I’ve Decided to Let You Go - Chapter 40

It felt like an apology, a quiet gesture wrapped around the weight of what had happened that day.

Sieghart had made an unusual decision as the Duke of Aschart: he canceled the duchy’s festival. Whenever disappointed servants sighed about it, Natasha felt a strange mix of emotions.

Aschart was the only place in the Empire that didn’t celebrate this national holiday. Last year, it had been one of the regions that held the grandest festivities. So, this sudden silence came as a shock to everyone.

Some second-rate newspapers labeled him a traitor, accusing him of abandoning the Empire’s pride for the sake of love. But among nobles—especially noblewomen—his decision was praised. They saw it as a romantic gesture and offered him their support.

To Natasha, it was all for show. A performance meant to convince her that his feelings were real.

Just like the man who had visited Tisha Winter every single week for over half a year, insisting on his sincerity.

Why are you saying things like that?

The moment she heard him deny something she believed in, something inside her twisted. Her hand gripped the bedsheet tightly.

Why are you acting like you truly regret it?

Sieghart Aschart. The man who, together with Kail Letius, had helped bring down the royal family. And yet, Natasha had never been able to fully hate him. If he had truly apologized, maybe her seething resentment would have eased, even just a little.

It wasn’t some foolish yearning or shallow affection. She had tried to understand him—as someone who had been used as a toy by Kail Letius, who had suffered the cruelty of the Emperor firsthand.

The nickname “the Imperial Dog” had once sounded like pure mockery. But now, she couldn’t help but wonder what it had really meant for him.

That was why she had wanted to give him a chance.

Later. I have something urgent. We’ll talk after. Assign a maid and an attendant to the princess.

But he had thrown away that last chance, as if it meant nothing to him.

The festival.

The festival.

And yet, how could I possibly love this day?

How could I, when I…

When I still carry guilt toward you.

The voice of the benefactor from her first life overlapped with Sieghart’s. Bits and pieces of memory, once fragmented, now started coming together—his recent words filled in the blanks.

Did he… apologize back then?

No. That couldn’t be. That wasn’t possible.

That man couldn’t have felt guilty about her suffering. It had to be a trick of the mind. She must have misunderstood. Her thoughts were muddled. Sieghart was a delusion. The benefactor was a mirage.

Natasha denied it all.

She had to.

The next day, she woke up to find herself feeling strangely well.

Just like before.

Her condition was almost exactly as it had been in the past. And if nothing else, it confirmed one thing—the medicine given by that mysterious benefactor had the same effect now.

She wasn’t fully recovered, but she had enough strength to move. Aside from the heaviness in her limbs, there was no pain. She could walk again.

Eager to breathe outside air, she left her room. It was late, deep into the night. Most people were still out enjoying the last of the celebrations. The hallways were empty.

She moved slowly, careful not to make noise, until she stopped in front of a room. The lights were off. It looked empty. He had said he was buried in work, confined to his study. But it had always sounded like an excuse to stay away from her.

Is that… someone groaning?

She was about to turn away when a faint sound stopped her.

No one would dare step into the Duke’s study, especially not without permission. So the voice she heard had to belong to Sieghart.

But it didn’t sound like him. It was too weak, too fragile.

She froze. Her instincts told her to move on, but something in that voice held her in place.

She listened closely.

She could hear him suffering.

At first, she was simply surprised. She hadn’t known he could feel pain like that. Then, a memory from her previous life rose to the surface.

Is His Grace unwell again?

It happens every year around this time. And it’s gotten worse over the past couple of years.

How strange. You’d think a holiday would lift his spirits. But no—he only grows weaker. Take good care of him.

He doesn’t even let anyone enter. I’ll ask the kitchen to prepare something nourishing.

Everything matched. Just like back then.

It felt too familiar and she didn’t want to accept it.

No. This time had to be different.

She reached for the doorknob. Her hand trembled slightly.

This was her last chance. Even though everything pointed to the same truth, she still hoped desperately that something, anything, might prove it wrong.

As if clinging to the thinnest thread of denial.

The moment Natasha entered the study, she was met with a wall of cold air. The chill from the floor clung to her ankles, dragging down each step.

A little further in, her eyes caught the sight of a slumped figure lying heavily on the couch.

