Grant me Your Grace Chapter 52

How long had she walked? Finally reaching the end of the rope, Dahlia couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of Aaron’s wretched state beyond the iron bars.  

 

“Your Highness…?”  

 

Perhaps his other senses had sharpened from being in the dark underground prison for so long—Aaron turned his head toward her.  

 

“Yes, High Priest. It’s me. I’ve come.”  

 

“Oh, Goddess Nuit… Have you answered my prayers…?”  

 

Aaron let out a faint sob as he stumbled closer to the bars. The moment she grasped his hands, Dahlia saw the full extent of his injuries.  

 

His swollen, half-shut eyes were crusted with dried pus, and his emaciated face was sunken at the cheeks. The High Priest’s clothes were so tattered and caked with blood that they could barely be called rags.  

 

It wasn’t just the darkness. He had truly lost his sight, relying only on his remaining senses to endure.  

 

Horrified, Dahlia instinctively looked around for something to draw her own blood—but Aaron, sensing her movement, urgently stopped her.  

 

“Your Highness, don’t. It’s already too late for me.”  

 

“But, High Priest—”  

 

“Even if my wounds heal, new ones will only take their place. For an old body like mine, dulled nerves are a mercy.”  

 

He was right. As long as he remained in this dungeon, healing would only bring fresh suffering.  

 

Swallowing her tears, Dahlia quickly regained her composure and asked,  

 

“I heard you asked for me. Do you know of a way to stop Saltar?”  

 

At the mention of Saltar’s name, Aaron let out a pained, angry sigh before speaking.  

 

“Your Highness, you must listen carefully to what I say now. You are the only one who can save the Kingdom of Baran.”  

 

‘How could I, shut away in the princess’s palace, possibly save the country from Saltar?’ 

 

A chill ran down her spine, but she steadied herself and asked, “Tell me what I must do. How can I stop Saltar?”  

 

“You must use your divine power.”  

 

“My… divine power?”  

 

Dahlia’s eyes trembled slightly. Did he mean for her to threaten Saltar with her blood?  

 

But Aaron’s suggestion was something else entirely.  

 

“Revive the dying lands with your blood. Stop the famine—prevent the Crown Prince from inciting the people’s unrest.”  

 

“Can I truly restore all that land? Until now, my blood has only healed small animals or people offered as sacrifices…”

 

“With Her Highness the Princess’s divine power, it should certainly be possible. Your divine power is the strongest I have ever seen or heard of.”  

 

Aaron urged her to seek help from those who could support her, tearing off a piece of his high priest’s robe for her and whispering a few names. 

 

Among them were not only Mudhat Osahar, a close aide to the high priest and a central noble, but also those who could supply information and necessary resources.  

 

Just then, the rope she was holding jerked twice. It seemed those outside were urging her, saying time was running out.  

 

“Your Highness, the fate of the country rests upon you. May the goddess Nuait bless you.”

  

“Please stay safe, High Priest. May the goddess Nuit be with you.”  

 

Dahlia looked back several times before finally forcing herself to leave Aaron, her steps heavy with reluctance.  

 

Had the goddess withdrawn her mercy in that brief moment?  

 

“What do I do…”  

 

Dahlia’s face paled as she stared at the severed rope. 

 

Just moments ago, when it had been pulled taut, the corroded part of the old rope must have snapped.  

 

Panicked, Dahlia tried to retrace her steps to find the entrance. But the cave, like a complex maze, refused to yield an easy path, and soon she was completely lost.  

 

“Goddess Nuit, please grant me your mercy once more…”

 

Just as the darkness swallowed her frightened prayer—  

 

“Ah…!”

 

Another rope came into Dahlia’s sight. It seemed to be connected to a different prison cell.  

 

Staring at the rope hanging loosely between the walls, Dahlia swallowed dryly and gripped it tightly. Even if it led the wrong way, she could always turn back and find the entrance.  

 

Afraid of losing this rope too, Dahlia clutched it until her hands turned white and pressed forward.  

 

Just as she began to feel tension in the slack rope lying on the ground—  

 

Clang—

 

A harsh metallic sound suddenly echoed through the cave. Startled, Dahlia quickly raised her torch toward the noise.  

 

In the pitch-black darkness, a man trapped in a cell became visible beyond the flames.  

 

“…Hissin.”

 

It was him. My abandoned salvation.  

 

Hissin, gripping the iron bars, exhaled roughly as he stared at Dahlia. His appearance—like a beast brutally hunted—made her feel as though the ground beneath her had vanished.  

 

Tangled hair, cuts, and bruises covering his face, clothes completely torn and reduced to rags.

