STVWDTD Chapter 19

The Beast Unvarnished

The Duke of Schwartz hadn't wanted an answer about the curse at all.

He'd wanted one about the illness.

There were rumors that she'd never set foot outside the manor—just some wasting disease, nothing terminal. That was all he'd wondered about.

'I can remove the curse from this family!'

That wasn't what he'd expected to hear. His expression hadn't settled fast enough. The deep lines between his brows carved deeper still.

"Yes, Father?"

The Duke raised his hand and covered her mouth.

Declan had retrieved a chair from across the room himself. He settled onto it beside Diana's bed, and the weight of a very long sigh escaped him—the kind that sounds like surrender. His hands clasped in his lap.

The deep furrow between his brows smoothed slightly as his pale blue eyes fixed on Diana.

And so the conversation with her future father-in-law began.

"Young lady."

His gaze held the expression of someone watching an unbroken colt gallop through fine china.

"Yes, Father. Speak freely."

Diana smiled with practiced grace, and something about that smile made Declan's expression harden further.

She pushed back the quilt tucked to her throat and sat upright. One doesn't lie down when speaking to adults—curse-induced exhaustion be damned, at least she could sit properly now that the Duke's curse had found a new home in her body. Temporarily, anyway. Her condition had improved markedly.

"Can you take responsibility for what you say?"

Who's the target of this nonsense?

"Of course, Father."

Yeah, it's not nonsense.

Diana's pink eyes and Declan's weathered blue ones locked in silent combat. For a moment, neither looked away.

It was the Duke who yielded first.

"How much do you know about the family curse?"

"I know the bloodlust everyone assumes is inherited isn't a disease—it's a curse passed down through generations. And that when it reaches its extreme, it drives victims to... extreme choices." Her gaze didn't waver. "I also know Rodrick doesn't have much time left."

"He told you this?"

She'd learned it from the original timeline, but Diana kept that detail to herself.

"Yes. Rodrick will die soon. From the curse. Its intensity worsens with each passing year."

The Duke's eyes looked profoundly tired—the weight of years pressing down on them.

"You know why Felice fled, then? We've tried every method to break this curse. Everything. The temples claim ignorance about it. We can't risk raising suspicion at court—can't ask for their help. We've sent discrete inquiries abroad. Nothing. The madness only manifests in our family."

There was something raw in his voice. He wanted this curse gone more than anything. Watching his wife slip into madness because of it had torn his heart to pieces each time.

She'd died, and years had passed, and now all feeling had eroded like stone in wind. He performed his duties out of obligation alone.

But the curse remained an enemy worthy of hate.

"I see."

Diana lapsed into thought, and her brief response made Declan's eye twitch.

"……."

I stood before you desperate for a solution, and you declared you'd erase the curse. You don't understand the weight of those words.

Declan's blue eyes cooled several degrees.

"Duke Schwartz."

Diana's expression had sharpened. Pink eyes met blue with formal courtesy now—and that shift in address made the Duke's head tilt slightly.

"Are you aware that the Beatus family has deep expertise in curses?"

He knew. He knew they'd specialized in them since the house was founded. He knew they'd built power in the shadows despite accusations of black magic. Whether obsolete curse-work was relevant now was another matter entirely.

He'd even swallowed his pride once and approached them directly. They'd refused him every time. He knew exactly why: the Crown kept Schwartz on a leash, and Beatus couldn't defy the Crown's will. They needed leverage over Schwartz, and the curse served perfectly—a muzzle for a war beast.

So when the youngest Beatus daughter had asked for Rodrick, he'd been surprised.

Declan had weighed the possibilities. Were you acting independently, or following your family's orders?

"Can you manipulate curses?"

"I can see mana with my eyes. It's a rare constitution unique to me."

She didn't explain why mana was visible to her, or how she could drain it from her body and absorb it instead. She simply moved past it.

"Did you know? Curses are built on mana."

And? Declan's eyebrow arched higher.

"Which means I can see the curse seeping into your body right now."

"……."

No one knew. Everyone believed only Rodrick carried the curse's weight. Even his own sons were ignorant of its influence on their father.

"I can absorb curses. You won't believe me without proof."

Diana extended her hand. Her wrist looked fragile enough to snap if she flexed too hard.

"I'm asking for your trust, Duke. Humor me with a handshake."

"What game is this?"

Diana abandoned her diplomatic mask and pouted, her lip jutting out in petulant annoyance.

"You're extraordinarily suspicious. Does the great Duke Schwartz fear me?"

