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May Every Wound Be Fatal - Chapter 65.2

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  2. May Every Wound Be Fatal
  3. Chapter 65.2
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Elizer crept up cautiously, as if checking the atmosphere. Her hazy eyes slowly followed his movements. Hesitantly, he lowered his face and pressed his lips to the finely creased corners of her eyes.

The area around her eyes was damp with physiological tears. It seemed to bother him. Reyna, who had been watching his half-dazed actions without resistance, suddenly burst into laughter.

“Haha…”

It was a weak, exhausted sound, even though she had just been lying still.

Relieved by her reaction, Elizer quietly lowered his eyelids and gently pressed his lips to her cheek. Reyna took his face in her hands, brought it close, and met his gaze.

In a teasing whisper, Reyna said,

“You said you’d only touch me a little.”

“…….”

“How did you even hold back all this time?”

“…….”

As if feeling shy now, Elizer silently lowered his trembling gaze. Then, he buried his face in her neck and subtly pulled her closer by the waist.

Reyna laughed again, “Haha,” and wrapped her arms around his neck. He seemed to like that. Through their pressed bodies, she could feel the heat radiating from him and the terrifyingly loud thumping of his heart.

Her head felt a little dizzy, and the warmth and peace made her whole body languid. They lay still like that for a while. Slowly, her eyes closed.

The blanket dampened with some unknown fluid and the slickness between her legs—she would worry about that later. For now, she just wanted to close her eyes for a moment, pressed against him.

And suddenly, a conviction swelled within her pounding chest.

Just as Elizer loved her, she surely loved him too. There was no other way to explain these feelings.

With her lips gently pressed against his hair, Reyna murmured dreamily,

“I wish I could remember you soon…”

How happy would that make you?

She greatly looked forward to that day. Since it was like sleep talk, she didn’t mind his silence.

***

Though it wasn’t very late, the hallway was already shrouded in darkness. Winter was drawing near.

Only a few candles flickered along the walls, and between their lights, Hilda’s shadow stretched long. She paced between the stone pillars as if waiting for someone.

Before long, light footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor. Hilda turned around as if she had been expecting it. A young girl hesitated upon spotting a black silhouette, but then recognized her and quickened her pace.

The girl was none other than the young maid whom Hilda had secretly sent on an errand outside the palace grounds.

“Did you hear anything?”

Hilda asked in a low voice.

The young maid seemed to hesitate a little.

“There’s no time. Tell me quickly. What did you hear?”

Startled by Hilda’s sharp urging, the girl whispered quietly.

“Lady Hilda… Someone said they saw the Queen walking around just fine.”

“…How is that possible?”

Hilda was taken aback by the unexpected news.

Judging by the King’s demeanor, the Queen’s condition had seemed genuinely poor. The rumor that she had badly injured her leg and was fighting for her life had probably been true.

But not only was she not dead, she was walking around just fine? Did that mean all those rumors were false?

The young maid glanced at the confused and silent Hilda and carefully replied,

“I-I’m only repeating what I heard, so I’m not certain. The security around the tower where the Queen is hiding is so fierce that even approaching it makes the guards shout terrifyingly…”

After a long pause, Hilda, still with a serious expression, suddenly asked,

“…And His Majesty?”

“The King’s knights guard the office overnight, but he doesn’t seem to be inside.”

“…….”

An even longer silence followed. The girl, growing anxious, rolled her eyes. Finally snapping out of it, Hilda turned sharply to the child and said,

“I see. You’ve worked hard. Go now. And always be careful with your words.”

The young maid nodded and disappeared as if she had been waiting for permission. Hilda stood there blankly for a moment, like a person frozen in time.

A very ominous feeling crept over her—that what Priscilla feared might actually become reality.

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    May Every Wound Be Fatal

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