Chapter 31

He gave off the distinct sense that he didn’t want to talk about it any further.  

His clenched jaw, the stubborn gaze fixed on the edge of the railroad—Enoch brushed the bread crumbs from his hands.

Asla watched the deep shadows on his face and cautiously asked, “You once told me you were worried that I seemed weak.”

“Of course. I still worry.”

“Because I’m your wife.”

“Yes.”

Enoch replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world—but something about his own answer left him unsettled.

Asla smiled faintly at him.  

In the darkness, a bird’s cry echoed long through the trees.

“Enoch. I’m curious too… about where and how deeply you, my husband, are hurting.”

“I’m fine.”

“You say you are… but I’m not sure you’ve truly healed. Still, I can’t bring myself to press you when you won’t say more.”

She looked away from his silent stare, rubbing her wrist and exhaling a soft breath.

“I’m not used to revealing my pain to others either.”

“Asla…”

Her name escaped his lips—his chest ached, almost unbearably.

“Are you… like me, then?”

As soon as she said it, a breeze carrying the scent of thick summer foliage blew between them.  

Asla’s long, pink hair danced in the wind like spring petals in midsummer, so ethereal it seemed like a scene from a fairy tale.

Watching her tuck her wind-blown hair behind her ear with delicate fingers, Enoch’s heart clenched.

Her beauty was almost unreal.  

Her hair and eyes—proof of a divine bloodline, the mark of royalty from the Holy Kingdom—had become shackles rather than gifts.  

Scars, pain, and memories of the past. Everyone had their own burdens.  

But Enoch thought Asla’s suffering made his own pale in comparison.

He hated his illness for that.  

She, who seemed as fragile as a porcelain doll, had endured such torment in silence.  

Yet he, broken by nothing but the fear of losing someone again, could barely stand it.

Asla had endured not only the fall of the Holy Kingdom as its last royal heir.  Even in what was supposed to be a safe place—the Ventus estate—she had faced further emotional and physical abuse.

He didn’t want her to suffer any more.  

This time, he truly wanted to protect her from anyone who would hurt her.

Not knowing what Enoch was thinking, Asla waited for the wind to settle before speaking again.

“That’s why… I’ll wait. Tell me when you’re ready. You and I—we’re only just beginning to talk to each other.”

As the confusion and pain slowly faded from his dark eyes, Asla decided to be content with that.

‘He must have really been suffering.’

She didn’t want to rip open his wounds all at once.  

In truth, she was afraid—afraid that when he finally did open up, she might not be able to understand or empathize.

‘Enoch’s parents… his brother…’

She recalled the portraits of Patrick and Aren Ventus hanging in the hallway of the Ventus estate.  

The gentle smile of Bianca Ventus, the former duchess, whose portrait hung among the other duchesses.

‘I… I don’t know.’

Asla’s expression darkened.  She needed time.

She loved Enoch—but needed time to understand him deeply.  

She hated Lisette—but needed time to truly reject her, to condemn her from the bottom of her heart.

Yet somehow, she was starting to lose confidence in herself.  

Her face clouded with discouragement.

The silver railway gleamed in the moonlight, and Enoch’s silver hair caught that same glow.

Asla stood up, spun lightly in place, took a deep breath, and broke their silence with a bright voice.

“Enoch. Thank you for showing me your special place. It makes me excited and breathless to know how vast the world is… and that I can go anywhere from here.”

Enoch silently rose to his feet and followed her.  

As Asla’s skirt hem fluttered at the edge of the railway, her gaze distant, Enoch was seized by a strange premonition— That she might vanish from his side at any moment.  

Before he knew it, he stepped closer and grasped her hem.

“…Where are you so eager to go?”

Asla glanced down at the large hand holding onto the short sleeve of her dress, then smiled faintly.

“Who knows. Anywhere but the south, I suppose.”

To the south of the continent lay the ruined lands of the Holy Kingdom.  

Her mouth tasted bitter, but Asla continued in a quiet tone.

“If I go back to that dead land, I’ll die too.”

“Don’t say things like that. There’s no railway heading south anyway. Some companies were drawing up plans, but… I’ll pull our investments.”

Enoch grimaced in alarm, and for the first time, Asla found her difficult husband oddly endearing.

‘My life has changed direction.’

Just days ago, she had intended to end everything after the divorce.  

Her life had felt like thin paper, soaked by rain and dried again, over and over.

Asla glanced at the railway leading north.  

Then, with a voice locked tight in her throat, she spoke.

“Enoch, just living here in the capital, separate from her, is enough for me. So don’t make any painful decisions.”

“…You’re talking about my sister-in-law?”

Enoch narrowed his eyes as he asked, and Asla nodded.

