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<Prologue>
“Madam.”
A coarse voice cut through the night air.
It was a voice that had always carried nothing within it, like a hollow knight made of tin.
And yet now, why did it sound so…
“Letricia.”
Why did just hearing her name in that voice make something rise up inside her—an emotion she couldn’t name, perhaps anger?
That shouldn’t be possible.
Letricia stubbornly lowered her gaze and bit her lip.
If she didn’t, it felt like the feelings she had worked so hard to hide, the carefully crafted façade, the tower she had built with such effort, would come crashing down all at once.
“Where are you going at this late hour?”
But her straying gaze was drawn upward, following the voice.
From the beginning, Letricia had never been able to turn away from this man who seemed born of the night…
Perhaps it was only natural.
The Duke’s eyes, as if they could pierce through everything, were a cold, deep blue.
Looking into those piercing eyes, Letricia parted her lips.
“I’m leaving.”
At those words, the space between the Duke’s handsome brows instantly furrowed.
It was such a subtle movement that most wouldn’t notice it, but since he rarely showed emotion, even that small change felt significant to Letricia.
But soon, even that small reaction disappeared as the Duke looked up at the sky.
They had said it would rain for several days starting tonight.
Clouds veiled the moon, dark and heavy.
“It’s going to rain soon.”
“…Yes. So you should go back inside.”
“And you?”
As if he hadn’t heard her say she was leaving.
The Duke strode toward her with long steps. Then he repeated his words again.
“Even if it rains.”
“…”
“Then, like always, you should let me sleep. Stay with me. Isn’t that right, my lady?”
“Always.”
That one word, slipping out from his calm and elegant tone, struck her deeply.
Always.
How had such a word come from his lips?
How could he say something like that when he would never be able to stay by her side forever?
Letricia lifted the corners of her mouth in a smile, despite the urge to cry.
It was the same empty smile she had trained herself to wear—one the Duke despised—designed to conceal her true feelings.
She raised a pale, thinning hand and pushed against the Duke’s firm chest.
“No, Killian. I can’t stay with you anymore.”
“…Letricia.”
Even when his deep voice rumbled like a strangled beast, Letricia firmly repeated herself.
“I’m leaving. I told you I would leave after one year.”
“I don’t recall agreeing to that.”
“Killian…!”
As if the contract from a year ago meant nothing to him.
The Duke—Killian—reached out and took the bag she had packed.
“My wife discards me so easily.”
Discard? That was absurd. Letricia wanted to scream that it wasn’t true—that she could never throw him away.
Even after hearing she had only one year left to live, her heart had remained calm. Her mind had even thought it was for the best…
But you…
You filled me with a foolish, desperate longing to live.
So how could I…
But instead of voicing those feelings, Letricia shut her mouth tight and curved her lips into a beautiful smile.
If she didn’t, her weakening body, already being consumed by illness, her heart desperate to stay behind no matter the excuse…
Might just cling shamelessly to those words that sounded like a plea to stay.
Afraid of that, Letricia pressed strength into the corners of her mouth and reminded herself:
She must not cling. She must not hope he would hold onto her a little longer.
The year she had spent here was already more happiness than she deserved…
She must not be greedy for more.
As she held onto that thought and tried to steel her heart—
“…!”
“You’re smiling like that again. I told you not to do that so many times.”
His voice remained emotionless, but his hand was warm as it touched the corners of her lips.
As if trying to wipe away the theatrical smile she wore, his long fingers slowly traced the curve of her mouth.
“When you smile like that, you always say things I don’t want to hear.”
“Don’t—”
“So you really intend to throw me away.”
Letricia tried to push his hand away as she spoke, but instead he laced his fingers through hers and pressed his forehead gently against them.
“…What should I do to keep you from leaving me?”
“Let… go of me.”
As she struggled to pull her hand away, Killian let out a quiet breath through his rough lips.
“If I grabbed your sleeve and cried, begged you here on the spot… then…”
Rustle.
His long lashes lifted, revealing that sunken, piercing blue gaze that seemed to tighten around her like chains.
And then—
Even Letricia’s will to run away was bound by Killian’s crimson lips as they slowly moved.
“Would you look at me once more, then?”
Chapter 1
“Again… you collapsed, Miss.”
“Yes.”
