Chapter 8

　　Laila’s heart pounded as he instinctively yanked her leg to free her captured ankle, but it didn’t move. It didn’t budge a single inch. The sheer strength of his grip was astonishing.

　　She briefly wondered if she was just that weak or if he was simply that strong, then she opened her mouth.

　　“Um, ahem… hi…?”

　　He didn’t reply.

　　“I’m just telling you this so you don’t misunderstand, but I swear I haven’t done anything to hurt you. All I did was put medicine on your wounds. Oh, and that herb in your mouth? I put it there.”

　　The boy furrowed his brow slightly. Then, he immediately spat something out. Laila instantly realised it was the herb she had just given him.

　　Her eyes went wide.

　　“Hey!”

　　Do you have any idea what that is?! It was an incredibly rare and expensive herb. She had gone through sheer hell to get her hands on it.

　　As she stared in disbelief, a low voice rasped from the boy.

　　“Always doing useless things…”

　　His voice was hoarse and raspy, like a growling beast. But Laila wasn’t paying attention to the sound of his voice. She was focused on the words themselves.

　　Useless things? …Always?

　　Without realizing it, Laila clenched her hand against the floor into a fist. She could admit that he had been flogged because of her. But…

　　There’s no need to condemn what I’m doing right now.

　　Did he even know how terrified she had been coming down those stone steps? How scared that the Marquis might catch her in the act and punish her?

　　As the emotions she had barely suppressed welled up to the surface, Laila’s eyes hardened and she glared at him. But the defiant strength in her gaze quickly faded.

　　The boy’s eyes. His black pupils looked as if they could swallow everything around them without leaving a trace. The moment she looked into them, she was seized with terror.

　　They were the same eyes she had seen on the first floor of Hildegard Castle that morning. But maybe it was the different surroundings, or perhaps she could finally read the sheer hatred in his eyes, a hatred she had been too flustered to notice before. Whatever the reason, those black eyes dragged out the fear crouching deep inside her.

　　She was caught in a hallucination. The small, injured boy vanished, replaced by a grown man over a head taller than her. The man was holding a sword. And that sword…

　　Laila struggled with all her might, yanking her leg to break free. It still didn’t move.

　　Laila gasped for air. He had only grabbed her ankle, but it felt like she was being strangled. As it became increasingly difficult to breathe, she barely managed to force out a few words.

　　“Let go… of my ankle…”

　　What do I do?

　　She had spoken way too softly. Her voice was so quiet that even she could barely hear it. There was no way such a faint whisper could have reached him.

　　Should I say it again?

　　But my mouth won’t move.

　　And would he even let go if I told him to?

　　What if he grips my ankle even harder?

　　It’s already hard enough to breathe.

　　What do I do. What do I do…

　　Just then, the crushing pressure on her ankle loosened. Without pausing to wonder why, Laila yanked her leg free. She scrambled up, snatched the lamp, and bolted out through the iron gate.

　　Hurry, hurry…

　　With trembling hands, Laila fumbled for the right key. She remembered it was the fifth one from the left, but in her blind panic, she couldn’t even count properly. At last she found the key, locked the gate, and ran without looking back.

　　She knew the boy couldn’t chase her, but she couldn’t stop running.

　　“My lady?”

　　As Laila came bursting out of the entrance, Hans stared at her in surprise.

　　“Did something happen inside?”

　　“No, nothing.” Laila shoved the ring of keys back to Hans and hurriedly shook her head.

　　She instinctively hid the ankle the boy had grabbed behind her other leg, then realized it wasn’t visible under her skirt anyway and stood straight.

　　“Um, Hans. I’m going to head back now. Take care!”

　　Laila babbled a goodbye without even knowing what she was saying and hurried up the stone steps. She reached the top before she even realized it, though the stairs had felt endless on the way down. By the time she came to her senses, she was already in her bedroom.

　　Laila dropped the lamp carelessly on a corner table and burrowed into her bed. She crawled under the covers, curling up into a tight ball and wrapping her arms around herself.

　　As if confirming her fear, tears began to pour from her eyes.

　　“I’m scared…”

　　Soon Laila was sobbing, gasping for breath.

　　“I’m scared… I’m so scared. I don’t want to do this…”

　　It was a truth she had known all along. She had been able to forget it for a moment, only to have it driven home with bone-chilling clarity down in that cell.

　　Laila was terrified of the boy.

　　Telling herself that she only feared the grown man she would meet in ten years, and not the small, scrawny child dragged to the castle, had been nothing but a lie to comfort herself. They were the same person anyway. How could she be terrified of one and not the other?

　　Laila shivered uncontrollably beneath the blankets. Her tears wouldn’t stop. She felt miserable. Wretched.

　　She was so scared, so terrified, so horrified, she hated it so much she was trembling. To think that instead of plotting revenge against such a person, she had to try to get on his good side. To think she had to win his favor, even if it meant shamelessly fawning over him…

　　The thought so devastating, so agonizing that she couldn’t bear it. But what was even more painful was that, even as she sobbed, she couldn’t think of any other way to survive.

　　Someone else might ask if she really had to go that far to survive. They might say they would rather accept death honorably than fawn over an enemy.

　　But Laila couldn’t do that.

　　She had to live. Until her face was covered in wrinkles, until she was ninety years old.

　　Laila cried until she had no tears left. She didn’t know exactly how long she cried, She hadn’t checked the time when she came in, so she didn’t know how long she’s been crying, only that her throat stung and her eyes burned. Her head was spinning. Her body felt as heavy as lead, completely drained of energy.

　　Only after exhausting herself did Laila finally calm down. She pushed the covers back a little, lay flat on her back, and closed her eyes.

　　Her mind might not be ten years old—though given her current state, she wondered if that was even true anymore—but her body was undeniably that of a child. After crying her eyes out, a heavy wave of exhaustion washed over her.

　　As her consciousness gradually faded, a voice echoed in her ears like a hallucination, as if trying to comfort her.

　　You must survive. You promised me, Lala.

　　It was a warm voice. Laila recalled that voice over and over again as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

　　Laila had been given an opportunity. An opportunity to be kind to the boy locked in the dungeon. After all, there was no way to be kind to a dead person. Perhaps there was some way, but Laila certainly didn’t know it.

　　In other words, the boy lived. And quite well, at least on the outside. His wounds hadn’t worsened, and he remained perfectly conscious without fainting again.

　　Laila did not squander the opportunity.

　　Since the Marquis had conveniently begun to neglect the boy, Laila used that opening to visit the dungeon every day. Sometimes even visited twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening.

　　“Hello, Hans!”

　　“…Hello, my lady?”

　　Once Hans realized Marquis Hildegard wasn’t even receiving reports about the boy, Hans didn’t bother stopping Laila’s visits.

　　Laila never went empty-handed. Almost every time, she brought the same supplies. Warm, soft food and clean water, along with ointment for his wounds and herbs for his recovery. Laila went to the boy carrying armfuls of these things, and she always greeted him with a smile.

　　No matter how terrified she was, she never let it show. She smiled at him, talked to him, gave him the things she’d brought, and checked to see if his wounds were healing.

　　Laila did her absolute best to be kind to him. There was no other way to describe it. And after days and days of Laila’s consistent, painstaking effort…something changed in her relationship with the boy.

　　Namely…

　　How can this be?

　　The boy had come to hate her even more than before.