The Maid and The Usurper - Chapter 9
In the scummy imaginations of Leopold’s mind, it was always Layla at its core, her thin arms clinging desperately to his body. He buried his face in her chest and drove himself deep into her. Right then,whenever he did, Layla nuzzled her face against his neck like a delicate animal.
He would thrust deeply and she hugged him tight as if he were a lifeline. This intimate contact fired him up more, making him move his hips with more fervor. Her needy moans mingled with his name here and there… and the most dreadful yet exhilarating part was…
‘I love you, Count.’
In his fantasy, he pictured Layla whispering those words in his ear. She said, ‘I love you, I adore you.’ It was just a delusion he’d created. Yet it thrilled and excited him.
‘I love you, Count.’
With the words ringing in his ears, his waist bucked. His hand was covered with se**n. The brief ecstasy gave way to an overwhelming emptiness. Leopold roughly wiped his face.
“Idiot.”
That one word defined him. It was something he could never show Layla, something he didn’t want her to see…
—
A strange chill settled over his body as the sticky sweat cooled. The number of logs in the fireplace had dwindled. Leopold tossed a few more logs into the fire. As the flames flared up, warmth spread through the room. He found a cigar on the table and placed it in his mouth. In the faint glow from the fireplace, Layla’s silver hair shimmered.
Leopold’s hand touched Layla’s hair. The feel of her hair between his fingers was the same as it had been then. It was the same shimmering silver hair he used to watch from behind a book as he sat in his study. There was a time when he used to spend hours watching her silver locks bob and sway with her busy movements.
Her small back bore long, ugly Günther scars. He gently traced the slightly darker marks with his fingers.
‘Well, Günther, in his scheming profession, got caught stealing money from his partners and took a beating for it.’
She had spoken of it nonchalantly, but the scars on her back were excessively severe. Her composure back then.was soon replaced by a look of despondency.
“I didn’t want to meet you again like this.”
He remembered the times when he was still somewhat pure, before he had become accustomed to killing, when he trembled at cheating and betrayal, and he would think of Layla on starry nights. He dreamt of meeting her. He wanted to meet her in spring, when the lilacs were in full bloom, when he would be a little better looking and matured, with a big, beautiful ring in hand, more refined and grown. Now, he could only laugh at his naivety then, yet he still reflected on and dreamed of that ideal meeting.
Leopold extinguished the cigar. He gently wrapped his arm around Layla’s waist. She remained motionless, deeply asleep. Careful not to wake her, Leopold buried his face in her hair.
“I cannot forget you, and I’m still trapped in that place…”
He spoke words that wouldn’t be heard. These were words he had already whispered to himself countless times.
“Did you ever think of me, even a little?”
He recalled the first time they met. Lady Wegener had brought her in as the new maid. She had entered timidly, tugging down at her skirt repeatedly to hide the holes in her silk stockings. Her hair was as black as midnight.
They had met in the spring ten years ago and parted ways eight years ago, in the summer, at the rain-soaked gamekeeper’s hut.
—
Ten Years Ago, Spring
Lady Wegener’s sharp eyes scrutinized the girl in front of her. She was as pretty as a doll, with a captivating beauty that naturally drew attention. Her hair, as dark as the night sky, contrasted with her pale skin. Her violet eyes, tinged with blue, added an air of mystery to her radiance. Her flawless beauty was matched by an impeccable resume and recommendation letters. The girl kept tugging at her skirt, embarrassed by the holes in her silk stockings.
“Your name is Layla Heather?”
“Yes.”
“Your parents passed away long ago, and you grew up in a convent?”
“Yes. Fortunately, the convent took me in, and I was raised there.”
The words of the convent’s abbess who wrote the recommendation were impeccable. It was full of praise for her docility, diligence, and intelligence. Lady Wegener folded the recommendation letter neatly. Given the certificates accompanying the recommendation letter, her identity was certain, leaving no further reservations.
“Very well. My caution is just a habit, as you know where we are.”
A deep shadow fell across Lady Wegener’s face. Her old friend, Victoria, had ultimately been unable to overcome Baden. Neither her Bardic lineage nor the name of Zollern could prevent him from taking everything from her in the end. She had perished so tragically, ending up in the cold ground. Lady Wegener rubbed her temples.
Love couldn’t be called a tragedy, but the ending of it all was tragic. A knight loved the powerless prince, and the prince loved his own escort knight. What should have been a beautiful fairy tale ended up as a cheap theatrical tragedy.