She waggled her hand invitingly. My arm hurts. Her whimper was almost comical, and yet Declan remained motionless, his suspicion intact.

It took a few long moments—a hesitant flutter of what if?—before he finally raised his hand. Diana seized it immediately.

The faint shimmer of curse unraveled through Diana's palm and vanished. She released him after absorbing a measured amount, and his eyes widened.

"How do you feel? Better?"

Absolutely. His body felt lighter—just like when she'd held his hand in his study. The pressure crushing his shoulders had simply... evaporated.

"Did you just absorb the curse?"

"Yes."

"Then Rodrick is having his curse removed by you right now?"

Finally. You believe me now. Diana smiled softly.

"Yes. So don't say he's dying. I'm going to save him."

The certainty in her voice left Declan no choice but to believe. After all, there had been no reports of Rodrick's fits since bringing her to the castle.

Ha. The Duke laughed—a hollow, surprised sound—and rubbed his weathered face with one hand.

Hope. It arrived like a stone dropped from a cliff, sudden and unexpected. Whether it was real would depend on watching Rodrick. If he died, that would be that. But a thread of possibility now existed where none had before: the family curse might be breakable.

"Do you understand what you've just promised to do?"

"To save your son?"

Diana's light response made him turn stern, his expression settling into something grave.

"If what you say is true, the succession will shift. A discarded pawn becomes the family's mightiest weapon."

Diana looked genuinely surprised. She'd assumed the Duke despised Rodrick—why else call him cursed? But the greatest weapon—that was almost a compliment, even if it still didn't quite sound human.

"Much will change if the curse disappears."

She understood the implication. Rodrick was already powerful by his nature alone. Without the curse's weight, he'd be unstoppable. Could reshape entire power structures.

She'd watched it happen before: Rodrick's death had halved the North's military strength. Without the curse constraining him, with the Northern forces at full capacity... The balance against the Crown would tip dangerously. Which was precisely what they needed.

"I know, Father."

The shift back to that softer address made something flicker in his pale blue gaze—something caught between wariness and something gentler.

"Does that frighten you?"

Diana's presumption drew a low laugh from the Duke. This reckless girl. This absolute menace.

"Rodrick will live. I'll make sure of it. So Father, you should live a very long time. You're nowhere near ready to hand over the family seat."

Something shifted in his pale eyes—a strange brightness. How could she possibly know?

He felt it, with each passing season: the exhaustion deepening, his body weakening, the approaching end he'd begun to anticipate. When he died, the full weight of the curse would transfer to the next generation. Rodrick would receive a doubled burden, spiral into madness, destroy himself utterly.

Which is why he'd been accelerating Felice's preparation as heir. Why he'd been preparing to die.

Making certain his second son could lead the family perfectly without his support.

"Sir, I've brought the attending physician."

A knock. Upon his permission, the door opened. Declan immediately ordered the elderly physician to take Diana under his direct care—an unprecedented honor. The doctor accepted without question, bowing his head.

Declan turned to leave after issuing his orders, but she caught his sleeve.

"Father!"

More to say? He paused.

Diana beamed at him.

"I have a request. Would you hear it?"

Her words shocked everyone present. More shocking still: the terrifying Duke of Schwartz simply... agreed.

That fearsome Duke, treating her so casually? Diana gradually became the castle's center of gravity.

She began visiting his study like clockwork, and soon even the servants accepted it as inevitable. It all happened while Rodrick was absent.

While Diana struggled through agony in Schwartz castle, Rodrick—drowning in accumulated curse-weight—was in a foul mood.

He'd ridden hard without rest, leading only a skeleton crew of elite soldiers. Northwest territories beckoned.

The border conflict had been simple enough to resolve. But he hadn't returned immediately. There was something else holding him here.

Boom. Boom.

The war drum sounded. Mock combat had commenced. Weapons clashed. Between jagged rock formations, soldiers roared like thunder.

He dismounted his black horse as the battle began, handed off the reins to a subordinate, and was heading toward the command tent when—

"Well, well. And who do we have here?"

That harsh, predatory tone made Rodrick's blank gaze shift toward the man emerging from the tent.

Muscles honed to their extreme limit. Wild red hair falling chaotic around a face that looked like raw, unvarnished beast.

"The Black Reaper of the North graces us with his presence? What brings you to our humble corner of the realm?"

"That ridiculous nickname. Doesn't it embarrass you saying it out loud?"

"What?"

That emotionless face irritated his nerves every single time. The twisted-tempered man's mouth curved into a vicious smile.

"Nathan Beatus."

When Rodrick spoke the name, the red eyes blazed with killing intent.