Pherenike - Chapter 70

“It’s not just because of the child.”

“Then, did Actor Pelagon do this to you?”

Affirming this would only increase her father’s hatred for the king, which ideally should serve her goals.

Yet, inexplicably, she couldn’t nod. Pherenike suddenly remembered the countless nights he had guarded her quarters and found the recollection displeasing.

He had treated her very well during her pregnancy. It should have been irrelevant. Indeed, focusing solely on stabbing him with a knife while hesitating to cast a simple false accusation against him would be ridiculous.

Nonetheless, Pherenike swallowed the lie at the tip of her tongue and instead, a ludicrous statement slipped out.

“…The king treats me well. As if it’s the most natural thing.”

Her words ended with a scoff, mocking herself. Peleus stared intently at her smile.

“That’s his misfortune. He can’t even imagine mistreating you.”

“…”

“Don’t worry about it Father. Later on.”

“…Later on, your father will be at ease. Yes. But what about you? What do you see as your end?”

“…”

“When Deucalion subjugates Lykke, where will you be?”

Pherenike quietly sealed her lips.

“Do you think I’m seeking acknowledgement for my trivial hardships now? What are you to me?”

“Father.”

“I’ve already achieved everything I wished for in my life. A father’s duties are not for you to meddle in.”

“…”

“But squandering your life is an insult to your father.”

“My scandal tarnished the honor of Vassilios…”

“It’s not about honor.”

“…”

“I did not give you a life so miserable that you had to lie beneath a man you hate and bear his child.”

Suddenly, the strength at the tip of his fingers pressing against her lower jaw waned. It was as if he had just realized he was gripping his daughter too tightly.

Peleus spoke quietly, his expression cool.

“You are my only child, Pherenike.”

“…”

“The only thing your mother left me when she died.”

A chilled breath filled her lungs unexpectedly.

Even when she was a mere child of seven, such words were hardly heard.

Peleus was a man of no expressions and knew even less about handling his tiny daughter than he did now. Pherenike resembled him in that aspect, never desperately seeking the affection from her father that she could not readily feel.

Thus, father and daughter spent their years at a distance from each other. Pherenike loved her father but never allowed herself to keep him close to her heart.

Peleus lost his wife at the young age of his early twenties and never remarried. Despite being urged by his family and even Axiothea, his wife’s closest friend, he disregarded their advice and roamed the battlefields instead.

People said the general was foolishly unable to forget his deceased wife, but Pherenike always thought it was more about her father’s disdain for bother than any tender sentiment, not the result of any affectionate feelings.

She couldn’t dare think there was anything tender about Peleus Vassilios. She never felt any sense of loss or misfortune from him.

He always seemed complete, without any sense of loss. She believed her father felt no affection towards her or her deceased mother.

During the years of living as a widower, like any nobleman of Lykke, he had his share of women, though he never kept a mistress. Young Pherenike couldn’t know about the women outside their home or those he met on battlefields.

However, among the many maids who adored him, a very few were occasionally graced to share his bed. No one ever spoke to young Pherenike about such matters, but the whispers in the mornings subtly informed her.

Pherenike remembered how a maid, hopeful to become Lord Vassilios’s concubine, would act unusually sweet towards her the next day. She had no regrets about it.

After merely a day, they all vanished from the mansion, never to be seen again. In retrospect, that was the part she regretted. Her father never attached himself to anyone.

“…You should have had children with other women. Even if just a servant to wait on you.”

“…”

“Had there been another child, not me, maybe you wouldn’t be like this.”

“The only woman who could be the mother of my children was your mother, for all my life. She was the only one I could ever call my wife.”

“……”

“If God had granted her only one child, then you were the one granted to me, Pherenike. No matter what disappointing actions you take, that does not change,” Peleus’s hand fell away from her.

“Had you borne a son, I would never have questioned you like this. Without any choice, you would have betrayed those you trust to save that troublesome creature.”

“……”

“But I know you will never be able to truly abandon Deucalion.”

Even when Pherenike suddenly disappeared from Evdokia and returned as the banished prince’s wife, Peleus said the same thing to Deucalion.

“This damned girl will never be able to leave you.”

That statement was a resignation from her father, an old conviction.

“So, I have no choice but to keep you alive.”