I’ve Decided to Let You Go - Chapter 56

They had a simple lunch at a well-known restaurant near the checkpoint. Normally, Natasha would have been on edge, worried about being recognized by the duchy citizens. But to her surprise, she was able to eat comfortably.

There were two possible reasons. Maybe it was Reon’s kind words, or maybe it was the silence of the voices that had haunted her for so long.

The voices did not return. They remained hidden.

Was it because she had touched Sieghart? Or was it Reon’s blessing?

She didn’t know for sure. All she could do was be grateful for their absence.

After lunch, the two of them walked through the streets, talking casually. They bought a bouquet from a flower shop, and just as they reached the fountain at the reserved time, their carriage arrived.

The ride was long. It even passed the home of the acquaintance where they were supposed to stay.

Where they ended up was a wide, barren field that felt almost lifeless.

“This place is…”

Natasha looked around in shock, her words trailing off.

They had arrived at a cemetery. More specifically, it was a memorial site for those who had no remains to bury. She had visited this place a few times in the past to remember a close friend who had drowned in a river six years ago.

As if pulled by something, Natasha walked forward. Strangely, she didn’t stop at her friend’s gravestone. Her steps carried her on, past row after row of markers, her eyes moving constantly, scanning each name.

Then, she stopped.

She slowly knelt down, reaching out to touch one of the gravestones.

There were many names engraved on the stone, standing tall in the cold wind. Natasha quietly read them one at a time.

James Charlier. Eleanor Charlier. Damian Charlier. Evelyn Charlier. Edward Charlier…

She gently traced the names with her fingertips, trying to picture their faces.

But the memories were blurry.

The last image she had of them came from the newspapers. Their severed heads, hung on the palace wall. It was a sight too horrific for her young mind to process. So she had forced herself to forget.

Every time she remembered, she hit her head against a wall. She tried to cover the emotional pain with physical pain, again and again, until her forehead went numb.

She buried those memories over and over, until their faces faded completely from her mind. And once they were gone, the voices began to return.

As if to ask, how could she forget them?

Natasha had often wondered where those voices came from. Why did they appear, and when?

They were guilt. The crushing guilt of someone who chose her family’s enemy over her own blood. They were the regret and self-hatred she carried every day.

She wanted to erase the smile that came too easily. She wanted to forget the moments of peace she had found. She wanted to destroy the fragile trust she had started to build again.

“I…”

She held back the tears that welled up in her eyes. Her breath left her lips in a cold puff of air.

“I did what I thought was best… back then.”

Her voice broke the silence. It was quiet, but it carried all the pain she had tried to hide. It sounded like sorrow wrapped in stillness, deep and lonely.

“I know how pathetic I must seem. I know I made the wrong choice. I just… I wanted to be happy. I was foolish enough to believe I could have that. And when I realized how wrong I was, everything fell apart…”

At twenty-one, as Tisha Winter, there had been things she couldn’t tell even Sir Dante, the person closest to her.

She lived in a house built by despair, sharing space with her own loneliness. Not even Dante, who had always stood by her, could take it away. Not the kind villagers either.

The person who had finally broken through that loneliness was a man who appeared one day with a sudden proposal.

His gentle voice, the warmth of his hands—at some point, they had shaken her resolve. Somehow, she could say things to him that she had never told anyone else. And every time, he listened, and truly seemed to understand.

“So please… please try to understand me. Don’t come to me in dreams. Be like Reon, and tell me that you don’t blame me. If you say that… maybe I can finally let go of these voices.”

She whispered softly, placing the bouquet gently on the grave.

She stood from the gravestone only when the clear sky had turned pitch black.

When she returned, Sieghart didn’t ask her anything. He simply took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Natasha didn’t say anything either.

She clutched the edge of his coat and slowly walked down the hill with him. The winter wind cut through the silence, especially in the early dawn. She tried to hold back her coughing, but it slipped out of her despite her efforts.

Sieghart noticed her condition and stopped walking.

In the end, he made a decision.

“Excuse me for a moment.”

“What? Wait, no, I—”

He didn’t wait for her answer.

Before she could react, her feet were lifted off the ground. Her balance shifted, and she found herself being carried in his arms.

