What had Teresa resolved before her death that led her to leave a letter to her younger brother?
Why was it neither her older brother nor his wife—nor herself—who became the intended recipient?
A chilling premonition flashed across Richard’s mind.
The maid standing before him might not know, but Richard was well aware that to Teresa, their family was closer to enemies than kin.
With a hesitant heart, Richard asked:
“Is that all my aunt said?”
As he watched the maid’s confused expression, Richard recalled the image of Teresa he had seen just two days earlier.
That day, she had welcomed him and Rosalia with her usual warm smile, serving tea as she always did.
But what if, hidden behind that mask, was not sorrow—but contempt?
“What happened to that letter?”
In that moment, Richard felt an overwhelming need to know how she had remembered him in her final moments.
“Should I have let her die back then?”
Murmuring with a voice full of regret, Richard found himself lost in the memories of his youth.
He stared out the dim window, retracing the steps that led everything astray.
It wasn’t as if there was meaning in doing so.
Even if he were to return to the past with all his memories intact—which was, of course, impossible—there likely wouldn’t be much he could change.
Still, Richard often found himself revisiting his past decisions.
Perhaps it was the price he had to pay for not having lived properly all this time.
‘I should’ve investigated more thoroughly to see if my aunt gave her orders to anyone else.’
No one knew how or from where the information had leaked.
He had found the hidden letter the maid tried to keep and burned it himself.
Not long after, the maid also died a violent death.
That was because the Empress, after regaining consciousness, had chosen her as the scapegoat to clean up the aftermath.
It wasn’t because she was unaware that the one who set fire to Teresa’s palace was none other than Teresa herself.
On the contrary, the Empress believed it without a shred of doubt—and so, she staged the fire as part of someone else’s scheme.
If the truth were revealed as it was, Teresa’s death would bear the disgraceful mark of suicide.
Perhaps, on that point, the maid had shared an unspoken understanding with the Empress.
She adamantly denied any involvement, yet never offered a proper explanation as to why she had left the palace just before the fire broke out.
She remained loyal to her mistress until death—and in return, bore the guilt for a crime she hadn’t committed.
And Richard had watched it all unfold, without lifting a finger.
The last letter Teresa left behind held truths that could never be exposed.
Contrary to Richard’s fears, it didn’t detail the sins committed by his parents.
What Teresa wished to reveal in her final hour was something far more grave than petty wrongdoing.
She said her child was still alive.
That, with the help of trusted aides, she had smuggled her daughter away. She gave a description and begged that the child—left with her father—be found and raised with care.
Perhaps knowing she would never get to see her daughter again, she left behind a way to identify the child.
She had marked the newborn herself—by carving a wound directly onto the baby’s body.
“She said there would be a scar on the base of her big toe…”
Teresa had claimed it was a precaution for the worst-case scenario, but Richard had guessed a deeper motive behind it.
Maybe she had known, deep down.
That conflict over the child might arise between her and her lover.
That the man, unwilling to follow her will, might one day betray her.
And in the end, that’s exactly what happened.
A bitter chuckle escaped Richard’s lips.
After destroying Teresa’s letter, he had secretly set out to find the child himself.
He told no one—not even his own parents.
Not even Archduke Ernst, the original recipient of the letter.
To the world, Teresa’s daughter was already dead—and she was never meant to be alive.
If he couldn’t guarantee her safety, it was better to bury the fact that the child was alive.
Richard continued to tail Count Modrov, all while outwardly living his days as though nothing were amiss.
Even after discovering evidence that Count Modrov was secretly raising the child, he remained watchful.
There were only two ways to create a perfect secret under powerful parents:
Either do absolutely nothing to arouse suspicion—or gain a power even greater than theirs.
Richard waited for the day he’d be old enough that no one could control him anymore.
He hadn’t entrusted the role of savior to Archduke Ernst out of purely personal reasons.
He wanted to prove to Teresa that he was different from their parents.
Then, one day, Count Modrov came to him. Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵✦𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖✦𝙣𝙚𝙩
Leading the hand of the very child Richard had been searching for.
“This is the girl I’ve recently adopted as my foster daughter. She’s gifted in martial arts and isn’t too quiet. You won’t find another so perfectly suited for guarding someone.”
Richard knew at first glance.
Even before he could check for the scar Teresa had mentioned—he could feel it. She shared his blood.
It was something like instinct.
Feigning curiosity in the girl’s swordsmanship skills, Richard kept Iona close by his side.
It was painfully obvious that the child had grown up without proper care.
Her senses were feral, and her manners rough.
He couldn’t read what was going through her mind. She hadn’t charmed him from the beginning—but still, he took proper care of his cousin.
Just as Teresa had once hoped, he played the role of a good older brother.
“Iona, you’re bruised again.”
Wounds often appeared on her body—blows from his half-brother, or even from their father.
Though he found it troublesome, Richard sometimes instructed the maids to treat her injuries.
It wasn’t kindness from the heart.
Whenever he looked at Iona, he thought of Teresa first.
Because Teresa would have wanted it. Because this was the child Teresa had wanted to protect…
There was always a sense of obligation in his actions toward Iona.
And with good reason—Iona wasn’t solely Teresa’s child.
The blood of the man who had ruined Teresa’s life also flowed through her veins.
That was the reason Richard could never love Iona wholeheartedly.
“I… I fell down the stairs.”
Iona mumbled, her eyes averting to the side as she gave an awkward excuse.
Richard let out a quiet scoff, thinking she had been well trained not to speak about her wounds.
At the time, he didn’t care enough to pry or cause a fuss. He didn’t care about Iona to that extent.
Instead of interrogating her weak excuse, Richard fell silent and sank into thought.
Would it have been different if she looked more like Aunt Teresa?
Iona bore an eerie lack of resemblance to her birth mother, Teresa.
There was a reason Count Modrov had so shamelessly dragged the girl into the imperial palace.
But that didn’t mean Iona strongly resembled her father either.
The only similarity she shared with him was that silvery hair.
And yet, because that one color shaped so much of her appearance, Richard often saw Count Modrov’s face overlapping with Iona’s—rather than Teresa’s.
“You don’t look well today. Best if you head home and rest.”
With a displeased frown, Richard dismissed her coldly and stood up.
The maids who served him found the pretty young girl quite charming, so they would see to her wounds properly before sending her back.
With that, Richard had fulfilled his duty.
In truth, just keeping the child’s identity hidden, remaining silent all this time, was in itself a way of honoring Teresa’s trust.
Had the one who uncovered the girl’s whereabouts been the Empress and not himself, the child would already be dead.
I’ll keep her nearby … then eventually find her a good match, someone better than Count Modrov.
That was what Richard thought as he turned to leave.
But then, a quiet voice called out from behind.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
The voice was far too obedient.
Unbelievably so, coming from a child about to return to a living hell.
-- End Of The Chapter --
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