Longing

The end of summer crept up before anyone noticed.

They had searched every nook and cranny, yet she seemed to have vanished from the world without a trace. How many months had it been since Dalia disappeared?

Contrary to everyone's expectations that the household would be walking on thin ice, the atmosphere in the Seiyer estate hadn't changed much since Dalia's disappearance.

The Duke was as rational as ever, perfectly handling his duties. In fact, it felt as though the household had reverted to the way it was before the Duchess had entered.

So, everyone thought, "The Duke never loved the lady."

"Your Grace, it's almost time for you to depart."

Jason entered the study and placed a glass of iced water and a small bottle on Clayton's desk.

Today was the day Clayton was scheduled to meet the Emperor regarding business matters. For the Duke, who rarely ventured out in midsummer, this was a rare outing.

As Clayton, seated at his desk, busied himself with his pen, he glanced at the small glass bottle before him. It was deer blood, prepared to replenish his strength before his outing.

No blood but Dalia's could satisfy his hunger anymore. It merely prolonged his life and temporarily soothed the burning thirst but offered no true relief.

After briefly staring at the bottle, Clayton downed it as part of his routine. The acrid taste lingered on his tongue.

To wash away the unpleasant taste, he drank the iced water prepared beside him and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Just then, a familiar silhouette appeared through the open door.

"Your Grace, I have something to report."

It was Cadison, who had been tasked by Clayton to track Dalia's whereabouts. Upon hearing that he had a report, Clayton tightened his loosened tie and asked.

"Did you find Dalia?"

"…I'm sorry. I haven't found any leads yet. However…"

Looking apologetic, Cadison bowed briefly before handing a piece of paper to Clayton. It was a report on his investigation.

"I've uncovered something about the Duchess's biological mother, Baroness Elena Molden."

"Elena Molden?"

Clayton's eyes briefly lit up with interest, despite his disappointment over the failure to locate Dalia. He remembered that he had once ordered an investigation into her family to learn more about Dalia's abilities.

"Yes. There's a reason why there has been so little information about Baroness Molden. Someone deliberately erased her traces."

"Who was it?"

"It was the Empress."

Clayton's eyebrow twitched at the unexpected revelation. A connection between Dalia's biological mother and the Empress was something he hadn't considered.

Noticing Clayton's confusion, Cadison continued.

"It's widely believed that the late Baroness Molden was a fallen noble from the countryside, but in reality, she was a commoner. Furthermore, she was a maid who had been with Her Majesty, Empress Viola, since her maiden days."

"..."

"When the Empress married His Majesty and entered the palace, she brought Elena as her personal maid. Later, Elena met the current Baron Molden, and when they married, the Empress fabricated her status to that of a noble."

Even though the Molden family was a low-ranking noble house, nobility was nobility. Marrying off a commoner, even as a close confidante of the Empress, would have been a matter of pride. Such status transactions were not unheard of, so it wasn't particularly surprising.

As more details emerged, Clayton let out a hollow laugh without realizing it.

He briefly wondered if the connection between the Crown Prince and Dalia might have started back then, but he quickly dismissed the thought.

What did it matter how the two had met, now that Dalia was gone? His mouth tasted bitter.

Unaware of Clayton's inner thoughts, Cadison continued speaking.

"What's more curious is that it's impossible to trace the Baroness's whereabouts before she joined the Magnolia family. I thought knowing her hometown might provide a clue to finding the Duchess, but…"

As Cadison sighed in frustration, Clayton brushed past him, putting on his jacket and issuing a dry command.

"Report to me if you find anything else."

"Yes? Oh, of course. Understood."

Cadison was quietly surprised at the Duke's indifferent reaction. He had expected a scolding for failing to uncover critical information. But this level of apathy—it was as if the Duke hadn't lost a pregnant wife but a replaceable object.

'I thought he loved the lady. Was I mistaken?'

The thought that the Duchess might have been nothing more than a tool to free the Duke from his curse made him pity her disappearance even more.

'Perhaps it's better for the Duchess not to return….'

With that thought lingering, he watched Clayton leave the office.

* * *

As the carriage made its way toward the Imperial Palace, Clayton leaned back in his seat. Despite the midday sun hanging high in the sky, the interior of the carriage was shrouded in pitch-black darkness.

Sitting still, he loosened the tie that felt like it was choking him.

Traveling in the summer heat was dreadful enough, but with thick curtains drawn over the carriage windows, the suffocating atmosphere felt unbearable. His daytime carriages were always like this, yet today it seemed especially stifling.

Irritated, Clayton clicked his tongue briefly. Then, he recalled how he had once drawn the curtains open during his carriage rides.

And he remembered that the reason was Dalia.

His eyes, accustomed to the darkness, settled on the empty seat across from him. It was where Dalia had always sat.

As he traced the emptiness of Dalia's usual spot, Clayton realized how calmly he had been going about his days. The anxiety and restlessness he once felt, as if her disappearance would bring disaster, seemed like a distant memory.

The only change in his daily life was the drawn curtains in his carriage. Dalia had been nothing more than a fleeting light in the dark confines of the carriage. Yes, just light slipping through the swaying curtains—nothing more, nothing less.

And now, there was no room for light to seep in—only darkness remained. Things had simply returned to how they were before she existed. Nothing had changed.

As before, he could avoid sunlight and quench his thirst with the blood of animals or others. Though it didn't provide the same satisfaction as before, at least it relieved the burning thirst, making it bearable.

So, just as he had lived well before, he could continue living this way now. Resolving himself to this seemed to ease the suffocating air around him slightly.

Months had passed since Dalia's disappearance. Clayton had unconsciously started to accept their separation—or so he thought.

As the carriage slowed due to the crowded streets, voices from outside began to seep in one by one. Then, suddenly, the sound of women's laughter tickled his ears.

Contrasting with the darkness inside, the lively sounds made Clayton unconsciously turn his head. Without much thought, his hand slid the curtain aside.

He saw women carrying flowers as they walked. His gaze fell on a wildflower he couldn't name but found strangely familiar, stirring memories of someone.

'Where have I seen that before…?'

As he searched his memory for the source of the familiarity, a woman picked a flower and held its tip in her mouth. At that moment, a voice he thought he had forgotten echoed in his ears.

'Did you know, Your Grace? This flower is incredibly sweet and tasty.'

It was Dalia's voice.

At the same time, an image of Dalia running toward him with a plucked wildflower played in his mind. The memory of her scent, carried by the wind, lingered faintly at his nose.

Her pursed lips, holding the flower's tip like the woman outside, and her violet eyes sparkling with sweetness flooded his mind, unsettling him.

'Would you like to try it too, Your Grace?'

The hallucination rippled through his heart, unlocking the emotions he had long suppressed.

Ah.

Like someone who had rediscovered a lost feeling, he let out a soft gasp.

The emotions he had repressed for so long overflowed like a dam breaking.

The memory of Dalia's radiant smile directed at him resonated deeply within his heart.

Her long, flowing white hair, in the end, was what broke him.

He didn't care if his thirst killed him.

He wouldn't mind if the sunlight burned him to ashes.

He would gladly endure nightmares every night.

All he wanted was—

"Dalia…"

Beneath his lost gaze, a single, hot tear fell.

He wanted to see Dalia.