SWY 132

‘What a mess.’

Lestel looked utterly miserable, like a puppy caught in the rain. His eyes were swollen from crying so much, and his expression was piteous. The cheek Sharhan had hit was puffy and bruised with a bluish hue.

‘I didn’t think I hit him that hard.’

Sharhan clicked his tongue. And that wasn’t all. The shadows under Lestel’s eyes were deep and dark, his complexion ghostly pale. He looked like a doll made of snow, as if he might melt away at the touch of sunlight.

Sharhan had half a mind to run to him, pull him into a tight embrace, and protect him from the world.

‘How am I supposed to hate him properly when he looks at me like that?’

Sharhan’s heart was tangled. He resented Lestel for not telling him the truth, and he was angry. He knew it wasn’t really Lestel’s fault, yet just the fact that he was the son of Marquis Ailun made Sharhan hate him, and pity him too, for having that man as a father.

Lestel wasn’t the only one. To Sharhan, he had been a constant in his life.

Aside from the three years they were forced apart, Lestel was woven into every part of his existence. To erase him would be to erase Sharhan’s past completely.

Even now, looking at Lestel, so sorrowful and dear, Sharhan ground his teeth.

His heart, once unlatched, still flowed toward Lestel. No matter how much he resisted, these overwhelming emotions would not be stopped. It felt like a river bursting through a broken dam.

But that didn’t mean he had forgiven him or accepted him.

He still didn’t know if he could treat Lestel like before. His thoughts and feelings weren’t sorted out yet. Maybe they wouldn’t be for a long time.

“Lord Sharhan, Lord Lestel! Come eat–wait, are you hurt?”

Derry, waving them over now that the potatoes were nearly done, flinched when he saw Lestel’s face. But Lestel didn’t even glance at him. His gaze was fixed solely on Sharhan, and there was a growing determination in those drying green eyes, now dull and clouded.

“Um… please have this.”

One of the former hostages cautiously approached them, holding a bowl of soup made from cornmeal.

“I’m fine–”

“I’ll take it.”

Lestel took the bowl instead of Sharhan, who had declined. He then walked over to Derry to collect a baked potato, and brought both back to Sharhan.

“Eat.”

“I said no.”

His empty stomach ached painfully, but he had no appetite. He turned away, but Lestel grabbed his arm and forced the potato into his hand.

“Eat.”

“Are you ignoring me? I said I don’t want it!”

“You need strength to even be angry. Hate me, resent me, that’s fine, but don’t punish your body.”

Sharhan glared at him, jaw clenched, but Lestel didn’t budge.

“……”

“And do all that, thinking, hating, resenting, do it by my side.”

“What?”

“You said you needed time to think. Then do it by my side. And let me be clear, no matter what you decide, I’m not leaving. As long as I’m breathing, I’ll stay with you.”

“You’re seriously going to shamelessly cling to me?”

He almost laughed. Just a few hours ago Lestel had been crying, begging for pity, and now he had changed tactics?

“Yes. I’ll shamelessly stick to you. If I don’t, you might just walk away too easily.”

“Easily? Did you say… easily?”

Sharhan struggled to keep his voice down, though the spike of anger in it drew looks from the others.

Lestel ignored the stares, keeping his full focus on Sharhan.

“I can’t even breathe just imagining you leaving me. But you’re not like that.”

“I…”

Sharhan swallowed the words that had risen to his throat, ‘Me too’.

“Like I said before dawn, if you hate having me cling to you so much, then just kill me.”

“You’re insane. Say that one more time and I swear, I’ll actually kill you.”

“Here. Eat. You’ll need strength if you’re going to kill me, or think things through, or hate and resent me. Starving yourself because you can’t stand to look at me? That only hurts you. I’m going to eat well in front of you. Eat and rest so I’ve got the energy to cling to you properly.”

“I wish I had a mirror to show you what you look like right now. You look like a corpse with those dark circles under your eyes, and you’re telling me to eat and rest?”

“I’m starting today. And like you’re any better? You didn’t sleep a wink, did you? That’s why you need to eat even more.”

Lestel sighed and peeled the burnt skin off the potato, leaving only the soft inside, which he handed to Sharhan.

Sharhan had been about to shout in frustration, ‘was he trying to mock him?’ but he stopped when he noticed Lestel’s trembling fingers.