“Letting Madam Margo Ventus remain as the dowager duchess is fine with me. Of course, she holds a bit too much power right now, so we might need to limit her control over the Ventus estate.”

Enoch stared at her in disbelief.  

Realizing she was serious, he ran a rough hand through his hair.

“Why?”

“Because driving her out of the estate, casting her out of the family—That would be too painful a decision for you. You’d feel guilty toward the late Duke Aren Ventus.”

Her quiet consideration stung.  

It made Enoch even more worried for her.

What kind of life was she hoping for from now on?

That the victim would go so far as to consider the burden of the guilty— It wasn’t just soft-heartedness. It bordered on foolishness.

He clenched his jaw, then asked in a low, steady voice.

“You’re worried about my personal feelings now?”

Asla shrugged lightly.

“I’m fine. As long as she doesn’t hurt me anymore, that’s enough.”

“Asla Ventus. Let me make this clear. You’re not fine. You need to recognize your pain more objectively. Don’t get used to being hurt.”

Asla did not reply. Her lips clamped shut.

‘Used to it?’

Enoch had struck a nerve.

She silently cursed her own soul, stubbornly trying to return to the same place again and again.

“Do not forgive.”  Enoch said, eyes fixed on her.  

Asla looked up at him with clear, unwavering eyes, and repeated the words slowly in her mind—

‘Do not forgive.’

“I’ve already issued the expulsion order. She won’t be part of our lives anymore, so stop making pointless suggestions like that.”

When she didn’t respond, Enoch added curtly, then softened his expression as if to soothe her.

“Asla Ventus. You’re too kind. Since I’m your husband and protector, I’ll step forward for you until you’ve adjusted to the world.”

“I’m not… kind.”  Asla mumbled in protest.  

It wasn’t kindness—it was foolishness.  

While she blamed herself bitterly, Enoch gave a dry chuckle.

“My sister-in-law means far less to me than you do. Even my dead brother would understand that.”

“…Thank you.”

‘Even if it’s just as your wife, as family,’ she thought, a little hollow and stung.  

Still, she was grateful. Happy, even. That he’d stood by her side, no matter what.

When her lips curved gently upward, Enoch—who had been staring at her in a daze—suddenly furrowed his brow and covered his face with one hand.

“When you smile like that, it’s too pretty. Smiling’s supposed to be a good thing, but now I’m in trouble.”

When he grumbled suddenly, Asla tilted her head.

“Did I smile?”

“You did.”  He answered immediately.  

Asla slowly raised her hand and touched her own face, murmuring.

“Is that so… I didn’t even realize. Honestly, it’s no wonder the Holy Kingdom fell. A royal of the divine bloodline isn’t supposed to show personal emotion.”

“Not even happiness? That’s absurd. That wasn’t something the divine set down—it was a shackle created by those who feared the Holy Kingdom.”

Enoch spoke without hesitation and stepped forward to look directly at her.

Asla’s delicate features were still nearly expressionless, but there were visible traces of emotion shifting beneath the surface.

“…Someone this heartbreakingly beautiful—If even she can’t smile, then the Holy Kingdom deserved to fall.”  Enoch said bluntly.

When Asla stared at him quietly, Enoch’s heart thumped and the back of his neck prickled.  

He frowned and raised one eyebrow, lashing out awkwardly.

“I read that damn code of the Holy Kingdom before—The more I read, the more appalled I was. It didn’t just demand rigidity, it forced oppressive ethics. It treated royals like criminals. What kind of law does that?”

“Criminals… huh?”

Asla opened her mouth in disbelief, then—  She burst out laughing.

“Ahaha.”

It was the first time she’d truly laughed aloud.

Enoch scratched his head as he watched her double over, laughing with her whole body.

“You look even prettier when you laugh like that, but now I’m worried. You’re not going to get mad again, are you? I didn’t mean the royal family are actual criminals, I just—”

As he edged toward her nervously, Asla wiped away the tears that had welled up from laughing too hard.

“Ah. You’re right. Criminals. I was pretty much a prisoner.”

Though her words were scathing, her face—bright with laughter—seemed lighter, freer.

Enoch, staring at her shining under the moonlight and starlight, was suddenly seized by a powerful urge.

“This is all your fault.”

“What is?”

Enoch didn’t answer her question.  

Instead, he took her chin and pulled her closer.

Startled by how near they suddenly were—close enough to feel each other’s breath—Asla instinctively placed her hand on his shoulder.

The fabric of his jacket was thin. His shoulders were broad and solid.  

Just beneath the sharp line of his jaw, she could see his Adam’s apple.

The sight made her whole body tense, goosebumps rising in a wave.