“The path ahead is too rough. This is the only way.”

“I can walk on my own…”

“No.”

“…”

“If you catch a fever, you’ll be stuck in bed. And I don’t trust that risk.”

Natasha had nothing left to say. She wanted to argue that she didn’t get sick often, but she didn’t have the evidence to back it up. In just one year, she had fallen seriously ill twice, and if she included all the minor sicknesses, she would need more than ten fingers to count them.

They arrived at a cave near the forest.

Sieghart suggested they stay there until morning, when it would be safe to travel by carriage again.

He gathered small stones and twigs, then lit a fire. The soft crackling of the flames brought a sense of calm. The warmth rising from the fire slowly eased the tension between them.

Sitting side by side, the two quietly warmed themselves by the fire. The moment felt familiar. A memory came to Natasha’s mind.

Long ago, back when Sieghart had once loved Tisha Winter.

“Sieghart,” she said.

He didn’t respond.

“Why did you do it?”

The memory of that tender time between Tisha and Sieghart brought a tight ache to her chest. Perhaps that’s why she let her true feelings slip out. Her voice carried quiet resentment as she asked the question.

As usual, he was slow to answer. The fire crackled gently in the silence.

He didn’t pretend not to understand. He didn’t ask what she meant. He simply kept his mouth shut, as if his voice had left him.

“Was it really just to help the Emperor?” she asked again.

Finally, Sieghart shook his head. He denied it, though he didn’t explain further. From the look on his face, he wasn’t ready to answer yet.

“I see. Well, I suppose it’s not really my business anymore.”

So, even in this life, he had secrets he wanted to keep. The man who had always felt distant and unreal now seemed more human than ever.

Though he avoided the question, he didn’t avoid her eyes. After a long silence, he finally spoke.

“One day, if I find the courage, and if I feel I’ve earned the right to face you, will it be alright if I tell you then?”

She didn’t care when. Whether it was now or later, it didn’t make a difference. No matter what reason he gave, her feelings wouldn’t change.

She would just think, so that was all it took for you to turn your back on me that day.

“And what if I’m still waiting when that time comes?” she whispered.

“I won’t be too late,” he replied gently.

Even with her cold tone, Sieghart’s answer remained warm.

His gentleness only made her irritation grow stronger.

“You know, Sieghart, I really hated you. I hated you so much that even the hate itself started to wear me down.”

She clung to the version of him that didn’t know. She confessed everything, telling him how much she had hated the man he used to be. How she had wanted to escape him so badly that she imagined plunging a blade into her own heart. How, even after imagining that ten times, she had never once forgiven him.

“I know,” he said.

“Don’t pretend—”

“You already know I’m not someone who fakes sympathy.”

Sieghart reached out and gently held her hand.

Her fingers twitched, trying to pull away. But the more she struggled, the more securely he held on. She couldn’t escape his grip, no matter how hard she tried.

“I’m sorry, Natasha,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry for pushing you into those feelings.”

His voice was low and soft, almost gentle enough to be mistaken for affection.

Sieghart watched her quietly as she drifted off to sleep, her expression soft and unguarded. Earlier, she had looked at him with such sharp anger, but now, she was resting peacefully, unaware of the world around her.

Her breathing was calm. Sometimes she murmured something under her breath, so quietly that the sound of the fire nearly drowned it out. Sieghart didn’t lean in to listen.

As the flames died down and darkness settled over the cave, she spoke again. Her fragile voice echoed softly off the stone walls.

“I’m sorry.”

There was no need to ask who the apology was for.

Sieghart gently tightened his hold on her hand. Her painful whisper faded, and all that remained was the sound of her breathing.

His gaze, which had lingered on her for a while, slowly turned to the dark cave wall. Shapes began to form in the shadows.

Even when he shut his eyes tightly, trying to block them out, the images came anyway.

He saw it again. The memory he wished he could erase.

“Ahhh!”

“Please, spare us, please, I beg you…”

“No, stop, please…”

The scene through the crack in the closet door was too horrific for a seven-year-old child to witness.

Only hours earlier, they had all been smiling. His family, the servants in the estate. Now, one by one, they were dying. Those who had already passed on stared upward, their eyes wide and lifeless, as if still demanding justice.

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