I Became the Only Cure for My Dying Husband - Chapter 4
Chapter 2.2
Afraid he might send her away, Edith quickly added,
“But you don’t need to worry, my skills are solid. I can prove it to you right now.”
“I’m more concerned about getting you some proper food.”
“What?”
“Come along.”
Edith followed behind Khalid, but she stopped when she noticed a boy blocking the front gate.
The boy was casually leaning against the gate. His gaze bypassed the duke and landed directly on Edith.
Their eyes locked, his red irises glowing faintly under the light.
His hair was as dark as night, and his cheeks were as smooth as marble. His pale skin almost made him look ghostly.
His features were so beautifully flawless that he looked more like a painting from the count’s treasured collection than a real person.
‘He looks like an angel.’
The duke must have noticed his angelic presence too, because he gestured toward the boy with a nod.
“Introduce yourself. This is my son, Lucion Frost.”
So this was him. She guessed as much from his red eyes, but it wasn’t until the duke introduced them that it really sank in.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Lord Lucion. I’m Edith—”
“What is this… thing stuck in the ground?”
“…”
He really was the duke’s son—they speak the exact same way.
“That ‘thing‘ is Edith, and she will be your wife starting today.”
Lucion, who had been eyeing Edith coldly from head to toe, turned his glare on Khalid.
“Have you already gone senile?”
“I’ve got another forty years before that happens.”
“Well, it looks like it already did.”
Lucion’s eyes flickered with a mix of irritation and contempt. He jerked his chin toward Edith.
“You said you were bringing me back a wife, but it looks like you picked up a stray mutt instead.”
“A s-stray mutt…?”
“Take her back to wherever you found her. I’m not interested in running a charity.”
Hearing Lucion’s biting words, Edith remembered the nicknames he was infamous for.
The heartless boy, mad dog, the devil’s mouthpiece.
“You’re annoying.”
Lucion shot her one last cold glance before turning away, as if speaking to her was beneath him.
The place where he had stood smelled of the cold winter wind.
✦ ✦ ✦
“My name is Becky, and I will be attending to you starting today, miss. I’ll serve you to the best of my ability.”
“Thank you, Becky.”
Becky was gentle and kind, her gaze warm, and she always smiled as she tended to Edith.
It was a kindness Edith had never experienced back at the count’s house.
“Would you like to take a bath first?”
“Yes, please.”
Becky left the room, giving Edith a moment to finally look around.
“So, this is my room…”
It was bigger and more extravagant than Laura’s room, but it didn’t bring her any joy.
“Why aren’t they checking?”
She had expected them to test her powers immediately, to see if the claims in her letter were true.
[You can go and rest now.]
[Pardon? But don’t I have work to do?]
[Yes, you do.]
[Then, shouldn’t I—]
[Your job right now is to rest.]
Khalid had spoken firmly, pushing Edith toward her room before disappearing to his office, claiming he was busy.
The tension in Edith’s body suddenly melted away.
“Miss, everything is ready.”
Becky had returned and led her to the bathroom. One by one, Edith’s clothes were removed.
It was the first time she had ever been attended to like this, and she blushed, lowering her head to hide her face.
“Oh my, what’s this…”
Becky’s gaze landed on the left side of Edith’s chest, where a small sun-shaped mark—about the size of a thumbnail—was visible.
“I’ve had it since I was born.”
“Since you were born? That must be proof that you’re special, Miss Edith.”
But Edith thought otherwise. It was a stigma.
The source of her limitless power, and evidence that she was destined to become a witch.
And a mark that signified her inevitable death.
Aside from that, she bore another scar on her body, one that could never be erased.
Slowly, she took off her gloves, revealing her hands, which were covered in scars.
Becky’s eyes widened as she stared, unable to look away. Edith offered her an awkward smile.
“Sorry. They’re not so pretty to look at. It looks awful, doesn’t it?”
Edith apologized out of habit, but Becky frowned slightly and gently took her hands.
“Not at all. They’re beautiful hands, miss.”
Oh, sweet Becky. Even though Edith’s hands were a mess, she still called them beautiful.
Edith looked down at her scarred, unsightly hands.
Scars from not completing her tasks on time.
Scars from speaking out of turn.
Scars for being a nuisance.
They had accumulated with every mistake she made, until not a single space on her small hands was left untouched.
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