STVWDTD Chapter 15

Father, Give Me Your Son.

Her heartbeat roared in her ears, loud enough to drown out thought.

Her lips parted slightly, and she clamped them shut before her heart could escape through her mouth. Heat rushed to her eyes instead.

This isn't fair. Why are you seducing me? Diana's face flushed redder and redder until she thought she might actually explode.

She hadn't known she was this weak to a beautiful face. Her brothers were handsome too, objectively speaking.

Her eldest brother was literally the main villain of this world.

So how was this bit player—described in a single throwaway line—allowed to be as devastatingly attractive as the narrative's protagonists?

Tears pricked her eyes without permission.

"I feel like I'm going to burst. Diana."

Burst? What's going to burst?

A thoroughly indecent thought flashed through her mind.

The atmosphere surrounding him was sensual enough to captivate anyone. Her face burned hotter.

"Y-you're missing a subject!"

Her face was really going to explode. Seriously.

Pfft. Laughter escaped before he could stop it. This is fun.

He wanted to squeeze her until she popped, but also wanted to poke her just to see what sound she'd make. Curiosity consumed him.

Another new emotion invaded without warning.

He decided to act honestly.

He stared at the sleeping woman endlessly, thinking.

How should he treat her—this woman who had stepped into his world without a sound?

Unfamiliarity had always brought him nothing but disgust. That the disgust had become something not unpleasant at some point meant he'd lost his mind, even by his own assessment.

The time and space he shared with her was that peaceful.

He'd lived years suppressing the seething desire for blood that boiled inside him.

A vicious curse drives people mad. The thing that gnaws at sanity most are the specters.

The family curse ensures those afflicted cannot escape the ghosts of the cursed who came before. It forces them to wander the past endlessly. Because of this, he seriously hated touching anything with his bare hands.

Like the shock of being drenched in his mother's blood as a child, carved into his bones.

Diana effortlessly freed him from that past he'd accepted as inevitable.

Because she showed him every moment, vibrantly, that she was different from that woman. She gave him no time to dwell on the past.

Who could have imagined he'd be able to touch another person with bare hands?

It was limited to her alone, but he didn't hate the warmth against his bare skin.

Maybe he could survive this goddamn curse after all.

He tried to grasp the sensation rising from the bottom of his chest instead of ignoring it.

He'd make this churning feeling clear, and whatever lay at its end—he wouldn't let it go. Within the unfamiliar emotion blooming suddenly, he organized his heart like that.

Like a predator defending its territory, a different kind of madness from the curse rippled in his eyes.

"Oh, right. Rodrick."

The feel of his cheek beneath her palm reminded Diana that she'd slapped Rodrick hard across the face before passing out.

"It hurt a lot, didn't it? I hit you to snap you out of it."

Who's talking? This woman hadn't even flinched at being cut by a sword.

Was she fearless? Oblivious? Too oblivious to be truly unconcerned—Diana hated pain.

"Did it... not hurt you?"

Before she'd passed out, the last word she'd uttered was pain.

Rodrick released her hand and rubbed his thumb along her throat where the wound had been.

The cleric's healing had left her skin smooth and unmarred, blue veins visible beneath.

She looked unbearably fragile.

"...Mm, I think it hurt at the time."

The agony of near-death had been so overwhelming that the pain before passing out vanished instantly.

More important than that pain was the present. As long as it didn't hurt now, everything was fine.

She smiled, eyes crinkling with pleasure, entirely too pleased with herself.

"I don't really remember."

It's okay. Her smile seemed to comfort him, and his eyes deepened.

He couldn't look away from her softly glowing smile.

Ridiculous. What was this small, delicate woman to him?

He had no idea why she paralyzed his thoughts, why she made yearning bloom from his toes to the crown of his head.

Instinct came first. Thirst rose. His body reacted before his reason could catch up.

Shadow fell across her face. As his face drew closer, her long lashes trembled.

"Absorb my curse for me."

His voice came out rough and fractured.

"...Diana."

"..."

"My fingertips are tingling. I think my head's going to break."

"That doesn't sound like the curse—"

Brush. His lips fell like petals, and Diana couldn't finish her sentence.

"Your illness. The stronger the physical contact, the better it works."

Brush. The kiss broke briefly as if asking permission, then reconnected. Again and again.

"Do you hate it?"

His voice, heavy with heat, caressed her ear.

Drunk on his scent, her pink eyes turned hazy.

It wasn't just Rodrick whose thoughts had short-circuited. It was an utterly impulsive choice, but she didn't hate it.

"I don't hate it."

Wrapped in the heat he radiated, reality slipped away.

"I like it. Rodrick."

It would probably be fine. His lips were too sweet—she wanted to taste more.

At that brief permission, lips full of fierce desire crashed against hers. Dizzying as they consumed everything about her.

In the dense movement, there was no longer any taste of blood.

