Chapter 3
Karia also lay down silently beside him. In her eyes, she saw her husband’s broad, solid back — like an unshakable wall standing between the two of them.
But Karia did not cry. She had been alone far too long to shed tears over something like being ignored now.
‘Mommy?’
‘Ah, you—’
‘Kristan, stop. Come here to Grandma.’
She had expected it, but life in the Duke of Pandeon’s household was nothing but a series of hardships. Most of those came from her conflicts with her husband’s mother, the Dowager Duchess.
Even after Karia had entered the family as its mistress, the Dowager kept a tight grip on the household affairs and relinquished nothing.
She also kept the young lord and lady — still too young to judge for themselves — strictly separated from Karia.
The Dowager deliberately planted a poor impression of her in the children’s minds. For the first three years of marriage, she even sent Karia to live in an estate far from the capital under the excuse that she needed to learn the family traditions. Meanwhile, both the Duke and all the household retainers lived in the capital.
Karia’s return to the capital was only thanks to her cousin’s investiture as Crown Prince. If not for such an important event, she might never have set foot in the capital again.
After three years away, the mansion did not welcome its absent mistress. The servants knew well enough that this marriage had been a political one made out of financial need, and they found it shameful to serve a bastard-born woman as Duchess. With the Dowager glaring like a hawk, winning anyone over was near impossible.
Naturally, her relationship with the children raised by the Dowager was also abysmal. And her husband remained silent about it all.
She could not even tell whether the persecution she faced was with his approval or not. He had extinguished an urgent crisis by marrying her, but the Duchy’s finances remained dire. The Duke was always too busy trying to solve their monetary troubles.
‘Lady Karia, this is for you! It’s not well-made, but it’s a thank-you for the delicious bread you gave us!’
The only time she could truly feel at ease was when she went to volunteer at the orphanage she supported.
Most noble ladies sponsored orphanages or schools for the sake of public image, but their involvement rarely went beyond donating money and making the occasional appearance.
Karia, however, had limited funds, so she could not give much in the way of donations. Instead, she rolled up her sleeves in plain, unladylike clothes and cared for the children herself. She served meals, read books aloud, and even bathed and dressed those who could not move on their own, tucking them into bed afterwards.
The children adored her. Seeing their smiles, Karia felt as though she were someone truly needed in this world, and that gave her comfort.
‘Oh, Lady Karia, there’s a flower petal in your hair!’
One day, the orphanage’s biggest troublemaker plopped a clumsy flower crown on her head. As always, the day passed in cheerful busyness. The child then pointed at her exposed shoulder, offering to pick off a petal stuck there. But the small hand only scratched at her skin again and again.
‘That’s strange… Lady Karia, I don’t think this is a petal. What is it?’
‘Hmm, I wonder what it could be? It’s fine, leave it be.’
She thought nothing of it and went about her day. But later, after returning to the mansion and washing her tired body, she suddenly remembered the child’s words. She turned to look at her back in the mirror — and there were three or four dark red blotches there.
‘What is this? Huh… it won’t wash off?’
She had worn a dress with exposed shoulders outside, so she thought something must have stuck to her skin. But no matter how she rubbed, the red stains would not go away.
‘Too big to be moles… Petals? No, they look like flames.’
Yes, just like flames. And the moment she thought that, the blotches began to burn hot. The pain was as if she had been seared with fire, and she clenched her teeth to keep from screaming.
She hurriedly dressed and went to the household infirmary. The physician, who had worked in the Pandeon Duchy for over thirty years, looked at her back and said:
‘It’s clean. There’s no mark at all.’
‘That’s impossible!’
Karia nearly jumped at his firm reply. Only moments ago, she had felt searing heat and pain, as though pressed with red-hot iron. She had seen the marks with her own eyes — and yet he claimed they were gone.
Seeing her disbelief, the physician sighed deeply and repeated himself.
‘You said it felt like a burn, but there’s no inflammation or heat in the skin. Perhaps you brushed against something hot while bathing?’
