MHR 19

Chapter 19

“My life is precious, so I won’t act recklessly.”

My body, soaked from the rain, began to shiver. I hugged myself with my arms and let out a small laugh.

“Wow… damn it. You act so cruel, yet you wanted to dance.”

The joy and happiness I had felt when holding his hands and dancing now felt like a humiliating, horrifying memory.

The man who had treated me coldly and cruelly even for a moment had tried to act gentle, and I had almost let my guard down. Was I really that easy?

“Hah! Absolutely not. That wasn’t a real feeling.”

I blamed it on myself—Clarissa, the owner of this body—and straightened my slumped posture. Even though Damon had told me to return home, I had no intention of doing so.

As I retraced my steps, Miranda approached.

“Milady, where on earth were you? Oh my! You’re completely soaked!”

It seemed that after I disappeared for just a moment and the rain poured down, Miranda had been running around looking for me with a coat.

“You’re wet too, Miranda.”

“I’m fine. You should put on the coat first.”

She draped the coat over my drenched body, her expression showing concern.

“Yes… even if we’re soaked, we won’t give up. You should put the coat on as well.”

I insisted on wearing the coat myself, slipped my arms through it, and put on the hood. Then, I headed not toward the mansion but toward the greenhouse.

That was the secret meeting place for Damon and Valentine.

“Let’s get this divorce over with as soon as possible. Today. Right now.”

I tried to walk as gracefully as possible through the rain. Otherwise, not only my pride but my mood would fall apart.

The pre-engagement party in the mansion’s central hall had shifted to a casual atmosphere of eating and drinking to make up for the dull mood.

Even before dinner began, many guests were already drunk, and the noblewomen’s makeup was smudged, their noses red.

Some were nodding off in the corners.

Disgusted by the chaotic scene, Valentine left the hall with Damon. Damon led him through corridors, avoiding the servants’ eyes. Once they exited the mansion, Damon guided Valentine toward the greenhouse, Valentine following.

The greenhouse was filled with warm air and the fragrant scent of flowers.

“It’s surprising that it’s so well-decorated, even though the Racton family has no lady of the house.”

Valentine looked around, slightly bewildered. Considering the family was of knights and Duke Racton’s aggressive nature, he didn’t expect them to maintain a greenhouse like this.

“It’s Baron Faber Mersium, the butler, who has meticulously tended the greenhouse.”

“The baroness’ father, you mean? I suppose the baroness inherited both looks and temperament from Baron Mersium. Neat and composed. Then she must like flowers too, right?”

Damon frowned at the mention of Clarissa.

“She prefers dolls over flowers. I believe she had prepared a doll as your engagement gift, but she returned early due to her health.”

“She isn’t well? That’s serious. If it weren’t for the pre-engagement party, I’d go immediately to the Middletown mansion to check on her and send a doctor.”

Even as Valentine showed concern and over-attention for Clarissa, Damon’s expression didn’t change. Valentine wondered at Damon Craig’s true feelings.

Did he have no affection at all for his beautiful and loving wife, Clarissa? How could that be? It was incomprehensible.

“If my concern for the baroness makes you uncomfortable, say so. I don’t wish to be your enemy.”

“Your Highness, under no circumstances could we become enemies.”

“Even if I desired your wife?”

Valentine openly displayed his possessiveness.

Damon did not respond immediately but shifted his gaze to a white flower in bloom. It was a lily, its stem bent as if weighed down by the heavy petals.

Despite its beauty and fragrance, the flower bowed its head as if struggling, which made Damon feel a strange sadness.

He recalled Clarissa, sitting soaked in the pouring rain earlier.

He was still annoyed. Who did that woman think she was, interfering with his plans? She was nothing to him, and perhaps it was better she didn’t exist.

His wavering heart while dancing with Clarissa had brought him to the point of failing to obtain the grimoire. He needed to restore the honor of his annihilated family and avenge his wrongfully killed father, mother, and sister—but he had been swayed by a mere woman and her insignificant emotions.

Damon wanted to tear his own heart out, to claw at his hair in regret. Holding back all these emotions made his eyes burn.

He wanted to rid himself of this unbearable, cumbersome feeling immediately.