"I think that one would be nice."

She pointed to the most elegant-looking dress design for the maids.

The most surprising thing when Diana rose from bed was the guest room's dressing room—packed full of dresses and all manner of jewelry.

Everything fit perfectly, as if measured and tailored specifically for her.

She closed her eyes and surrendered to their care. The maids' expert hands dressed her quickly.

Knock knock. A neat knock came just as they reached the final stages of preparation.

"Come in."

The door to the guest room—off-limits for some time—opened.

The person who entered with precise movements was none other than the head butler, practically the real power in this castle.

The old man with swept-back white hair exuded an aura that forbade casual treatment. He looked more like a knight than a butler.

"You called for me, miss?"

"Yes. How did it go?"

The head butler, accustomed to working at Schwartz Castle where people cut straight to the point, answered calmly.

"He has summoned you to attend."

Diana rose from her seat with a bright smile. She didn't show it, but she was considerably nervous right now.

It didn't matter that she'd received Rodrick's permission—the actual master of the house was the duke.

She was a woman who knew courtesy. She needed to meet the duke face-to-face and request sanctuary.

To investigate the capital's situation, she'd inevitably need to borrow the duke's power.

Walking down the corridor heavy with soundless weight, Diana felt like she was heading to meet the final boss.

Standing before doors oppressive enough to radiate intimidation, the head butler turned back and looked at her through his frameless glasses, silently asking her intention.

Are you ready to enter?

Inhale. She breathed deeply, organized her nervous expression, and arranged her face into cool composure.

The head butler's eyes widened slightly in surprise at the instantaneous shift in atmosphere.

He'd heard she was a lady famously known for refusing to enter high society.

There had been talk—reaching even the commoners as jokes—about how flawed a lady who never left her estate must be.

The young lady before his eyes was not the defective, shabby noblewoman they described.

This was the bearing befitting the sister of the prospective Crown Princess, the flower of high society. Truly, rumors without foundation were worthless.

Her slightly upturned eyes held pink irises that shone with calm composure.

Snapping to attention at her gaze, the head butler knocked.

"Your Grace, Lady Beatus has arrived."

"Oh, Sister-in-law!"

While the head butler knocked, Felice approached cheerfully from the side.

Tucked under his arm was a pile of documents—he must have business in the study.

"Why did you come here alone? Where's my brother?"

Rodrick had left to reorganize the knights. For some reason, he'd been reluctant to let her meet his father. He'd interfered several times, so she'd come secretly.

"Enter."

The study door opened, and Diana gave Felice a slight smile by way of answer before stepping inside.

Felice quickly followed behind Diana.

Scratch- scratch-

Despite the spacious room holding multiple aides and attendants, only the sound of quills scratching paper filled the study.

Several minutes passed. The duke, moving his hand among piles of documents, said nothing.

Was this a power play? It was rude to a guest. Ahem. Felice cleared his throat while watching the duke nervously.

The quill that had seemed unstoppable stopped abruptly. The duke raised his gaze to Diana, then shifted it to his son.

Though the middle-aged duke had retired from the battlefield, his eyes remained sharp.

Felice swallowed dryly at that cutting gaze. Still, he maintained his smile.

"Father. Sister-in-law only just woke up and her body is weak."

At the implication—are you going to keep her standing?—the duke looked Diana over appraisingly, almost sideways. The expression was exactly like Rodrick's.

"Lady."

Declan Schwartz. The head of House Schwartz, boasting middle-aged handsomeness, had a heavy voice with the power to press down on people.

Arrogant eyes that stood at the apex examined her as if testing.

Diana didn't back down from that gaze, moving calmly as water flows.

"Good day, Your Grace. Diana Beatus greets you."

She placed one hand on her chest, lifted her dress hem with the other, bent her legs and lowered her head. The graceful posture was flawless.

"Thank you for the invitation."

"I don't recall inviting you, Lady."

Those boys stirred up unnecessary trouble. Without my permission. He might as well have said it aloud.

"I consider being allowed to stay in the castle as granting the invitation."

"..."

His look said: So? If you have something to say, say it quickly and get lost. Wow, this father and son really are identical.

The pale sky-blue hair matched Felice's, but the deep blue eyes were Rodrick's. That familiarity gave Diana courage.

"Your Grace. I beg forgiveness in advance for my rudeness."

"..."

"Huh? What do you mean, Sister-in-law?"

Hah. She exhaled deeply and strode forward.

"Father."

She stepped up close and—BANG!—struck the mahogany desk with authority.

"Give me your son!"

The duke merely watched her with an expressionless face. The shock rippled through those around them.

Got to claim the missed proposal somehow. Satisfaction curved her lips. She'd wanted to do something like this once.

Insane. That crude word burst from among the aides.

A moment later, the duke's eyebrow rose crookedly. Even this matched Rodrick exactly.