CHAPTER 92……………………………………
“That was just a childish prank. Ever since you let that cat go, things have been quiet.”
Just as Archibald said, Minerva had pitied the cat, treated its wounds, and secretly set it free.
When Gabriel found out the cat was gone, he threw a fit, fell seriously ill for a few days, and then—just as suddenly—acted as if he’d forgotten all about it.
But his nature hadn’t changed.
“The only thing that’s changed is his target. It’s people now. Gabriel’s the same as ever. That’s why I hate him.”
Those who kill animals for fun will one day kill people for fun.
Gabriel’s cruelty had finally turned toward humans.
The constant turnover among his court attendants was proof enough of that.
“And you’re no different from him, Archibald.”
He had helped Gabriel torment the cat.
Archibald would hold it down while Gabriel tortured it, and Mars laughed watching them.
I looked down at Archibald with eyes full of contempt and drove the final nail in.
“It’s not just Gabriel I hate. I hate all of you. I always have, and I still do.”
Archibald looked up at me.
Maybe it was because he knew this was the end, but he gave a hollow laugh and sneered.
“Still acting all high and mighty, I see.”
“If acting high and mighty means I don’t become someone like you, then I’ll act that way all I want.”
A person who acts refined but doesn’t hurt cats, and a person who doesn’t act refined but tortures them—
Even with my eyes closed, I know which one’s worse.
The conversation was starting to sour my mood.
I turned to leave the prison.
“Try living properly in your next life, Archibald.”
The end of a man who never once reflected on his sins came far too easily—it was almost disappointing.
He didn’t even seem to have any intention of escaping.
A trial would be held soon, just in case.
Finally, one of my long, detestable ties seemed close to being cut.
Coming up from the underground, exhaustion suddenly washed over me.
Maybe because I was possessed by Minerva, whenever I recalled the past, I felt her emotions so vividly that it left me drained.
‘I just want to go back and rest…’
My clothes were damp, my mood even more so.
As I trudged along, I spotted Lloyd up ahead—collapsing mid-stride.
“Huff… huff…”
He clutched a pillar, ripped off his mask, and gasped for air.
At first, I thought he was just winded.
But then I noticed—his face was completely drained of color, white as paper.
I didn’t want to speak to Lloyd unless I had to, but there was no one else around to help him.
‘Ugh, really? I just wanted to rest!’
Suppressing the urge to tear at my hair in frustration, I walked toward him slowly.
“Your Grace, are you all right?”
“Your… Highness…?”
His eyes were unfocused, but he still seemed to recognize me.
What on earth was wrong with him?
This was the same man who had single-handedly wiped out the Kahel assassins without breaking a sweat, and now he looked ready to collapse.
Had he inhaled too much smoke earlier? Something felt off.
Ayla and Priscilla should’ve been with him—so where were they? Why was he here alone?
Suddenly, I remembered a conversation from when we were in the Mente Viscounty—
when Ayla had been abused.
“My mother wants Ayla to be strictly trained.”
A chill ran through me.
I grabbed his shoulders, suddenly urgent.
“What are you doing here alone? Where’s Ayla?”
“A… Ayla…”
Lloyd’s breathing grew even more erratic—like he was on the verge of a panic attack.
He looked like he might stop breathing altogether, so I quickly supported him.
“Your Grace!”
“Ugh… huff…”
His body twitched uncontrollably.
What was I supposed to do? Should I call for help?
Instead, I pulled him into my arms and gently rubbed his back.
“It’s all right. Breathe slowly.”
“Huff… hic…”
Lloyd clung to me as if I were his only lifeline.
The veins on the back of his hand bulged as he gripped my clothes tightly.
“It’s okay. You’re okay…”
I held him tighter, rubbing his back.
I didn’t really know how to handle someone having a panic attack, but I’d heard that hugs release happy hormones—so I figured it couldn’t hurt.
Thankfully, it seemed to work. His breathing gradually steadied.
“Phew…”
When he finally let out a long sigh, I gently loosened my hold and asked,
“Your Grace, where is Ayla?”
“Ayla is… right now…”
He couldn’t seem to look up—just stared at the floor.
With Ayla and Priscilla both missing and Lloyd in this state, I didn’t need him to say it to know.
“My mother wanted to… teach Ayla. So they’re talking—just the two of them.”
I knew it!
That woman, Priscilla—she’d been eyeing Ayla strangely!
I wanted to yell at Lloyd for not stopping her, but one look at his condition made the words die in my throat.
“Wait here. I’ll do something about it.”
“Your… Highness.”
Just as I was about to leave, his trembling hand caught my sleeve.
I looked back, and through barely focused eyes, he pleaded,
“Please… take me with you. I can’t… I can’t handle it alone…”
His body shook, his voice quivered, his face was ghostly pale.
But even so, his head stayed high, and his eyes tried desperately to stay fixed on me.
“Please… I can’t let Ayla end up like me…”
He looked more terrified now than he had when he almost died in the burning forest of thousand-year trees.
I’d known vaguely that Priscilla had raised him with a heavy hand, but what could she possibly have done to break a person this much?
I reached out my hand.
“I’ll go with you. Take my hand and stand.”
“Thank…”
“But!”
“Ugh!”
He was so weak that I couldn’t help letting out a grunt as I pulled him up.
Once he was standing, I slipped under his arm so he could lean on me.
Looking at his dazed face, I said firmly,
“Tell me exactly what happened with Lady Priscilla—at least while we’re walking.”
Meanwhile, in Priscilla’s study—
“So please, Grandmother—tell me in your own words what happened between you and Father, from start to finish. If you do that, I’ll allow you to teach me.”
Ayla’s words might have sounded insolent, even brazen, but Priscilla didn’t seem offended.
She leaned back in her chair, tapping the armrest lazily with her finger—completely at ease.
“You’re asking what happened between me and Lloyd…”
Priscilla took her pipe between her lips as if recalling the past.
Because of Minerva’s request, she didn’t light it in front of the child—just savored the scent of the tobacco.
“Your father was frail from a young age. I always worried about whether he could manage as a future Grand Duke. So I tried to toughen his mind, help him become self-reliant. But Lloyd couldn’t handle it. That’s all.”
Even without context, it was obvious her story was edited to make herself look better.
Ayla was quick to catch on to such things.
“How did you ‘toughen him up,’ exactly?”
“You know how your father has trouble being around people, don’t you? So I helped him meet more of them.”
“Did he ever want to do that?”
“Ayla, dear, a Grand Duke can’t just do what he wants.”
Priscilla’s tone was gentle, almost kind.
She hadn’t meant harm, at least not in her own mind.
“It’s not that I disliked Lloyd. Everything I did was for his own good.”
Her face was full of genuine concern, and her voice warm—enough to make Ayla hesitate for a moment.
But there was a fatal contradiction in her words.
Can forcing someone into misery really be called love?
