Chapter 19

Episode 19

Apparently, she had dozed off without realizing it, because Lydia awoke to the sound of a gentle knock at the door.

She had thought she’d never fall asleep in such an uncomfortable position and had planned to wait just a bit longer before waking Ilian again, but it seemed she was more tired than she thought from all the fuss earlier that morning over her dress.

“Master. Lady Lydia. Are you in?”

“Yes, just a moment.”

When she raised her voice to answer, she felt Ilian stir, still holding her in his arms.

Looking at his skin that still felt unnaturally hot, Lydia examined him with a worried expression.

“Marquis, are you all right?”

“I’m awake.”

He answered with a completely hoarse and dull voice, opening his eyes with a long sigh.

As he did, Lydia found herself looking straight into his blue eyes.

Just as she noticed a strange glint in his gaze as he slowly sat up, Ilian suddenly reached behind her back and, supporting her beneath her knees, lifted her up.

“Marquis, why all of a sudden…?”

Startled by his unstable movements, she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. He frowned suddenly.

“You’re lighter than I expected.”

“I’ve been eating well, though.”

“Exactly.”

With that, Ilian carefully laid Lydia down on the bed. Even the way he meticulously tucked her under the blanket felt oddly out of place.

Ilian was clearly the one unwell, so why was she lying down like the patient?

But before Lydia could voice her confusion, Ilian put on the gloves that had fallen to the floor and raised his voice.

“You can come in, Fred.”

The butler, Frederick, entered and immediately looked at Lydia lying in bed with a sympathetic expression.

The moment she saw the tray in his hands with a teapot and an empty teacup, Lydia finally remembered Ilian’s excuse before entering the room—that “Lydia” was tired.

“Lydia was feeling very unwell, so I told her to lie down and rest.”

“If she’s very unwell, shall I summon the physician?”

Lydia was horrified by how this conversation was unnecessarily escalating and tried to prevent this waste of effort, but Ilian firmly held her hand.

“That might be best. She doesn’t look well.”

It was pure nonsense.

Lydia’s complexion wasn’t pale—if anything, it was rosy and healthy. At least as far as she could remember.

“I’m not that sick.”

But perhaps because she’d just woken up from a nap, her voice came out much weaker than intended.

She sounded as though she really were exhausted and emotionally drained, especially after Yulina’s dramatic behavior.

At that, a look of pity filled the butler’s face.

He placed the tray by the bedside and poured tea, speaking in the kindest, most gentle tone imaginable.

“Lady Lydia, you don’t need to take the princess’s words to heart. She tends to… speak emotionally more often than not.”

He must’ve thought Lydia was suffering from emotional distress.

Though she did feel a vague sense of bitterness, it was a very different emotion from what Frederick likely imagined.

Still, Lydia quickly sat up, carefully accepted the teacup, and forced a smile.

“Thank you, Butler.”

And of course, she didn’t forget to shoot a sharp glare at Ilian, who was watching with an amused smile just out of Frederick’s line of sight.

This wasn’t the time for her to be resting. She needed to get the marquis to lie down and properly check his condition, but he wasn’t cooperating.

“Then I’ll go summon the physician right away.”

That, at least, was welcome news. As soon as the butler left the room, Lydia turned to Ilian with a protest.

“Is this really necessary? This is ridiculous. What do you think the physician will say when he examines me?”

“He’ll probably say, ‘She seems fine overall, but since she insists she’s unwell, and considering recent changes and a busy schedule, fatigue might have built up. A good rest should do her good.’”

Leaning against the headboard, looking down at her, he spoke in a tone so dull it was almost bored—yet he seemed perfectly fine.

Unlike his usually neat hair, the slightly disheveled strands reminded her of the time she saw him sleeping in the study—proof enough that something had just happened in this room.

Lydia suddenly remembered the feel of his breath near her neck and instinctively rubbed at her throat.

Ilian’s gaze followed her movement, prompting her to awkwardly lower her hand and attempt to steer the conversation in another direction with a random question.

“So, you’re trying to draw attention to me instead? Because if I’m the one who’s sick, it won’t cause a fuss like it would if you said you were ill?”

“That’s right.”

That left her with nothing to say. As Lydia toyed with the warm teacup and stared at the swirling liquid, the sound of several footsteps echoed down the hall, and a middle-aged man entered.

“I heard I was summoned. May I ask what your symptoms are?”

“I’m just a bit tired. I’m not very sick.”

“I see.”

Sitting in the middle of this whole situation, Lydia didn’t expect anything serious to come from the examination.

That was, until the physician frowned and said something unexpected.

“You seem significantly weakened. Have you recently had trouble sleeping or eating properly?”

“No, not at all. I’ve been functioning just fine.”

Ilian, standing beside her, suddenly stiffened. Then, grasping her hand, he abruptly joined the conversation.

“Is she unwell?”

“She hasn’t been at the estate for long. I suspect she’s under stress from the new environment and hasn’t realized how much it’s affected her. I’ll prescribe a tonic to help replenish her strength.”

“You’re sure there’s nothing seriously wrong?”

“Yes, nothing major. But I’d recommend she avoid overexertion for a while.”

Lydia was surprised by this diagnosis. She had been feeling unusually tired and sluggish lately, but nothing that seemed alarming.

“All right. You may go.”

Even though the physician had concluded there was nothing to worry about, Ilian remained deep in thought until everyone else left the room.

Once Lydia confirmed there was no sound outside the door, she quickly sat up in bed and patted the spot next to her.

“Marquis. Come sit here.”

She had to figure out what had happened earlier—why his condition had suddenly worsened.

Since Ilian didn’t seem inclined to listen, she ended up grabbing him herself and pulling him to sit in front of her.

Of course, that didn’t mean she had the courage to undress his shirt herself.

“Marquis, I… um…”

Lydia felt her face flush again but steadied herself and asked.

“I think we need to check your condition closely, like we did the first time we met. Something definitely feels wrong.”

“You want me to take off my shirt?”

Just like back then, Ilian looked her straight in the eyes with those blue irises and asked boldly, making it impossible for Lydia to meet his gaze.

She had a valid reason for her request, but the atmosphere felt anything but clinical.

But when Ilian began unbuttoning his shirt and exposed his skin, Lydia no longer had the luxury to worry about such details.

“What’s going on here?”

His right arm, revealed as the shirt slipped down, didn’t look much different from before. The black curse, once threatening to reach his shoulder, seemed to have slightly receded.

But now, fine black tendrils were spreading ominously from it like branches—upwards as if trying to climb to his neck, across his shoulder toward his torso, and downward.

The downward tendrils seemed to be branching menacingly toward his heart, as if targeting it.

In short, it was ominous.

“It looks like it reacted to my power, creating a backlash. Somehow it evaded my monitoring and is trying to take root again…”

As Lydia tried to trace the spreading tendrils with her fingers to reassess the situation, just before she could touch him, Ilian intercepted her hand and gently grasped it.