Grant Me Your Grace

Saltar picked up the goblet and rose from his seat. 

Swallowing dryly, General Abassih followed suit.

He removed the bandages, revealing his wrists, which were swollen and reddened. Saltar’s brow furrowed at the sight of the hideous bone.

The wrist, which had been completely shattered in the fall, seemed beyond repair. The wound had begun to fester and reeked of rotting meat.

General Abassih looked at Saltar and said, “How dare I bring such an ugly sight before Your Majesty.”

“Abominable… I’m afraid you’ve been injured while working day and night to defend your country.”

Barely swallowing, Saltar forced the corners of his twitching mouth upward. 

Unlike Khankundra, who was a natural-born warrior and warlord, Saltar was vulnerable to this barbaric spectacle.

It was no secret that General Abassih had met with an accident while playing with his mistress. But that was not enough to discredit the man who had become his sword and shield.

“You will soon have a new arm by the grace of the Nuit Goddess.”

“Manra.”

Holding his breath as best he could, Saltar began to pour blood into General Abassih’s wrist. 

Crimson blood oozed from the vial and drenched the general’s arm.

Then his wrist began to recover rapidly. The blackened, dead flesh returned to glowing skin, and the swelling that had bulged to the point of bursting was knitted back into hard muscle.

The hand, grotesquely twisted and barely supported by a splint, returned to its original form.

“My hand is healed, Your Majesty, truly my hand is healed!”

General Abassih was overjoyed at the miracle before him. He had seen the sacrificial ritual up close every Maksru, but to witness it with his own eyes was beyond compare.

“The land rejoices, Your Highness. Long live the Crown Prince! Long live the Crown Prince!”

General Abassih, who had been jumping for joy, fell to the floor and kissed the instep of Saltar’s foot. 

He had dared to extend the greeting of the Emperor to the Crown Prince, who had not yet succeeded to the throne.

Treason deserves the ultimate punishment.

To General Abassih, who had been saved by Crown Prince Saltar was a lord and a god. 

Saltar’s lips curled into a sneer, and he arrogantly tapped General Abassih on the shoulder.

“You will return to the border tomorrow morning, as soon as you have finished telling Father, and tell no one that you have received my blood.”

“Whether it is or not, I will not remove the bandages for some time after we reach the border, thank you. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

General Abassih swore his allegiance stiffly. Saltar, his mouth set in a grim line, placed his hand on General Abassih’s head.

“Fear not, thou, for the Goddess is with us always.”

“Manra!”

Saltar laughed with satisfaction as General Abassih lay on the ground like a dog before him.

✨

The following day.

“Agh…!”

Clang!

The teacup Dahlia was drinking from fell to the floor and shattered into pieces. 

The sudden sound caused Bertha to jump up and rush over.

“Your Highness, are you all right?”

Dahlia swallowed a groan in response. The sleeves of her robe, secured by a ring on her middle finger, covered the backs of her hands, but every inch of her skin was covered in red spots beneath the sheer black silk.

Last night, not long after returning from Hovan, her left wrist had become covered in spots and a terrible pain had begun.

The spots were the marks of the healed man’s wounds. 

As General Abassih’s wound healed, all of his pain was transferred to Dahlia.

“The tea must have been very hot, weren’t you burned?”

Bertha tried to lift her drenched sleeve, but Dahlia quickly brushed her hand away and wrapped it around her shivering wrist.

“Your Highness…”

“It’s okay, it’s not that bad, I just got a skin rash on my wrist again… and I don’t want it to show.”

Even the most intimate of red spots could not be hidden from the maids who attended to her. So whenever red spots appeared on her body, Dahlia would fake them as rashes caused by skin diseases.

No one ever mentioned the skin disease, but everyone thought the same thing when they saw the red spots.

The curse. The rumored curse that had consumed the Princess ten years ago was the red spots.

If this wasn’t a curse, then what was?

When the spots appeared, the maids of honor at the palace were reluctant to approach Dahlia, fearing that her uncleanness would rub off on them and cover their bodies with the horrible spots.

But Bertha stood by Dahlia’s side. As if the spots weren’t scary enough, she cared for Dahlia like a wounded young bird.

It was for this reason that Bertha was able to become a member of the Princess’s entourage, despite being so young compared to the other maids.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, I was startled…”

Dahlia swallowed hard, feeling sorry for herself as she realized what she had done to this child.

“It’s okay, I was just surprised and got a little harsh, don’t worry about it. Could you put the teacup away first?”

“Yes, please sit down, Your Highness. I’ll put it aside as quickly as I can.”

Bertha quickly grabbed a broom and began sweeping the shards of broken glass across the floor. 

Dahlia swallowed the pain alone, wringing her trembling wrists.

Despite all the pain she’d paid for with blood, she’d never gotten used to the pain of bearing it for others.

No wonder. The mere fact that he had come to the point of seeking the sacred blood meant that the situation was already beyond his control.

No one would dare to endure the pain of near-death or crippling pain so casually, especially when it came at the price of blood, and no amount of medicine or treatment could cure it.

Sometimes the pain was so excruciating that she would lose consciousness, and the imperial physician would tell her that she was merely crying because her body was weak, but in reality, she was enduring the pain of death.

Dahlia dabbed at her sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. She hadn’t slept well during the night, and she felt unwell all day.

“I think I need to rest for a while. Bertha, why don’t you make a decoction of sleeping herbs?”

“Sleeping herb? Yes… Your Highness.”

Dahlia looked at her anxiously and left the room. Soon afterward, Bertha returned with a tea infused with sleeping herbs.

The tea was lukewarm and Dahlia quickly drank it. The pain had been paid for with blood, so no medicine could help, but she drank it anyway, hoping it would ease the pain a little.

“Please don’t wake me until I’m up. I want to sleep soundly.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Sleep well, and know that if you need anything, I’m here.”

Tucking the silken quilt over her, Bertha left the room, her footsteps silent. 

Left alone, Dahlia curled up into a tight ball and let out a low moan.

Wishing for sleep to come quickly. And remain awake as long as possible.

Until this pain disappears altogether.

No… I would rather forever.

[Your Highness Princess.]

[My Dahlia.]

At that moment, the dream sequence of Hissin suddenly flashed into my mind. 

A dream she was too ashamed to speak of, a memory she dared to commit against him.

Usually, the red marks that came with the price of blood faded as quickly as the original wound healed. 

Most of the time, the pain would linger for as little as a month or as long as half a year.

But as soon as she dreamed of Hissin, the red spots disappeared overnight. It was as if he had licked her chest gently and the spots had dissipated.

‘It can’t be… it must have been a coincidence.’

Dahlia thought to herself, but secretly she was looking forward to dreaming of Hissin again.

If the man was truly a gift from the goddess to Baran, he might hold the key to this cursed pain.

So even as Dahlia shuddered in pain, she kept thinking of Hissin.

His hair, was dark as the night sky, his beautiful, strong jawline that bordered on boyish and manly, his broad shoulders and toned body.

His crimson lips, the bridge of his nose as high and straight as the Tibara Mountains that crisscrossed the country of Baran.

Red eyes that sparkled like a blazing fire.

“Hissin….”

Muttering his name quietly, Dahlia slipped beneath the covers, exhausted from her long-suffering.