Even while holding a hot potato, his skin was cold. He might be acting shameless, but deep down, he was scared. Realizing that, Sharhan couldn’t bring himself to be harsh anymore.

Seeing Lestel’s vulnerability, Sharhan’s heart caved again. Idiot. You can’t even stay angry all the way through, he thought bitterly as he shoved the potato into his mouth.

Lestel, quietly relieved, handed over the cornmeal soup next. Sharhan took it too.

‘Yeah. Who am I starving myself for, anyway?’

The potato was dry but soft, and the soup warm. As Sharhan slowly filled his stomach, Lestel just sat beside him in silence.

“What happened to that guy who said he’d eat like a king to spite me?”

Sharhan quipped. Only then did Lestel eat the now-cold food.

“When were you planning to tell me?”

“…If possible, never.”

“What?! You were going to lie to me forever?”

“I just… didn’t want to give you a single reason to leave me. I know I was wrong. I know it feels like I betrayed you. But I was scared.”

“……”

“I was terrified I’d never even get the chance to tell you how I felt. And once I did, I was even more afraid of losing you. You’ll never know what kind of fear I’ve fought every day.”

“Still… still, you should’ve told me!”

“Last night, at the cabin, when you asked if I had anything to say… I was going to tell you the truth if you asked again. Even if it wasn’t your uncle, if you had asked, I wouldn’t have hidden anymore.”

“……”

“Shan, you don’t know how much I despise and loathe my father, the Marquis of Ailun. I probably hate him more than you do.”

“…I know.”

“You know?”

“After your mother passed, you used to flinch and recoil at even the mention of the marquis’s name.”

When was it again? The year the twins, his half-siblings, turned one?

At a party, the lords from nearby territories flattered the marquis, saying, “Your heir Lestel resembles you, so clever and strong.”

It was just sycophancy. Lestel didn’t actually look like him. Even Sharhan, who had no reason to be there, had only been invited that year because the marquis’s wife sent an invitation. He had attended with his mother.

He remembered frowning at those words. Then he looked at Lestel, who ran out of the hall, hand over his mouth.

Sharhan had followed quietly and seen him behind the garden, retching so violently it was like he was trying to vomit out his very guts.

“So… you associate me with the marquis…”

“It’s still a fact that his blood runs in your veins.”

“It’s cruel of you to turn your back on me because of what he did.”

“……”

Sharhan shut his mouth tightly.

“Shan, is it because I’m an Ailun that you hate me? Or is it because you’re angry I knew the marquis harmed your parents and didn’t tell you?”

Sharhan didn’t answer immediately. He opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment, Randall and Samson returned from their hunt. Each held a rabbit and a pheasant.

“Father! Uncle!”

Ian ran up proudly and hugged Randall. Samson, excited about the prospect of meat, patted his nephew’s flushed head and walked over to Sharhan.

“These are herbs. In our village, we use them for wounds. They work well. Luckily, the same kind grows in this forest. Crush them and apply them to the injury.”

He handed the herbs over, said nothing about the bruised cheek, and went off to prepare the game. He must have assumed Sharhan was injured while fighting Alfredo’s men.

“You heard him. Grind it and apply it.”

“You do it.”

“What, don’t you have hands?! Do it yourself!”

“I got stabbed in the shoulder. I can’t move my arm well. Either you do it, or I let it fester.”

“What kind of nonsense is that?”

Sharhan glared at Lestel, who was being as stubborn as a child, then walked over to Derry and handed her the herbs. Honestly, he wanted to throw them at Lestel and yell, Do whatever you want! But if he did, Lestel probably would let the wound fester.

“Derry, can you put this on Lestel’s wound? He got stabbed in the shoulder.”

“Huh? Oh, okay.”

Just as Sharhan shoved Lestel toward Derry, one of the former hostages approached.

“Um… what about the man tied up inside? Should we give him something to eat?”

He meant Sharhan’s uncle. It seemed to be bothering him that the man had been left tied up and alone. Sharhan took the roasted potato and soup the man offered and went into the storehouse.

His uncle was lying on his side, still bound. At the sound of someone entering, he weakly lifted his head and flinched when he saw Sharhan.

“Mmmph! Mmm! Mmmph!”

Sharhan knelt down and pulled the cloth from his mouth.

“Sharhan!”

“Did you put a bounty on me just to find the heirloom?”