My Husband Yearns For Me After My Death - Chapter 8

“What?”

“Exactly as I said. I want you to marry me.”

Denisia offered a bright smile.

In truth, the letter Dietrich held wasn’t actually written by Grace. Or, to be precise, it wasn’t written when she was Grace.

‘I did well to hastily prepare it yesterday.’

Because Grace had become Denisia, technically speaking, what she said wasn’t a lie. The words she wrote were indeed Grace’s words.

Of course, mimicking Grace’s handwriting with Denisia’s body wasn’t a pleasant experience.

It wasn’t her initial plan to help him in this way.

Just as he had secretly helped Ackellard, she also intended to assist him discreetly.

However, becoming someone else’s wife changes the situation. Every action becomes restricted, and the label of being married follows her.

Especially to someone like Count Weigelin. The noble, who the emperor favored Dietrich, detested terribly. It was unlikely that Weigelin would readily agree to assist Haberfeld.

It was uncertain whether Haberfeld, once realizing the assistance, would readily accept it.

…And Dietrich’s physical condition was a concern too.

She had to prevent making her revival meaningless.

“I’m aware that your vacant position has led to various troublesome talks.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Of course not.”

She lightly shook her head.

“I only wish to express how this contract marriage would be beneficial for both of us.”

Denisia quickly added to prevent any misunderstanding from Dietrich.

“Of course, if Your Excellency wishes to place someone else in the position of your wife, I will step aside without any hesitation.”

Dietrich frowned as he alternated his gaze between the letter and Denisia.

Though he held no trust in her, the letter in his hand was ‘real’.

‘Why has this surfaced only now after all my searching?’

He carefully stroked the letter. The feel of the ink under his fingertips was gratifying.

Grace. My wife.

Her handwriting, which he had read hundreds, thousands of times, filled his vision.

For five years, he had roamed the continent frantically searching for any trace of his wife. Wondering if there was something he had missed. Wondering if there was something he hadn’t seen that led to her death. He had scoured the vast lands.

“……”

He lifted his eyes to look at Denisia.

‘Denisia Blanchette.’

The daughter of the Blanchette family, who had been brought back to life on the brink of death and had stirred the public for a while. Her story was so famous that even he, who had abandoned all to search for his wife and was oblivious to political news, knew of it.

He scanned the woman with emotionless eyes. Her flaxen hair and fair, porcelain skin made her look like an intricately made doll.

As he traced her slender joints, he realized he was unconsciously searching for traces of Grace in her. Even though the color of the young eyes beneath her lifted lashes was completely different.

But why.

“Is there something more you’re curious about?”

When Dietrich locked eyes with Denisia, he unwittingly turned his head away.

“…There must be a reason you’ve held onto this for over five years and are showing it to me now.”

“I appreciate the favor from the Margravine, but I didn’t want to burden her with my personal affairs. Nor did I want to tarnish her goodwill.”

“That makes me even more curious. Why now?”

“…Because otherwise, I would be in danger.”

Denisia briefly explained about her marriage.

Whom she was to marry. The treatment she would receive. Excluding her physical condition, she laid out as much as she could about Denisia as observed over three months.

She didn’t forget to mention Grace either.

“…Just when I thought it was all over, Margravine Haberfeld comforted me with warm words. Though it was only through letters, those kind words gave me hope in life.”

It didn’t hurt to mention it again, even though it was written in the letter. The gratitude and repayment received from Grace were crucial to impress upon his mind.

“You may think it presumptuous of me, but for the sake of our mutual well-being and peace, I hope you could cooperate.”

“…Our mutual well-being and peace.”

A colder voice cut through their conversation than before. He carefully placed the letter on the table.

“And why should I care about that?”