# 42
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The Marquise had no intention of killing her immediately. This means that she will not die from this smoke. That's enough.
Let's think about the next step.
How long has it been since you were admitted here? About twelve hours? If so, the moment is near. It is enough to be patient a little. Just a little...just a little more...
The threads of thought that she was clinging to with all her might became intertwined, then stretched long, long... before they were suddenly cut off by a sharp sensation, and with it a sound close to a scream emerged, horribly vivid.
“Miss Duke!! Stop, Miss Duke!! No, don't look!
“Get her away, hurry!”
Her heart fell violently beyond her control. Knock, Knock, a harsh pounding that resounded in her ears, as if the ground she was standing on had collapsed and she had lost her balance.
Grace shook her head and knelt down, covering her eyes with her hands.
But, despite this, she saw everything.
On that day, under a dark sky heavy with clouds, there was a carriage that had been burned to black, until it had no recognizable shape left. Thin wisps of gray smoke rose incessantly, and the vast grand garden of Tyler Mansion was filled with the suffocating smell of burning.
“My lord the duke... my lady...”
“And what will happen to the Duchy of Taylor now?”
“Miss Grace is there, isn't she?”
“And can that little girl handle Taylor’s burden? She's just a poor child who lost her parents...”
The servants' whispers of pity, and suppressed crying from somewhere were all daggers tearing into her chest. A moan like that of a wounded beast almost escaped her mouth. She covered her mouth tightly.
Don't make a sound. If they hear you crying, they'll know.
The completely charred bodies of her parents were before her eyes.
＊ ＊ ＊
On one side of the great garden of Richmond Palace, autumn fell upon a carefully set table.
The table, decorated with a centerpiece of deciduous tree branches, was strikingly beautiful. And that was not all; The cups placed in front of the noble ladies were the possessions of successive Dukes of Richmond. The Marquise only brought out these cups on truly happy days, so the ladies loyal to her knew that victory was imminent.
“Is it true that His Highness has not eaten anything for two days?”
“He doesn't seem to be eating or sleeping.”
The Marquise's maid said in a low, puzzled voice, and Flora's face darkened.
“It is normal... for him to discover that the woman he thought was his lover is an ally of the killers of his parents. How great the pain must be. Maybe I should go to him now...”
“Wait, Flora.”
The Marquise interrupted gently, putting down the teacup. Another bridesmaid added next to her:
“The maids flee from His Highness’s room as if they were fleeing a plague. I heard them whispering that it was scary. At a time like this, it would not be good for you to go.”
“Yes, Flora. “I obey the Marquise’s words.”
Even the Countess of Lewin joined in. Flora lowered her gaze and muttered in a sad voice:
“I'm just worried... I'm afraid his body will wear out.”
“His Highness is truly lucky. The Marquis and Marquise not only protected Richmond, but also exposed the scheme of that vulgar woman before it happened.”
"And what's more, isn't the beautiful, kind-hearted Miss Flora waiting?"
The Marquise smiled with her eyes at the ladies' flattery.
“But...is that woman still refusing to speak?”
At Flora's cautious question, the Marquise leaned back into the chair.
Two days have passed since she was locked in the cell. A day and a half since they made her inhale the scent of the stick that brought back the worst memories non-stop. She must be rolling around in hell right now.
Can't stay sane. She will open her eyes tomorrow at noon, but she will be delirious, not knowing what she is saying, and the sight of the Supreme Council will be very interesting.
When the Marquise smiled calmly, a hidden smile appeared on Flora's lips and then disappeared.
Friendly laughter pervaded the tea table without interruption.
The gathering of women ended when the disk of the sun, hanging above their heads, began to slowly tilt towards the west. As each one returned to her palace, darkness poured out transparently to cover the world.
The maids who entered to light the Duke's room had their hands shaking from a spine-tingling cold. From the Duke sitting on the sofa near the window, an aura emanated that is difficult to describe in words. They didn't even dare to look at his back, let alone light the candles placed in front of him. They picked up the untouched plates and cups and ran.
