The Maid and The Usurper - Chapter 4
“It’s a life you chose yourself, so you should have no regrets.”
Leopold released Layla’s chin and took a drag from his cigar. Her mouth went dry at his pointed words. It was hard to tell whether the look in his eyes was contempt or resentment.
“Would you come with me, Layla?”
On that night when the stars seemed to pour down like a waterfall, she remembered the hand extended to her by the pure, innocent boy who looked so vulnerable under the lavish moonlight. She had rejected that hand and ran away to this place—all choices she had made herself.
Now she had to face the consequences of those choices. The illegitimate child cast away by the royal family had discarded his name and returned with honor and power, while the mere maid had wrapped herself in a false shell. No one knew if the outcome would be a hell for both of them.
“Why have you come?”
A brief silence hung in the air. Leopold seemed inexplicably a bit flustered. He rubbed his forehead with the hand holding the cigar. His wandering eyes soon settled on Layla.
“…Am I not welcome?”
His unexpected response made Layla pause. Leopold’s blue-violet eyes darkened, and his hand nervously tapped his temple. His gaze on Layla was sharp, like a wary animal’s, watching her intently.
“We haven’t seen each other in a long time. Didn’t you think to say you’re glad to see me, or ask how I’ve been?”
His slightly averted gaze fixed straight on Layla like an arrow. Layla’s lips moved, but the words on the tip of her tongue couldn’t leave her mouth.
“Ha.”
Leopold stared at Layla for a long moment before letting out a short, hollow laugh, as if in disbelief. His teeth clenched, and the knuckles of his hands turned white from the pressure. The cigar in his grip crumbled. After a prolonged silence, he turned his head away and ran his hand roughly over his face, as if trying to erase his expression. A bitter smile curved his lips, seemingly devoid of any expectation.
“Yeah… you were always that kind of girl… aloof and noble… Such a…”
Leopold muttered incomprehensibly to himself. A simple response slipped out of Layla’s mouth,
“Have you… been well?”
Leopold’s head snapped up like an eagle seizing its prey. But then he laughed again, a laugh that seemed almost manic and bitter, like he was mocking himself.
“You were always like this,” he said, “you made it so that I should expect nothing. You always gave me just enough leeway to keep me clinging on like a fool.”
This girl who rarely smiled, whose aloof face he had been desperate to see a hint of a smile on. Many years had he spent obsessed with that time, and he was still trapped in it.
“When you had become the Princess of Orléans, I joined a mercenary band, just as I told you I would. With some luck, I formed my own order of knights and even gained a fiefdom.”
‘This might be a little difficult. But I’ll make sure you’re not uncomfortable. Layla.’
Perhaps, inwardly, she had scoffed at the naive young master’s nonsense. It was the promise made on that castle wall, during the purest time of their lives when all they had to offer each other was their bodies. It was a promise he could not easily keep.
In the abandoned gamekeeper’s hut where he waited endlessly, alone. In the mercenary camp barracks where everyone else was sleeping, and even in the middle of a battlefield reeking of blood, he constantly reminisced about that time. He had to acknowledge that Layla’s choice back then had been rational, that the young master’s naive promises were nonsense, and that he had spoken words he couldn’t uphold.
“I didn’t know you were the Count, but I’d heard the stories.”
She had often thought of him when she heard stories of the knights through the occasional rumors.
“I’m flattered. To think I still linger in your memories.”
His voice was tinged with self-mockery.
“I sometimes wondered about this place, so I came. I also wanted to get paid for what I did. Thanks to you, the pale contrast to her complexion was quite a sight to behold.”
Beatrice had looked at Leopold with a pallid face. She sat there, feigning ignorance, maintaining a facade of composure. Yet, in her trembling eyes, she saw the face of her husband’s mistress.
“If it had been a warm welcome, I might have let it slide. But I didn’t expect such coldness.”
“You didn’t expect anything different, did you?”
Layla’s tone was slightly mocking. Leopold smirked at her words.
“You’re still the same as ever, Layla.”
Layla could not read Leopold’s thoughts. He was different from before. He was no longer the boy who wavered precariously in the moonlight. He was now a sharply honed sword.
“You wouldn’t have come here just for that, nor would you have sought me out…”
“As you said, grasping even a fragment of power changes one’s perspective.”
Leopold pulled Layla’s hand towards him, his lips brushing against her palm. His piercing eyes fixed on her, sending a shiver down her spine. Layla’s body trembled subtly and pitifully.
