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Chapter 03
“Head maid, didn’t I clearly tell you to send them away?”
“…My apologies. I only acted for Lady Psyche’s sake.”
“I don’t want to hear it. Send them back immediately.”
Count Clement closed his eyes and began rubbing the back of his neck. It was a habit of his whenever he tried to suppress anger rising to the top of his head.
Psyche felt dazed the moment she saw her father, who had apparently skipped his meal and retired early to rest.
“Was this all done solely on the head maid’s own initiative? I’ve said countless times that I have no intention of marrying off Psyche!”
The anger he had slowly mulled over grew larger by the moment.
Count Clement vented his fury, forgetting entirely that a guest was present before him.
“Father.”
A calm voice, starkly contrasting the commotion, drifted through the room.
As Count Clement’s gaze turned toward her, Psyche took a small breath and slowly opened her mouth.
“I’m alright.”
A faint sigh lingered at the end of her quiet voice. Afraid her feelings might show, she smiled even brighter.
“This person came on behalf of His Grace the Grand Duke. So we shouldn’t neglect proper hospitality either, Father.”
It meant: stop making a spectacle of yourself.
Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—Count Clement understood her hidden meaning and fell silent.
Though the deep crease between his brows showed no sign of easing.
Psyche swallowed a familiar sigh. The entire situation felt like part of some dreadful farce.
“…Thank you for making such a valuable visit. However, please return now. As you have all seen, I’m not someone worthy of becoming the Grand Duchess.”
The Grand Duchy of Haire had once belonged to the Sigar Empire but had since become an independent nation. There were citizens the Grand Duke had to lead.
She was not someone suited to such a position.
A noble title in name only, a poor household, and a life completely unlike that of other noble ladies.
The lofty seat of Grand Duchess was a status Psyche could never dare aspire to.
“I apologize for our discourtesy. On behalf of the Clement family, I offer my apologies.”
Looking at the Grand Duke’s messenger, Psyche slowly lowered her head.
His icy blue eyes, cold as winter itself, shifted softly following her movements.
She bit the tender flesh inside her mouth to avoid interpreting the meaning hidden within that blue gaze.
Mockery. Contempt.
If one had to name the emotion in his eyes, it would be something like that.
Yet Psyche thought it was for the best. Such a disturbance would surely reach the Grand Duke’s ears.
Enough to extinguish whatever curiosity he held.
He would think of her as a woman utterly unfit to become Grand Duchess.
“I apologize to our guest. My father is unwell, so I’ll excuse myself first.”
Psyche bowed slowly and rose to her feet.
The Grand Duke’s messenger gave no reply. Only a faint sneer lingered at the corner of his lips.
To her, that was answer enough.
“Father, I’ll help you back to your room.”
When she released the hem of her dress, which she hadn’t realized she had been gripping tightly, it was terribly wrinkled.
Psyche lightly smoothed her skirt with her palm and stood.
Only the sound of her steady footsteps echoed through the silent stillness.
She pulled up the corners of her lips and smiled brightly.
It was a smile ill-suited to the situation, yet that was precisely why she smiled even more.
If she didn’t want to cry, she had to smile.
If she didn’t want others to notice, she had to smile.
And because she wanted to be a good daughter, she had to smile.
Because Psyche Clement had to be a mature daughter.
As Psyche turned her back on the Grand Duke’s messenger to support her father, a cool voice cut through the air.
“The Grand Duchy has excellent medicinal ingredients circulating abundantly. They’re even cheaper than in the Sigar Empire.”
“…”
“My lady, then I shall hope for good news. My lord wishes for the same.”
“…Yes. Very well.”
Psyche turned toward the man and gave a light bow in response.
There would be no positive answer.
She no longer wished to become entangled with that man.
The moment her eyes met his, deep as an unfathomable sea, she immediately turned away.
Her long hair swayed with the motion, dancing as it darkened her vision.
“Father, are you alright?”
Psyche asked as she rose from the chair beside the bed.
“What would be wrong with me?”
The response was curt.
He was clearly still angry about the proposal earlier.
She looked at her father with worried eyes as he continued sighing with his back turned toward her.
Her father’s golden hair, which once shone brilliantly beneath sunlight, had lost its radiance and turned dull.
The strands of white mixed throughout spoke of years lived with hardship.
When had he grown so weak?
She hadn’t even noticed her father losing strength day by day.
Surviving each day had already been exhausting enough; she’d had no room to look around.
If I had realized sooner, the Grand Duke’s proposal wouldn’t have seemed tempting at all.
Psyche smiled weakly.
Her father was still by her side, and there was still time left together.
“Father.”
After pulling the blanket up to his neck, she walked toward the window.
At Psyche’s call, Count Clement’s body flinched.
Erasing the smile from her lips, she closed the window.
“I heard everything from Mother. You’ve been ill, haven’t you? Was your recent trip to the capital because of your sickness?”
Just five days earlier, Count Clement had returned from Viscaya, the capital of the Sigar Empire.
He had stayed there for half a month, saying there was something he needed to resolve.
She had found it strange even then.
But she never imagined such a secret lay hidden beneath it.
Feeling hurt, Psyche leaned against the windowsill.
The sky outside was dark like dusk.
It looked as though rain might come.
“You should have told me. Without knowing anything, I…”
“It wasn’t something you needed to worry about, so I didn’t tell you, Psyche.”
“Not something I need to worry about? It concerns your health. Of course I should worry. As the heir to the Clement family—and as your daughter.”
Hearing his firm voice from behind his bent back, she looked bewildered.
A face she could only make because Count Clement wasn’t looking at her.
“You’re no longer the heir to the Clement family.”
“I won’t pass the family to you.”
“…Father.”
Psyche froze in place, unable to move at all, like someone who had forgotten how to breathe.
It was a bolt from the blue.
She couldn’t breathe, yet her heart pounded violently as though it might burst backward through her chest, sending all her blood rushing to her face.
“What… what do you mean by that?”
She couldn’t even hide the trembling in her voice.
She couldn’t understand what expression she wore, how she was breathing, or even what kind of voice she was speaking with.
Someday, she had believed she would inherit the family and become Count Clement.
The future Psyche had envisioned was becoming the proper head of the family after her father.
“Give up the inheritance.”
“And now… go find your own life, Psyche.”
“No, Father.”
“…”
“Ever since I first learned to read, I believed I would become the head of this family. Father, you always told me so too. You said I was your only heir, and that I should always carry myself proudly.”
Psyche refuted him clearly, her voice steeped in despair.
That was naturally how she spoke, but now more than ever, she feared the meaning she wanted to convey would be buried beneath her trembling emotions, so she forced herself to continue.
The shock had struck so suddenly that her hands and feet tingled.
She repeatedly clenched and unclenched her fists until her neatly groomed fingertips pressed into her palms, swallowing dryly.
“It’s not because you’re lacking.”
“…”
“It’s because I—this father of yours—is lacking, Psyche.”
Count Clement, who had only shown his back until now, slowly sat up.
After hesitating several times, moving his lips as if uncertain, he finally spoke.
“When I went to the capital, the doctor told me…”
“It’s an illness that can never be cured for the rest of my life.”
