A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 116

Fortunately, when she opened her eyes the next day, Tilia didn’t need to prepare to go to prison. That was because Ilex, having belatedly realized just how serious her anger was, had chosen to behave.

“There’s a bit of bruising, but no major injuries or signs of illness.”

Wearing something called “clothes”—a rare sight lately—Ilex had not summoned a priest, as Tilia wished, but had brought a doctor. Evidently, he had enough awareness to realize he’d behaved like a lunatic.

“However… given signs of fatigue and physical depletion, it would be best not to exert yourself for the time being.”

Listening to the diagnosis with hazy eyes, Tilia slowly turned toward Ilex.

“Are there any medicinal herbs that help with stamina?”

But of course, he was Ilex Davenport, who had long since sold off anything resembling a conscience.

“Even better if they’re good for enhancement.”

…What was I expecting. Watching him immediately start buying up all the expensive remedies the doctor rattled off, Tilia closed her eyes with a look of utter disgust.

But she was forced to open them again when the maid who brought her meal casually mentioned the date.

“…The 21st? Did you say it’s really the 21st?”

“Yes, is there a problem?”

At the maid’s cautious question, Tilia clutched her head.

She had expected a fair amount of time to have passed—but not this much.

‘Just how many days have I been rolling around?’

Upon realizing that her first day at the new job was now dangerously close, Tilia shot a sharp look toward Ilex.

“Come on, say ‘ah.’”

But he merely cooled the watery soup the maid had brought and held the spoon up to her mouth as if coaxing a five-year-old.

“Ah.”

“…Are you insane?”

“What, acting all surprised now?”

Though the man remained calm, the expressions of the maids cleaning the messy room were anything but.

They didn’t say it out loud, but with raised eyebrows, lifted shoulders, and twitching lips, their every movement screamed: Oh my… As if already rehearsing what they would say the moment they left the room, their hands moved a little faster. Tilia clenched her fists tightly, dreading what they’d chatter about behind her back.

“My arm’s gonna fall off, Tilia.”

And still, Ilex playfully whined with a dramatic pout, acting as if feeding her were some burden.

Looking at the maids who were doing their best to suppress their laughter with trained discipline, Tilia finally opened her lips—just enough for the spoon to fit.

“Good girl.”

Utterly absorbed in his little game of house, Ilex didn’t even notice.

He was too busy pretending to feed her like a child to realize that Tilia, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of throwing a tantrum in front of the maids, was inwardly grinding her teeth.

‘Just wait.’

Chewing the soup of humiliation, Tilia swore to herself.

‘I will pay you back for this disgrace—twice over.’

***

The world was flawless, not a single detail out of place. As befitted a world created by an omnipotent and merciful god, everything was beautiful and radiant.

Was life always meant to feel this full and luminous?

Even the puddles in the garden seemed like nutrients that would soon make flowers bloom, and for the first time in his life, Ilex felt grateful to be alive.

He wanted to live as long as possible. With Tilia, of course. As long as he could—forever, if possible.

Just as he’d finally escaped his parching hunger and thirst, and stepped into his office to address the tasks he could no longer postpone—

“There’s word from the agent we planted in the Ontaroa royal family.”

His aide, Kevin, broke the calm like a stone hitting the surface of still water.

“She… appears to be preparing to return to Arkansis.”

The peace that had blanketed Ilex’s face evaporated in an instant. His expression went ice-cold, as if all emotion had been extinguished.

“What about the young poet she was frolicking with?”

“He’s also said to be preparing for a return to Ontaroa. Along with another partner, Count Jensen.”

Ha. Ilex let out a cold laugh and pulled out a cigar he hadn’t thought about in days.

The thick smoke seeped into his pale gray-blue eyes, settling into the comfort-drenched corners of his mind.

The reason he had let his mother, Seraphine Davenport—the prime suspect in the incident that had threatened Tilia—live until now was simple.

He hadn’t felt the need to kill her.

After Bradley Davenport and Gilbert Davenport, she had always been next. Ilex had never intended to forgive anyone from the Davenport family who had tried to take Tilia from him, and he had planned to stage her death as a suicide, just like the others.

No doubt, he would have gone through with it—if Cecilia Clayton hadn’t stoked his unease with needless words.

