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chapter 39
“Let’s just get some sleep for today.”
Yurian let out a deep sigh and was just about to lie down to save her strength for tomorrow, when noise erupted outside the door where Delsian was standing guard. The moon was already up—it was well past the time when everyone should have been settling in for the night.
“-What do you think you’re—? Please go back!”
“-No! Let go of me! Yurian!”
Hearing the raised voices, Yurian approached the door to see what was going on. The moment she caught the voice, she sighed heavily. Someone had come looking for her in the dead of night, and Delsian seemed to be trying to stop them. Guessing exactly who could be acting this brazenly in the temple, Yurian flung the door open.
“What’s going o— My goodness, Sir Delsian, are you all right? Your face—!”
Why run away when she’d tried to see him, only to cause a ruckus in the middle of the night now? Yurian had been ready to give Bilrod a piece of her mind, but the moment she opened the door and saw Delsian’s face—swollen like a burst dumpling—she froze in shock. It looked like he’d been hit while trying to restrain a struggling Bilrod.
What is he, some kind of thug?!
She turned her sharp, catlike eyes on Bilrod—and immediately recoiled, frowning deeply at the strong stench wafting toward her.
“Ugh—alcohol! Did you drink?!”
“Ah, Yurian, my little sister!”
Bilrod, his strawberry-red nose and face looking like a roasted sweet potato from how drunk he was, suddenly grabbed Yurian and pulled her into a hug. With slurred words, he kept muttering “my sister, my sister,” grinning foolishly as if nothing in the world pleased him more.
Startled, Delsian tried to pull him away, but Yurian shook her head. She wanted to hear what he had come to say, even if he was in this state.
“You’re heavy. Put some strength into your legs.”
“Huh? Oh, right, right. Can’t make our delicate Yurian struggle.”
“Delicate? Who? Me?”
“Why are your arms so thin? You’re barely a handful—! Wearing such cheap clothes too… just how much hardship must you’ve been through…”
What is this bastard doing—picking a fight?
Bilrod waved his hand vaguely through the air a few times, then grabbed Yurian’s fingers. Whatever melancholy seized him, his smile vanished, and his face twisted as if he were about to cry. Whether it was drunken nonsense or some warped memory, his words couldn’t possibly sound pleasant to Yurian—especially considering she’d gained eight kilograms since leaving Latem.
“If you’ve been drinking, go back and sleep it off properly. You ran away when you were sober, and now you pull this stunt? Act your age.”
“I didn’t run away. I didn’t.”
“Then what? Did you fall into a latrine and crawl out?”
“I wrote a letter. Yeah—a letter.”
At Yurian’s sarcasm, Bilrod fumbled through the pockets of his coat. A few coins and several crumpled scraps of paper fell out, and from among them he pulled out a badly folded, wrinkled letter and handed it to her.
Supporting him as he leaned against her with a goofy grin, Yurian—irritation rising to the top of her head—unfolded the not-even-remotely-amusing letter.
Why do you hate me so much?
Ridiculously enough… her mouth went dry, frozen shut.
5. The Fire That Won’t Go Out—Extinguished (2)
More than ten years ago, House Barf stood squarely at the center of high society. The duchess had passed away at a young age, leaving the position of lady of the house vacant. The young duke served as the crown prince’s companion, and since the current emperor had no daughters, the Barf ducal daughter was, in effect, the most precious lady in all of Latem. The three direct members residing in the capital mansion were all impeccable marriage prospects by any standard.
Whenever a party was held at that household, every noble in the capital scrambled desperately to secure an invitation. Since the gates were rarely opened except for major occasions like the birthdays of the direct family, the competition was all the fiercer.
Back off, all of you!
Those who managed to attend the party circled the three Barfs like a pack of hyenas, and among them, young Yurian was the easiest target. But the children who had been pushed toward her by their parents inevitably stopped five steps away.
Standing firmly beside Yurian was Bilrod, wearing a practice sword and glaring at them with terrifying eyes.
No boys are allowed within a five-step radius. Don’t talk to her alone, don’t even look at her too long. If anyone sticks to Yurian, I won’t forgive them! I’ll protect my sister!
Give me a break.
As if that weren’t enough, Bilrod wrapped his small sister tightly in his arms and hid her against his chest. “Tightly” was putting it kindly—Yurian’s cheeks were squashed like flattened bread. Oblivious to her face turning red like a tomato from the discomfort, the duke watched the supposedly affectionate siblings from afar with a satisfied smile.
Listen carefully, Yurian. All men are wolves. Even if they smile and act friendly, never answer them. Call me instead. Got it?
But you’re a man too, brother.
I’m an exception! We’re family. I’m the only one allowed to hold your hand or hug you.
Who decided you were an exception? There was no point arguing—Bilrod would just dig in his heels—so Yurian responded with a scowl instead. He was selfish and stubborn, but even she knew that he genuinely cherished her.
It’s simple. Just listen to me. If you do, you’ll grow up gracefully and someday marry His Highness the Crown Prince. When he becomes emperor, you’ll be empress. I’ll make sure you live happily for the rest of your life.
Even when he arbitrarily decided to stick her onto that snot-nosed crown prince, she’d brushed it off as nonsense. She could always coax and fix him up later. He wasn’t bad by nature, after all.
That belief didn’t last long.
Young Master, you’re really strange. What’s so cute about your little sister anyway? Aren’t siblings supposed to be destined rivals, always eyeing each other’s share of meat?
There’s always extra meat on our table.
No way!
Young Yurian often chatted idly in the backyard with Tom, the baker’s son. The boy with the cute snaggletooth lived in the servants’ quarters of the ducal estate—helping his father with chores during the day, studying in the afternoon, and playing with other children his age afterward.
At some point, Yurian quietly joined their group. At first, the kids were intimidated by her, but like children everywhere, after a few rounds of tag, they quickly became friends.
You’re strange too, Miss. Why play with us instead of noble kids like yourself? Tag, jacks, soldier games—none of it’s that special. Your room is packed with amazing toys.
At Tom’s words, Yurian rolled her eyes sullenly and puffed out her lips.
I don’t really like “amazing” things.
Really? I like them. Like a noble lady who plays with servants.
Tom replied with a soft, playful smile, like a childhood-friend second male lead straight out of a romance novel. Yurian liked Tom quite a bit. He joked around a lot, but when you watched closely, he was kind-hearted and innocent.
But at the time, Tom was only seven years old. A perpetually rational and intelligent seven-year-old existed only in overly embellished biographies of great men.
One day, Yurian and Tom fought. The cause was trivial—an utterly insignificant argument—but in the dictionary of seven-year-olds, “letting it go” didn’t exist.
“Y-you—you scrub-brush head!”
He crossed a line he absolutely shouldn’t have.
He struck directly at Yurian’s deepest complex. Even Yurian, usually cynical and sarcastic, was no different from any other child once her temper switch flipped.
“Have you ever seen such a pretty scrub brush?! Do you have any idea how expensive it is to get your hair like this?! You don’t know anything!”