 

Blood clung to his arms and legs, clearly fresh from wounds that had not yet stopped bleeding. 

 

The gruesome marks of torture were starkly visible on his body, and without realizing it, Dahlia felt tears welling up in her eyes.  

 

“How did Your Highness come to be here?”  

 

A rough voice echoed through the cavern. Perhaps because it was the deepest, farthest chamber of the cave, even the slightest breath resounded ominously in the oppressive silence.  

 

“Well…”  

 

She hesitated, unable to answer immediately. The crimson eyes that had been scrutinizing her face suddenly lowered. His brow furrowed sharply as he noticed the unnaturally swollen curve of her stomach.  

 

Dahlia quickly pressed down on her belly, revealing it was a fake.  

 

“This was just to deceive the guards. I had no choice.”  

 

“Don’t tell me… it’s because of the red mark?”  

 

“No!”  

 

Dahlia immediately denied Hissin’s words, tightening her grip on her stomach as she lowered her gaze.  

 

“I didn’t come here to see you.”  

 

“Then why are you here?”  

 

“I came to meet the High Priest. On my way out, the rope snapped… I got lost and ended up here.”  

 

“The rope snapped?”  

 

“Yes. I think the part that was frayed broke when they signaled for me to hurry. I tried to find the broken rope and followed this one instead…”  

 

Dahlia glanced at the rope tied to the iron bars of Hissin’s cell. Judging by the blood smeared in patches along the coarse fibers, she must have walked here in sheer terror.  

 

Even if the scrapes healed, her fear would linger.  

 

“Ha…”  

 

Hissin exhaled sharply, bowing his head as he let out a low breath. 

 

Was it relief? Or disappointment that the useless princess had gotten lost and stumbled in here?  

 

Dahlia bit her lip, watching him with conflicted eyes. Seeing Hissin, covered in wounds from the dungeon’s brutal torture, made her chest ache strangely.  

 

His muscular body, heaving with each labored breath, was covered in unhealed scars and injuries, making him look utterly exhausted. The eyes that had once brimmed with kindness were now tainted with malice and defiance.  

 

The Hissin, who had once been revered in the temple as a divine gift, was gone. In his place was a savage beast.  

 

The only difference was that this caged beast showed no desperation to escape.  

 

After studying Dahlia from head to toe, Hissin released his grip on the iron bars. Turning his back, he spoke in a low voice.  

 

“Follow that rope back up. It may take time, but you’ll find your way to the entrance.”

 

Then, as if refusing to engage with Dahlia any further, he leaned against the wall and sat down. The room, far too cramped for a grown man to lie down in, looked too harsh for someone as wounded as him to rest properly.  

 

‘I need to go back soon. If I don’t, the guards might come looking for me and discover my true identity.’ 

 

But unlike her tightly clenched hands, which knew how to retreat, her feet refused to leave the ground. The sight of Hissin, breathing heavily as if weighed down by his injuries, kept pulling at her gaze.  

 

‘Even after saying you don’t care if I die…’  

 

His cold demeanor made her heart ache—shamelessly so.  

 

“Why are you still here instead of leaving?” 

 

Hissin growled in a low voice. After a moment of hesitation, Dahlia stepped closer to the iron bars and set the torch down.  

 

Then, kneeling, she spoke to him.  

 

“Hissin. I’ll heal you.”  

 

At her words, Hissin turned his head to look at her. His crimson eyes held no surprise—only a dark, mocking hostility.  

 

“Stop wasting your time and leave. This is no place for Her Highness the Princess.”  

 

“Please, come closer. I can’t leave you like this.”  

 

Dahlia set the torch aside and glanced around. She searched for something sharp enough to wound herself and soon spotted broken fragments of what looked like a fallen stalactite nearby.  

 

A piece with a sharp enough edge to draw blood. Just as she picked it up and was about to slice her palm—  

 

“Ah—!”  

 

Hissin’s arm shot out in an instant, seizing her wrist.  

 

“What do you think you’re doing?”  

 

His grip, uncontrolled in its strength, forced her hand to go slack, dropping the stone. Startled, Dahlia looked up at him. His furious expression told her he knew exactly what she had been planning.  

 

Seeing that look, a single certainty settled in Dahlia’s chest. Her slightly parted lips trembled as she spoke in a hollow voice.  

 

“You… You knew as well. Why do the red marks appear on my body.”  

 

At her words, Hissin’s pupils flickered faintly. It was a fleeting moment of unrest, but Dahlia saw it clearly.  

 

The worry and fear were hidden in his eyes.  

 

“You knew… about my blood.”