“Do you wish to take my wife? Then go ahead.”

“…Baron Craig! Why would you say such a thing… Could it really mean you would give your wife to me?”

Valentine had intended to imply that he could appoint Clarissa as his aide, but Damon’s words now sounded like he was permitting Valentine to take her freely.

Valentine, angered on Clarissa’s behalf, wished he hadn’t heard.

“You must consider carefully before speaking. Words once spoken cannot be taken back, Damon Craig.”

Clarissa was a special person to Valentine.

From the moment she saved him when he fell off a horse scared by a wolf, their connection had been extraordinary.

Even after saving his life, Clarissa never expected compensation or demanded anything.

This was a first for Valentine. Throughout his life, everyone had demanded something of him.

His father, the emperor, constantly burdened him with tasks and expected perfect results. His brothers demanded money whenever they visited and letters of permission to freely use royal finances. Nobles requested tax reductions, and noblewomen sent endless invitations for him to attend their tea parties. Friendships with neighboring nations, social gatherings, charity… he was exhausted by all the demands.

Yet Clarissa never asked for anything, not even a letter.

Perhaps that was why he trusted her.

“Once again, let me confirm: you are saying I may take your wife?”

Valentine asked, somewhat agitated, seeking Damon’s true intention.

“If Your Highness desires it, then so be it. Honestly, I never needed a wife to begin with.”

Damon nodded firmly, not out of dislike for Clarissa, but as if no other woman was necessary.

“Then we shall proceed with an official divorce and release Clarissa. Can you do that?”

“…I will do so when Your Highness marries Princess Aileen.”

“My marriage is next year. And as you know…”

Valentine gritted his brows, swallowing his words about the marriage likely ending in annulment.

He suspected Damon didn’t truly want to let go, despite claiming he didn’t need a wife.

“Baron Craig, it seems your marriage is already ruined. Wouldn’t it be better to release the baroness, who suffers in pain, as soon as possible?”

“I will make efforts to expedite the timing.”

Valentine didn’t press further; Clarissa’s opinion mattered.

A brief silence fell. Only the rain pattering against the glass roof was heard.

Damon was the first to speak.

“The engagement gift is ready.”

He took a small box from his jacket pocket. Inside was a short sword, crafted as a magic weapon.

For Valentine, unskilled with swords, handling a long, heavy blade would be difficult. Hence, Damon had made it a short sword and ensured it only revealed itself in danger.

Valentine’s expression darkened as he received the gift, recalling something Clarissa had once said.

When Valentine had invited Clarissa to the palace tea party, they had walked in the garden together, and she had spoken cautiously.

“Your Highness, you said you would listen to me. May I speak, even if it seems rude, just this once?”

“What rudeness are you trying to commit with such a serious face?”

Prompted to speak, Clarissa bowed her hands politely and struggled to speak.

“Your Highness, do not be defeated by the sword. You possess a soul stronger than any blade. You only need someone skilled with the sword by your side.”

It was bold advice. To dare instruct him so! And she had touched on Valentine’s weakness in swordsmanship.

She must have known Damon intended to gift the magic sword to him.

“I will pretend I did not hear the baroness’ rudeness.”

Damon’s dismissal prompted Clarissa to kneel before him and bow deeply.

“False loyalty can be forced by the sword, but the results are tragic. Like a knight who does not truly follow and respect Duke Dwayne Racton. Your Highness, with wisdom and strategy, you can make everyone bow—not the sword.”

“…”

“Just as I now kneel before Your Highness.”

Seeing Clarissa in that position, Valentine recalled his deceased mother, the late empress. She had always told him the same thing: being physically weak is no shame. Keep a skilled swordsman at your side if necessary. Never let that hinder your will.

To correct the royal family manipulated by Duke Racton and bring prosperity to the empire…

He had intended to wield the magic sword, but Clarissa’s words made him reconsider.

It would be shameful for the future emperor to overcome his inferiority complex about the sword using a mere weapon.

In the end, Valentine resolved not to become the sword’s master. He wrote this decision in a letter and sent it via pigeon.

Clarissa desired the sword, so it was enough for her to be its master.