At the worried voice of the family physician echoing through the room, the young lady being addressed nodded quietly.
Her soft hair swayed over her shoulders.
A pale pink color, like rose oil diluted in water.
And paired with it were clear, round eyes the color of rose quartz.
The young lady of Count Esta’s estate, Litrisha Charlotte Esta, was someone whose entire appearance seemed washed in faint colors.
As if she might disappear the moment someone looked away.
“How long were you unconscious this time?”
“I’m not sure. Around three or four hours? No… maybe even longer. You’d get a more accurate answer if you asked Allen instead of me.”
“Haah… Miss.”
At Litrisha’s attitude—as though she were talking about someone else’s problem—the physician let out a sigh.
But even in response to that, Litrisha only breathed quietly.
She didn’t see any reason to make a fuss.
After all, this wasn’t the first or second time she had collapsed.
No one knew the exact cause, but Litrisha had never been healthy to begin with.
Maybe because of that, she had often fainted since childhood, and today was simply another one of those occasions.
So she had thought she would just treat it like a short nap, get up, and continue her day.
But unfortunately, her personal maid Allen happened to witness her collapse—and that was how this whole commotion started.
“You don’t have to go overboard, Piril.”
“How could I possibly do that?”
“Mm…”
Litrisha swallowed a sigh as she watched Piril examine her carefully.
No matter how many times he checked, the conclusion was always the same.
—
“There’s nothing physically wrong with you… I just can’t understand why this keeps happening.”
—
That was what Litrisha had been hearing from Piril for years.
So she expected today to be no different.
And yet…
For some reason, Piril’s reaction felt unusual.
He moved more urgently than usual, examining her with unfamiliar equipment.
And when even that seemed insufficient, he brought over a flask filled with an ominous blue liquid and held a syringe to her arm.
“I’m going to draw a little blood for a more precise examination.”
“Okay—ah.”
Before she even finished answering, the needle pierced her skin, making her let out a quiet sound.
Piril frowned at that and carefully dripped her blood into the flask.
Watching how frantic he looked, Litrisha found herself strangely curious.
Why was he always trying this hard for her?
What benefit did he even get from it?
No—not even benefit…
I just hope Isis doesn’t find out he’s been looking after me and make things difficult for him again.
Keeping one arm extended for Piril, Litrisha thought of her older brother, whose pink hair resembled hers but was far more vivid.
Isis Cotton Esta.
A man she could hardly stand.
He was the future head of the Esta family and, at the same time, the only biological child of Count Esta living in this mansion.
That was right.
Unlike Isis, Litrisha was not Count Esta’s real daughter.
She was called “young lady” and dressed elegantly, but that was only a polished appearance.
Her true position in this household was nothing more than an unwanted adopted child.
The late Countess had brought her here because she resembled her own daughter, who had died young from illness.
But she received no affection from Count Esta or Isis.
An adopted daughter everyone considered troublesome.
That was her place here.
Which was why, aside from Allen standing outside the door and this elderly physician, most of the servants in the mansion disliked her.
Drip.
As if snapping Litrisha out of her useless thoughts, Piril dropped another bit of her blood into the flask.
Immediately, accompanied by a sigh that sounded almost like a groan, the blue liquid slowly turned dark red.
“…Miss. Recently, have you been getting headaches? Or losing consciousness more often?”
“…Yes.”
“What about nausea? Feeling like your stomach twists, sudden urges to vomit… or nosebleeds?”
“I’ve had some indigestion, but none of the symptoms you mentioned.”
“I thought so…”
That explained it.
She had wondered why today’s examination was taking so long.
The more they talked, the darker Piril’s face became—just like the liquid inside the flask.
He repeatedly looked back and forth between a test report covered in terms she couldn’t understand and a medical book written in a language she had never seen before.
Then he took off his thick glasses, rubbed his face impatiently, and repeated the motion again and again.
The entire scene looked serious enough to give Litrisha a bad feeling.
So she deliberately pushed aside her blanket and sat up.
“Piril, if there’s nothing seriously wrong, could you leave now? There isn’t much time left before the banquet. I still need to finish getting ready—”
“…One year.”
But—
At the sound of the thick book closing with a thud, Piril’s words made Litrisha freeze.
“…What? One year? What do you mean—”
“The time you have left…”
Piril looked at her.
“…is only one year.”