She didn’t want to believe it, but the person was Sieghart.

He looked so weak, so pale, that she could hardly bear to look at him.

His body, drenched in cold sweat, trembled slightly. From between his clenched teeth, faint sounds of pain escaped in uneven gasps.

A soft whisper, almost like a sob, drifted toward her. Just as she turned to leave, thinking he had woken up, his voice called out again.

“Mother, Father.”

Her foot froze mid-step. She turned halfway, eyes fixed on him.

“Please don’t go.”

His voice cracked, dry and strained, but laced with an unexpected hint of emotion.

“Sieghart?”

At the sound of her voice, his hand twitched. Maybe he mistook her for someone else. His face twisted again, this time in deeper agony.

The way he called out for his parents was painfully raw. It reminded her of the way she had cried out for her own family, long gone and unreachable.

Now that she thought about it, no one ever spoke of Sieghart Aschart’s parents. He had entered the world like a storm, entirely alone from the beginning, and he had stayed that way.

Some had speculated that he kept his past hidden because he was born from low status. But the truth eventually emerged. He had lost his parents in a tragedy.

“If you’re there, please don’t stay.”

Mother, Father, please run from the palace. Get far away. As far as you can.

His broken voice painted a vivid picture. His face wavered in sorrow and pain.

Natasha turned fully and stepped closer. She walked slowly to the couch and leaned down slightly.

Her shadow fell over his face. The man she had never dared to look down upon now looked smaller than any boy.

There’s no need to worry.

She found herself watching him longer than she meant to. Her gaze softened.

Him missing his parents doesn’t change anything.

It was like a mouse feeling pity for the cat.

He is the one who took my parents from me.

Still, Natasha understood the sorrow of a child who had lost their family.

And so, even if it hadn’t been Sieghart, she would have done the same.

She couldn’t just walk away.

She was only returning the pity he had shown her the day before. That was all. She didn’t want to be the one who received sympathy from him. She only wanted to return it, quietly.

She brought a clean towel and gently wiped away the sweat from his face. She let a drop of water fall onto his dry lips, then placed a damp cloth on his forehead.

With no herbs available, she took the medicine pouch given by the maids, mixed a small amount into water, and slowly fed it to him. The liquid slipped between his parted lips.

His eyes opened.

Through the faint gap in his eyelids, she saw his red irises. And reflected in them was her face.

Her expression—without meaning to—was unexpectedly kind. It looked as if she truly cared for him.

She stepped back in surprise, wondering if he had seen her face just then.

As if trying to stop her, Sieghart forced himself upright. But the pain struck again. He clutched his head as if it were splitting open. His body collapsed against the back of the couch, barely able to hold itself up.

“Why are you here, Madam?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I only came to repay what you did for me.”

Her words came out like a sharp warning. She hadn’t meant to sound so cold, but it slipped out before she could stop it.

She placed the medicine down on the table and turned to leave.

“You’re awake now. I’ve done my part. If the headache gets worse, take the rest of the medicine.”

She turned to walk away, but before she could take a step, the door disappeared from view. Standing in her way was Sieghart. He was still drenched in sweat, clearly in pain, but his expression remained as composed as ever. Stubborn pride clung to him, even now.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t have anything to hear from you.”

“Tisha, I—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Natasha’s voice rose sharply, her words cutting through the room.

She hated it when he used that name. He spoke it like it belonged to him, like he had said it hundreds of times. And the expression he wore each time—a soft, unreadable look—grated on her nerves.

“Do you not remember what I said last time?”

He stayed silent.

“I said I know everything. That you sided with the Letius royal family. That you helped destroy everything I had. That you gave the order to kill my family. I know it all.”

She searched for something that would silence him for good.

And she found it. The one truth that would forever mark Sieghart Aschart as guilty.

Just as she had hoped, the moment she spoke, he stopped. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. It was as if he had forgotten how to breathe. His whole body turned to stone.

“So stop all of it. The names, the voice, the gestures, the kindness. I’m tired of all of it.”

Natasha turned to leave, her voice shaking with anger.

But before she could step away, his hand caught her wrist.

His grip was strong—rough, even. He pulled her toward him with a force that left no room for escape.

Support