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CHAPTER 66………………………….
After a moment’s hesitation, Etisha quickly whispered,
“Please call me Etisha.”
What she meant was that she wanted him to keep addressing her as “Miss Etisha,” as before. But it seemed Cayenne misunderstood her words. He called her again,
“Etisha.”
Etisha felt chills run all over her body.
How—how could this be…?
Before she could stop him, Cayenne called her once more.
“…Etisha.”
Now, even breathing felt too difficult for her.
She prayed that Cayenne would not lift her veil and see her flushed face, red from breathlessness.
At that moment, Cayenne laid his hand upon the veil. His large palm pressed against it, casting a deep shadow. It seemed he was about to remove it.
Etisha hurriedly stopped him.
“Wait, Your Grace.”
“…?”
“Please… don’t remove the veil yet.”
She blurted out an excuse, her eyes falling on the wine and cups beside her.
“I’ve had a bit to drink. Just a moment, please.”
“…Understood.”
Thankfully, this time Cayenne seemed to understand her intent. He did not lift the veil and instead gave her time to compose herself.
“…Did everything go well with Valdefram?”
Fanning her heated cheeks with her hand, Etisha threw out a random question—anything to break the heavy silence that pressed on her.
Cayenne paused before giving a reply that carried a hint of negativity.
“No. I don’t believe so.”
His tone suggested it wasn’t easy to answer.
“Something didn’t go well…?”
“If we look only at the result, it isn’t bad. But the problem is—”
“…?”
“The problem is that I cannot discern what the problem actually is.”
Cayenne was still beyond the veil. She couldn’t see his expression or his eyes, only hear his voice.
But perhaps because of that, she could feel his anguish more keenly.
Sometimes what you cannot see is what you recognize the most clearly.
“You’re troubled.”
Etisha murmured softly.
“So much has happened in a single day. You need rest, Your Grace.”
“…”
“And forgive me for saying so, but from what I’ve seen, you’ve always carried too much work. You stay in your office until dawn, then return again at daybreak…”
“…”
“What I mean is, your worries are only natural. A bowstring pulled too tightly may shoot arrows swiftly, but if it’s drawn too often, eventually it slackens and becomes useless.”
Etisha sat up from the bed. Cayenne’s hand was still resting upon the veil.
Instead of lifting it, she placed her own palm against his.
“You’re far too…”
Her palm pressed against his through the thin veil, which quivered faintly.
“…too…”
She wanted to say something more, but the words refused to leave her lips.
Lowering her gaze, she trailed off.
The underground prison… He must have gone there.
And if Diete truly had been captured and locked away, then Cayenne’s anguish made sense.
Because Diete was his foster sister. They had grown up together in Wintel Castle.
No matter what wrongs Diete had committed, that fact would not change. To imprison and punish her would inevitably weigh heavily on Cayenne.
Rumors painted him as a ruthless, merciless, unfeeling monster. But Etisha knew the truth.
The truth was that Cayenne was, in fact, a good man.
Whether Cayenne was good because Etisha chose to see him that way, or she saw him as good because he truly was—such causality didn’t matter.
She had met Cayenne. And he became a good man.
“Don’t worry too much.”
At last, she found the words she wanted to say.
“I’m here.”
Perhaps she should have chosen something more meaningful to say, since to Cayenne her being there might not matter at all.
Yet she could not let go of those words. She wanted him to hear them.
“I’m here.”
Etisha would soon die. Within a year—or perhaps even sooner.
And yet, here she was now, at Cayenne’s side.
Closer to him than anyone else.
“I’m… here.”
Her expression carried her sincerity. But the veil still separated them, so Cayenne could not see it. Nor could she see his.
What kind of expression was he making?
What kind of eyes did he have as he listened to her heartfelt words?
She both wanted to draw back the veil and never know for eternity.
Etisha closed her eyes. At that moment, Cayenne clasped her hand. Not lightly, like an escort, but interlacing his fingers with hers.
The thin veil wrinkled as his fingers slowly pressed between hers.
It felt almost as if, in that instant, the two of them were merging into one.
“…I see.”
“…”
“You’re right.”