“…You know what, Ilex Davenport? Tilia Ambrose despises you. You went through all that trouble to send her to Ontaroa, yet not even a single letter.”

He could no longer deny it. That cursed remark from that infuriating woman had hit harder than he’d admitted. The damn flies constantly circling Tilia, pretending to be casual acquaintances while waiting for an opening, only added to his anxiety.

Secretly visiting and watching her from afar was no longer enough.

It had been three years. Three long years.

Three years of holding out, promising himself he wouldn’t bring her back until he had completed every preparation—until he was confident she couldn’t be taken from him again like before.

But no matter how grand his proclamations of love sounded, three years was the longest he could endure that emptiness.

In truth, Cecilia Clayton, the flies, all of them were just excuses. Ilex simply no longer wanted to live in Arkansis without Tilia.

He was tired of sneaking glances and fleeing. Tired of anxiously wondering whether she might open her heart to some random man.

He wanted to throw it all away—and just stand by Tilia’s side.

That impatience led him to change the plan. Simply because he wanted to be by Tilia’s side sooner, he altered the entire master blueprint.

And in that revised blueprint… was the survival of Seraphine Davenport.

He didn’t dwell long on the decision. After all, his mother had left for Ontaroa the moment his father died, spending her time there with lovers half her age.

He thought she’d live out her days as a wanton widow. Her face at the funeral had seemed perfectly serene.

He figured she’d enjoy her private pleasures without meddling in the affairs of the Davenport family—or his.

Yes. That was why he’d judged there was no need to waste time and let her live.

But the fuse of his patience had shortened considerably. Ilex flicked the finished cigar into a clean ashtray and reconfirmed the decision.

“You said you found a check issued by the Ontaroa royal family in the hideout of that bastard who was clinging to Tilia, pretending to be her friend?”

“Yes. We also confirmed again that his family has served the royal house for generations.”

Ilex’s gaze wandered through his memories. His mother—what kind of person had the princess of Bardin been?

Even as he tried to recall with effort, not much came to mind.

Only one thing stood out—a pair of indifferent eyes.

Those bluish-gray eyes that had kissed a lover’s cheek while watching her own child bleed. That vacant gaze, which cared for nothing beyond her own pleasure and indulgence.

He didn’t know much about his biological mother. But one thing he did know for certain.

If she believed Tilia to be a threat to her “comfortable life,” she was absolutely capable of killing her.

What led to that thought—what reason, what logic—he didn’t know. But the possibility of murder was undeniable.

Kevin, watching his boss’s expressionless face, cautiously opened his mouth. “Shall I take measures to prevent Lady Seraphine from setting foot in Arkansis…?”

“No.”

The answer came instantly. The man opened the window as if to release smoke and replied in a quiet voice.

“Let her come.”

His pale gray eyes landed on the rose garden, the flowers plucked here and there.

“That woman…”

His eyes, lingering on the pergola, narrowed slightly—then curved into a pleasant smile.

“…will die here.”

The Duke, having reached a swift decision, turned away with a look of surprising relief.

Just as Seraphine Davenport’s motives centered solely on her own comfort, Ilex’s motives centered entirely on Tilia’s safety.

“Killing her in Arkansis will be easier than in Ontaroa. She’s royalty, after all.”

With no hesitation, Ilex stamped the document Kevin had brought.

“Next file. Bring it.”

Then, to the man who stood hesitating, he gave a cold command.

No need for second thoughts. No time to waste on trivial matters. From now on, all of his time would belong solely to Tilia.

***

‘What the.’

But when Ilex, having processed the documents at a near-record speed, stood before Tilia’s door, he couldn’t help but look puzzled.

‘Why… won’t it open?’

Clunk, clack. No matter how many times he turned the knob, something in the middle seemed blocked. The handle wouldn’t budge, and Ilex furrowed his brows.

‘Of all times for it to break, it had to be now.’

Tsk. He clicked his tongue. Without a trace of suspicion that the door might not be broken, he was just about to tell Tilia to open it when—

“I locked it.”

Her voice came from the other side—just as firm and resolute as the locked door.

“Don’t come in. Go sleep in your own room.”

Even after hearing Tilia’s words, Ilex stood silently for a moment, holding the door handle.

My room?

My room… is here.

That thought came a beat too late. Then, Ilex opened his mouth again, completely unfazed.