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Chapter 232
And once again, he swallowed all those questions down, letting them rest beneath his tongue.
A brief silence passed between them.
When Teresa failed to get an answer from Richard, she let out a small, awkward laugh to break the tension.
Despite everything she’d been through, there was still a childlike side to her.
‘Did your mother scold you?’
“…Why would she?” he muttered.
‘Well, Lady Rosalia is always composed. And you’re always so mature.’
Teresa rested her elbows on her knees, cupping her cheek with her left palm.
She stared at Richard for a long moment, then spoke suddenly.
‘If only my daughter had grown up as well as you did…’
From time to time, she imagined what life might have been like had her daughter survived.
And in those moments, Richard couldn’t help but feel uneasy.
Though Teresa had only ever told him she’d lost the baby to a miscarriage, he understood all too well what had really happened.
After all, his parents had constantly babbled about the real reason—their desperate attempt to escape responsibility for the death of Teresa’s child.
Richard often thought it foolish of her to still place any meaning in the word “family” after going through such horror.
Even for the sake of mourning her child, she shouldn’t have allowed herself to grow attached to them.
‘You would’ve made such a good brother to her, wouldn’t you?’
That hope was just as absurd.
But whenever Teresa smiled at him with such gentleness, Richard found himself entertaining impossible dreams too.
That day, once again, he gazed at the clouds drifting above and slipped into a familiar fantasy.
In that world, his parents never laid a hand on Teresa.
She married a steady man, gave birth safely, and he became the kind cousin she had always hoped for.
When the children came back covered in mud, instead of scolding them, Teresa greeted them with homemade treats and a warm smile.
It wasn’t hard to recall the taste of those sweet fig biscuits on the plate.
She still made them now and then.
As the scent brushed past his nose, Richard felt like he had stepped just a little closer to that world.
But it was all a delusion.
In that beautiful illusion, the child’s face was always missing.
Richard swallowed the hot lump rising up his throat.
He suddenly regretted not asking her to bring a pen instead.
There was no way to hide their expressions while facing each other like this.
Avoiding her gaze unnaturally, Richard kicked a stone lying near his feet.
Then, in a gruff voice, he muttered, “I don’t like little kids. They’re annoying.”
His attempt to brush it off didn’t last long.
He slowly turned his head and stole another glance at Teresa.
She was still smiling at him.
‘I bet she would’ve been sweet and adorable.’
“How would you know that?”
‘She’s my daughter. I was exactly like that when I was little.’
Her gaze turned distant, as if reaching back into the past.
Perhaps she was remembering the days when she, too, had been a beloved daughter.
Richard thought reminiscing like that was unwise.
It would only make the winds blowing through this desolate palace feel colder and more sorrowful.
Sure enough, when he saw her expression turn faintly wistful, he clicked his tongue inwardly.
Annoyed, he said, “You know…”
‘Hm? What is it?’
“If she really looked like you, then maybe I’d have given it a thought.”
The child was already gone anyway.
There was no reason not to offer her some comfort, even if it was only in words.
Though impossible now, Teresa looked genuinely satisfied by Richard’s response.
A gentle curve lifted the corners of her lips.
‘Sometimes, I feel like you’re my own son.’
“……”
‘I just mean you make me feel safe. I didn’t mean anything bad by it.’
It seemed she added that line out of consideration—perhaps worried it would bother him to be equated with the son of a disgraced princess imprisoned in the palace.
But Teresa didn’t know that, in truth, those words were a small comfort to Richard as well.
He would much rather resemble Teresa than his own parents.
Not those vile adults, but this pitiful woman in front of him—she was the one he truly felt drawn to.
And in that moment, Richard realized he would never be able to tell Teresa the truth.
He didn’t want to face her resentment or hatred.
As long as he kept his eyes closed to the truth, he could remain her kind, loving nephew.
Perhaps that was even in line with Rosalia’s unspoken wish.
Even when her husband opposed it, Rosalia kept visiting Teresa because she had grown fond of her in the end.
To pity the very woman she’d helped imprison—what a ridiculous thing.
Yet Richard, who continued to seek out Teresa, was no different from his hypocritical mother.
***
Richard despised his parents—but that feeling, regrettably, resembled a kind of self-loathing.
He turned a blind eye to the truth because, like his father, he was a coward. And he sought Teresa’s affection shamelessly, just like his mother.
He dragged Teresa into a pitiful play and selfishly took comfort in it.
Even though he knew that Teresa only smiled in front of others and wore a devastatingly lonely expression when left alone… he still did it.
He convinced himself it would be okay.
As long as Teresa never learned the truth, as long as she kept living in the world built within the walls of this prison…
But it should never have been that way.
The lump of grief buried in Teresa’s heart never disappeared. It remained with her always.
And for turning away from that small ember, the imperial palace was eventually engulfed in a raging inferno.
The fire began in the annex where Teresa had lived.
***
“You really had the nerve to do something that disgusting.”
A man spoke coldly out of nowhere.
He looked down at his wife, bedridden and badly burned, with a gaze full of contempt.
Even though Rosalia was unconscious, he showed no restraint in saying whatever he pleased.
Perhaps it was only because she couldn’t hear him now that he dared speak at all.
“Was it just to avoid suspicion?”
“……”
“If you cared about your reputation, you should’ve covered your tracks better.”
The noble man, now Emperor, clicked his tongue, as if trying to distance himself from the entire ordeal.
Richard stared silently at his father.
Perhaps the Emperor sensed the scorn in his son’s eyes—because he didn’t meet them. Instead, he focused his gaze on the unconscious woman in bed, the one he could blame freely without guilt.
Even with the Empress in critical condition, he didn’t stay long.
Having decided on his own that the Empress had caused the fire, the Emperor made an excuse about state affairs and left the room in under five minutes.
Richard glanced briefly at his father’s retreating back before sitting back down in the chair beside the bed.
At the very least, he still had enough humanity left in him to worry for his severely injured mother.
Or maybe… he just wanted to believe he did.
“Did Her Majesty really do it?”
The maids, who had been quietly sobbing nearby, looked up at Richard in shock.
Their eyes widened in disbelief, as if asking how he could even suggest such a thing.
“That’s impossible!”
“Her Majesty ran into the flames to save Princess Teresa!”
“Even if His Majesty suspects her, Your Highness mustn’t believe that. Her Majesty—she tried to stop us from holding her back, even as the fire raged… huff…”
To Richard, their tears felt insincere, almost repulsive.
They had stood with the Empress, carried out her will. That was the only reason they were here now.
They knew full well what the Empress had done to Teresa all these years.
Richard let out a dry chuckle and said,
“And yet, even while pitying my aunt, my mother kept her locked away in that place, didn’t she?”
“Where is she now?”
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