She didn’t know how he interpreted her words, but Cayenne agreed.
His voice was calm, yet strong—like someone who had found the answer to a long struggle.
“Now I understand. What you are to me.”
At first, he had approached her with the intent to use her as a marriage partner.
Then he was haunted by the sight of her, smiling freely after escaping an abusive family.
Later, he couldn’t ignore her suffering from the Guama illness.
He wished for her to be free of pain, to live peacefully, and pass away gently.
And now…
I’m here.
Etisha was the one by his side. Within reach, close enough to touch, radiating warmth—alive.
Such an obvious fact struck Cayenne as fresh and precious.
Because he had always been alone.
Fighting in solitude, not even aware of his loneliness.
Yes, there were many who followed the Sword of the North, the Duke of Wintel. But they only revered and admired him. Etisha was different.
She was the only one who stayed by his side. She had seeped into his life until she simply was there.
“…May I lift the veil?”
Cayenne took a step closer. The thin veil wrinkled further as the space between them shrank.
If he lowered his head just a little, his lips would nearly brush hers.
“Not yet…”
“You still don’t wish to show me your face.”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Then cover my eyes with your hand.”
He raised their clasped hands to his eye level, the veil caught between them.
“I can’t see anything.”
Guiding her to block his vision, he stepped closer again.
“Your Grace…”
“If covering my eyes isn’t enough, then I’ll simply keep them closed.”
He shut his eyes and took another step forward.
Finally, they touched.
The veil tore with a faint rip as the two of them tumbled onto the bed.
Etisha’s body, warmed and softened by wine, was beneath him. With eyes still closed, Cayenne steadied himself above her.
“Wait, wait… ah.”
She let out a soft sound. He didn’t realize it, but when they fell, part of his body brushed against hers.
A fleeting instant—yet Etisha felt it clearly.
Our… lips.
They touched.
Her face burned scarlet. Now Cayenne absolutely could not open his eyes. She desperately pressed her clasped hand against them to block his vision.
“You’re right. I need rest.”
Cayenne murmured softly. Each word brushed faintly against her lips, barely a whisper of contact, yet it was enough to make her feel as if she might die.
“I want to rest. To sleep.”
“…”
“And… perhaps you already know, but your breathing—it’s like a song. Listening to it brings me peace.”
“…”
“Strange, isn’t it? You’re the one who drank, yet I’m the one acting as though I’m drunk.”
He lay down comfortably, burying his head against her nape. Etisha did not push him away, only held her breath.
Slowly, his breathing grew steadier.
It seemed he was truly drifting into sleep.
To see him in such defenselessness…
Cayenne was a man who had lived his life fixated on one goal—revenge.
He had dedicated everything to it: gaining strength, building power, marching into war, crushing every foe beneath him. Like a sharpened blade, he had cut down all in his path, considering rest a luxury unworthy until vengeance was complete.
But today, he had finally met the target of that lifelong vengeance.
Reyen Wintel. Now imprisoned in the secret dungeon beneath Wintel Castle, under Cayenne’s heel, ready to be ended at any moment.
So Etisha was right.
He needed rest.
At long last, after years unending, it was time for him to lower his sword and take a breath.
And Etisha was the only one permitted to see him so defenseless.
“Your… Grace…”
Etisha wondered if she was dreaming. Perhaps she truly was.
Maybe she had simply drunk too much before Cayenne arrived, fallen asleep, and, as always, dreamt of him.
Otherwise, how could this be real?
She remained utterly still until Cayenne had fallen fully into slumber, not even daring to blink.
At last, she shifted her eyes toward him—but most of his face was hidden behind their clasped hands.
His sleeping face…
She was tempted to move her hand and see his unguarded expression. Yet she feared that if she did, she would never be able to go back.
It was the same as before.
She both wanted to know and never wanted to know.
I…
Etisha wavered endlessly.
Hesitating again and again.
What if, when she removed her hand, all she saw was a shadow as dark as night?
What if this was all a dream—nothing more than her imagination?
She would never truly know Cayenne. Never know where his eyes gazed, or what his goal was.
She would never, ever grasp his expressions, his thoughts, his heart.