When their trace faded, Walter opened his eyes.
The palace was still in turmoil. It must be because of the failure to find Jesse. He has not heard from Joseph yet, but he will return in due time.
Moreover, the camp of the Marquis who had unknowingly fallen into the trap sent notice that the Supreme Council would be held tomorrow at noon. They intended, in front of all Richmond's followers, to prove Grace's guilt and to destroy the Duke's prestige.
He had not heard from Eliza yet, but everything was going according to plan. However, the more time passed, the more he felt like he was going crazy.
Grace is being held in an underground cell. They said that whoever is imprisoned there forgets his parents and children, begs in tears to be left alive, and then eventually loses his mind.
“If I can't hold on, then like you said... abandon me.”
Walter rubbed his face violently. His black eyes sank between his long fingers, while his chest was turbulent like a raging sea.
There is no reason for this disturbance.
Grace Taylor is a resilient woman and more. Even if she collapses and loses her mind, that might turn into a card in his hand. In any case, he has nothing to lose.
But as the darkness became more intense, the sea in his chest became more raging.
Her round green eyes, the warmth he felt when bodies touched, the soft texture that settled in his palm, and the smile, the images followed one after the other. How can actions with little meaning leave wounds that never heal? It's ridiculous.
Then he suddenly remembered that scene.
“Do you know my name?”
A laughable question, and yet she nodded. Her golden hair swayed with the movement.
Time slowed down...then stopped.
Walter held his breath as he stared at that trace. When his eyes met her clear eyes, he suddenly stood up and moved with a speed that contradicted the stillness that remained as if he were the ruins of a collapsed wall.
The Marquis posted soldiers in front of the door to lock him up, but it was in vain.
The Marquis and his wife frantically sought to find out the secret passage to the ducal palace, inherited only between the spouses of the dukes, but failed. Because the ring, the only key to the secret passages and all the doors of the palace, was with Walter.
Walter entered the bathroom of his suite. On the wall is a mosaic of an eagle.
He opened the cover of the ring on his middle finger, rotating it to match an eagle's eye.
Knock.
He pushed the wall with all his might, and it split to reveal a black corridor. The sound of the wind coming from deep within him was like the howling of a beast.
When he closed the door, the lamp in his hand became the only light in the world.
A black road on all sides, without beginning or end. No one tells you where you are or where you are going.
He was attacked by a coldness and loneliness to which he was not accustomed.
One step, two steps, his steps quickened until he was running.
After endless corridors and countless stairs, the bottom of the palace was revealed to him, as deep as an abyss.
He turned off the light just in case. Then he was attacked by incarnate darkness and silence.
They said that the cells did not need guards and they were right. His breathing and the sound of dripping water seemed to be all there was in this world.
He lit the lamp again, and moved towards a black door. As he approached, a scent emanated that numbed the senses. Whoever has not tried it will only see it as “the smell of flowers,” but whoever knows its true nature will never forget it.
It was the scent of the nightmare flower that only grows beyond the wall of death, and the essence of everything that happened.
Walter searched for its source until he saw white ash in a crack near the door.
“...Rhys...”
A weak breeze touched his ear. freeze. He waited, forgetting even to breathe.
Did I mishear? Is it an illusion of smell? Or a faded dream?
“...Ares...”
When he heard the sound again, he hurriedly opened the door. He rushed over to the curled up Grace, lifting her into his arms. She was unconscious, her body alarmingly cold.
If she was left like this, the cold would kill her. He leaned his back against the wall and hugged her to his chest.
Her thin body trembled. The scent of nightmare brought back the mercilessly horrific memories that were now roaming Hell. Her brow furrowed, and she bit her lip. Then a weak voice came out, like escaping air:
“...Ares...”
A word charged with the spirit slid into his heart.
Finally his lips moved, and he answered in a hoarse voice:
“...I'm here.”