
“Yes.”
Riina’s answer was simple.
She didn’t ask what kind of love it was, how deep it ran, whether it could be given up, or if there was any chance the love might fade.
She didn’t need to ask any of those things.
This was someone who needed to be cut away regardless of any conditions.
Besides, Riina already knew.
From the moment Sierre had brought up the topic seemingly out of nowhere, she knew that everything coming from his lips was related to himself.
Hadn’t Einar mentioned it?
That something didn’t feel right.
Which meant something bad was happening to Sierre.
For a prince who was so frail he spent his days bedridden in the palace, there was only one kind of “bad thing” that could happen to him.
His life was being threatened.
The moment Sierre said “hurts others,” Riina examined him meticulously, as if dissecting him.
She was looking for any traces of injury—wounds, bruises, scars, or anything else that might indicate he had been harmed.
Though his medicine was supposedly the issue, the “threat” to end the breath of someone with such a weak constitution wouldn’t be limited to just medicine.
But perhaps it was Sebastian, the Bolshevik family steward, who deserved credit.
Despite being dressed for ease of movement, Sierre’s clothing maintained the dignity befitting a prince, perfectly compensating for his frailty, which otherwise would have left him without any trace of royal presence.
Simply put, no matter how carefully Riina examined Sierre, she could find no visible traces of harm on his body.
Naturally, Riina didn’t give up her scrutiny so easily.
She focused all her attention on Sierre’s expressions, intonation, and the brief silences that punctuated his story.
Thankfully, there seemed to be no physical threat, at least for now, but this was still just conjecture. She would need to confirm with Einar.
In the end, this supposedly “good person” with a fatal flaw was…
Riina didn’t mince words.
“Your Highness.”
“Hmm?”
Sierre, who had been fidgeting with the edge of the mushroom basket, lifted his bowed head.
His eyes fell upon Riina, who had already stood up and was reaching out her hand toward him.
The backlight obscured her face, but her voice rang out clearly.
“Distance yourself.”
No persuasion, no explanation—just an answer as sharp as an awl and harder than steel.
Sierre raised his head.
The sunlight striking him directly was so bright it hurt his eyes.
Suddenly feeling like he might cry, Sierre blinked hard.
Then slowly, very gradually, he reached out toward Riina’s hand, which remained extended before him.
And the moment their hands touched.
A large shadow enveloped both Riina and Sierre as a low voice reverberated in their chests.
“Let’s go back.”
That day, Sierre experienced many firsts and made the decision he had hesitated over for so long.
Jane’s hand, poised to knock, hesitated and then withdrew.
“Haa…h.”
After taking a deep breath in and letting it out softly, Jane raised her hand again, but ultimately couldn’t bring herself to knock and instead glared at the door.
The Duke’s office, located deep within the ducal residence.
Behind this door was the current head of the Bolshevik family and her “real” father.
Just minutes ago, Sebastian had come to the annex where Jane was staying.
‘The Duke is asking for you.’
The moment she heard those words, Jane felt her entire body tremble and her heart pound as if struck by lightning.
Finally! No, at last! No, there were no words to describe the muddy mix of emotions that swirled around her feet and climbed up her legs.
She had raised her hand several times since then, but each time Jane withdrew it.
After a long while.
“I can’t delay any longer.”
When the sense of urgency rose to the surface of her muddy emotions, telling her she couldn’t waste any more time.
—Knock, knock.
Despite her trembling hand, the sound of her knock was neat and precise.
Stay calm, stay composed…
Repeating this to herself over and over, Jane struggled to breathe evenly. When permission came from inside, she nearly stumbled.
“Come in.”
It was the first time in her life she had heard her “father’s” voice.
Since entering the Bolshevik residence as the shadow of an impostor, she had never once met the Duke—her father.
She briefly felt resentful about how he could go without seeing her even once, but she had to force herself to accept the fact that there was no reason for the Duke to seek out someone who was merely the shadow of his heir.
She had to convince herself of this, or else all the time she had spent patiently working to find her rightful place would crumble in an instant.
And now.
She stood before the moment she had longed for, anticipated, and trembled with excitement for—the moment she had hoped would come even when committing terrible acts.
Behind the door she opened, everything slowly came into view.
Books precisely aligned on bookshelves and stacks of documents that looked suffocating at a glance.
And beyond the still air filled with the scent of ink and paper was—
The current Duke of Bolshevik.
The moment those eyes, blue as a cold winter sky, fixed directly on Jane, she instinctively touched the murky blue around her own eyes.
But immediately, overwhelming regret washed over her for this ignoble gesture unbecoming of someone with blue blood, and she quickly lowered her hand.
The Duke had looked directly at her for only a few seconds, but to Jane, it felt longer than a thousand years.
‘My daughter, the true daughter of Bolshevik has returned!’
She hadn’t expected such a moving reunion, with her father saying those words and embracing her warmly.
No, that would be a lie—she hadn’t expected it.
Wasn’t it said that parents instinctively recognize their own children?
Then why, Father, don’t you recognize me?
More than just failing to recognize her.
Somehow, the air she breathed in burned her throat, hot and searing.
Jane truly wanted to deny it, but her instincts—honed through all manner of things she had done and endured to reach this place—were screaming.
The fact that her “father” before her was emanating a terrifyingly quiet hostility toward her.
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? You’re my father, aren’t you? Father, father, father, you are my father!
“Riina’s shadow.”
Jane’s nerves, which had been racing toward some unknown place, returned to reality at the firm voice.
There had been a brief gap, but Jane responded properly.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