‘No, I saw it. I really saw it.’
‘Then perhaps it’s a matter of the mind. Stress can sometimes make one feel pain where none exists. You should rest well and take walks to calm your body and mind.’
It was clear he could not refuse an examination outright, but her repeated insistence annoyed him. And the fact that his patient was that Duchess did not help.
‘Could it be some illness you don’t know of? Or a newly discovered one?’
‘Are you doubting my skills, my lady?’
His retort was far too sharp for addressing the lady of the house, but he did not apologize.
He remembered the previous Duchess, beloved for her kindness to the servants, and resented how Karia had shamelessly taken the mistress’s seat before the memory of the last one had even faded.
‘If you don’t trust my diagnosis, get permission from the Duke and call for a royal physician. After all, Your Grace is of royal blood, is she not?’
He turned away as if she were no longer there, fussing with his desk. With no choice, Karia left the infirmary.
‘…It’s really gone?’
Back in her room, she looked in the mirror again — and indeed, there was nothing. Just as he had said. Even the awful burning pain was completely gone, as if it had been a bad dream.
Still unconvinced, she shut herself in the study and began scouring medical texts.
She didn’t have the nerve to summon a royal physician. Her husband was barely home once or twice a month, and the imperial family disapproved of her. The Emperor especially disliked her — a bastard child who had tarnished the honor of a beloved younger brother — so much so that she always felt small when she visited the palace.
‘Is this all the medical books here? Skin diseases…’
Fortunately, the Pandeon Duchy had a large library thanks to its long history. With no other duties, Karia could read all day if she wished — and no one even came to call her for meals.
She spent a full week combing through medical texts, but found nothing resembling her symptoms.
‘Was it really just my imagination?’
After all, when she had checked again, the marks were gone, and the burning never returned. As time passed, she dismissed it as nothing and pushed it from her mind.
Until exactly four weeks later, when she went to volunteer at the orphanage again.
‘Lady Karia, are you hot? You’re sweating—’
‘Oh? Ah… maybe so.’
While ladling soup for the children, she noticed sweat soaking the back of her dress — and realized something was wrong. Her face went pale, and cold sweat broke out. The children gathered around in concern.
She wanted to reassure them, but her throat felt too hot to speak.
‘Lady Karia!’
Then, as if set ablaze, the burning pain returned — fiercer than before. Overwhelmed, she blacked out instantly.
‘Your Grace, can you hear me?’
‘Ah… why…? Did I faint?’
When she finally woke, a long time had passed, and she could not remember what had happened. Sitting up, she rubbed a bruise on her arm from falling to the floor, trying to make sense of it.
But before she could gather her thoughts, the orphanage director at her bedside began to weep, making calm impossible.
‘What? Why are you crying?’
‘When did this start?’
‘When? Oh, it’s nothing serious. The change of seasons must have caused some anemia.’
‘Forgive me, but when we loosened your clothing for first aid, we saw your body.’
Karia noticed she was wearing a different outfit from the one she had come in. But knowing the situation, she was not offended — instead, she worried about how much she had frightened the director.
She meant to comfort her and offer thanks, but the woman’s expression was filled with profound sorrow.
‘When did it start? When did you develop this illness?’
‘Illness?’
‘You don’t have to hide it from me, Your Grace. My grandfather once served as the royal court physician.’
“Once” — meaning he no longer held that position. The director lowered her gaze with a heavy sigh.
It was a family disgrace she had never spoken of, but she had never been ashamed of her grandfather.
‘One day, the Grand Duke of the time — His Majesty the Emperor’s great-uncle — died of a vile hereditary disease passed down in the royal family. My grandfather took responsibility and left the palace. But even after that, he could never overcome the guilt, and spent the rest of his life scouring ancient texts in search of a cure. He never succeeded, though.’
‘A hereditary disease?’
‘How much you must have suffered… Heaven is cruel indeed, to afflict such a fine person with such a wretched illness!’
