Grant me Your Grace Chapter 55

As the plague’s momentum waned, the lockdown measures were relaxed. With the alert level lowered, the carrier pigeons, once banned, began to take flight again.  

 

Miftah, who had been stranded in the Kingdom of Baran due to the plague, immediately sent a carrier pigeon to Hayad. He needed to know what had transpired in the royal court during his absence.  

 

After several anxious days of waiting, the long-awaited news finally reached Miftah.  

 

“Your Highness, the carrier pigeon has returned!”  

 

Miftah swiftly took the letter from the pigeon’s leg, brought to him by his loyal servant Sebak. 

 

As he read through the brief message, his green eyes gradually hardened with a chilling intensity.  

 

“Damn it, Namir has already started making his move.”  

 

Namir was Miftah’s immediate elder brother, the second in line to the throne. He had always kept a low profile, giving the impression that he had completely abandoned any claim to the crown. 

 

But now, it seemed he was using Miftah’s absence to begin his own preparations for succession.  

 

The longer Miftah idled in Hayad, the more unstable his position would become. Even if it meant delaying the wedding preparations, he might need to hurry back to Hayad.  

 

“Sebak, what’s the current situation outside?”  

 

“Although the lockdown has been eased, travel between villages is still difficult. Unfortunately, the plague has broken out in the villages surrounding the city gates…”  

 

“So the road won’t open until those villages are contained.”  

 

Miftah raised his eyes and looked out the window. His gaze trailed along the high fortress walls before stopping at one particular point—the northern gate, the direction of the Kingdom of Hayad.  

 

“Sebak.”  

 

“Yes, Your Highness.”  

 

At Miftah’s gesture, Sebak bent forward. As Miftah whispered into his ear, Sebak’s eyes widened in shock.  

 

“But Your Highness, if we’re not careful, this could backfire on us…”  

 

“Then we’ll have to do it perfectly.”  

 

Miftah placed a hand on Sebak’s shoulder.  

 

“Make sure no one finds out. Do it in secret.”  

 

The crushing grip on his shoulder forced a stifled groan from Sebak. In the end, he had no choice but to obey his master’s command.  

 

“I will proceed as ordered, Your Highness.”  

 

“Good.”  

 

Miftah patted Sebak’s shoulder reassuringly.

 

A smirk curled on his lips as he stared at the northern gate. His green eyes glinted slyly, like those of a snake.

 

✨

 

In the dead of night, when everyone was exhausted from fighting the plague all day and had fallen asleep, unfamiliar footsteps entered Yos, one of the outlying villages.  

 

Yos was the village hit hardest by the plague, with over 80% of its people falling victim to the disease. 

 

Yet, perhaps out of pity for the survivors, the goddess Nuit had granted mercy—the plague’s fury had waned, and the village was slowly recovering. 

 

The news that the lockdown would soon be lifted gave the villagers a glimmer of hope.  

 

The intruder, surveying the quiet village, muffled his footsteps and headed toward a row of small, planted trees. 

 

Tap, tap—-

 

Crouching low, he struck the flint in his hands, sending sparks flying. 

 

After a few more strikes, flames caught onto the small trees. The fire rapidly devoured the branches, spreading in all directions.  

 

Repeating the same act in several other locations, the arsonist watched the flames spread swiftly before vanishing without a trace.  

 

The inferno soon reached the houses.  

 

“Fire! Fire!”  

 

Villagers rushed out in panic at the sudden blaze.  

 

Since the houses were tightly packed together, sharing walls, the flames quickly engulfed the entire village, growing fiercer by the moment.  

 

Though the people of Yos managed to save their lives, they were left in shock, staring in disbelief at the ruins of their homes.  

 

But an even bigger problem arose. 

 

Yos was located right next to the northern fortress walls, and the fire had spread to the underground prison guards’ barracks inside the walls.  

 

“Ahh, help!”  

 

“Fetch water, now!”  

 

Caught off guard in the middle of the night, the guards were helpless against the flames.  

 

By dawn, the fire that had consumed Yos and the prison guards’ barracks finally died down.  

 

The scorched land was left barren, with no trace of what had once been there. The news of the fire in Yos brought an eerie silence to the capital in the morning.  

 

Yos had been the hardest-hit among the outlying villages surrounding the capital, with the highest number of deaths and infections compared to other villages.

 

Because of this, the capital became the front line in defending the imperial palace and was completely isolated. 

 

Fear that the severity of the Yos outbreak might spread to the surrounding villages at any moment brought all trade to a complete halt.  

 

However, the village of Yos, which had been blocking the capital, was entirely burned down. Though the fire destroyed the village, paradoxically, it also brought the epidemic under control.  

 

This double-edged calamity opened a new phase for Dahlia as well.  

 

“Ten days later?”  

 

“Yes, Your Highness. The blockade will be fully lifted, so travel between villages will soon be possible.”  

 

The unexpected situation left her with a tangled mess of sorrow for the village of Yos and the pressing responsibility to focus on what needed to be done. 

 

Suppressing her complicated emotions, Dahlia spoke softly to Bertha.  

 

“Bertha, you should visit your hometown soon. But on the way, could you stop by another place for me?”  

 

“Of course. Is it about that favor you mentioned last time? Just say the word.”  

 

Bertha showed firm determination, as if to say, ‘Trust me.’  

 

Having such a dependable girl by her side made Dahlia feel immeasurably reassured. Before Bertha left, Dahlia stroked her head and promised to explain the details later.  

 

As Bertha tidied Dahlia’s room, she began chattering about the rumors she had heard outside.  

 

“By the way, the area inside the northern gate is in chaos because of the fire.”  

 

“Inside the northern gate? Why there?”  

 

“The flames spread inside the gate, and unfortunately, the underground prison is close to the northern gate.”  

 

Underground prison. Those four words sent a chill through Dahlia’s heart. Instantly reminded of Hissin, she urgently asked Bertha,  

 

“Don’t tell me the fire reached the underground prison? What about the prisoners? Surely they weren’t all…”  

 

“No. Whether it’s fortunate or not, the fire didn’t spread to the inner part of the caves.”  

 

Without realizing it, Dahlia let out a sigh of relief. 

 

In her panic, she had openly shown concern, forgetting that the place was meant for holding dangerous criminals and traitors.  

 

“Are you worried about the High Priest?”  

“Ah… yes. That’s right.”

 

Fortunately, perhaps because Bertha thought it was due to Aaron, she continued speaking nonchalantly.  

 

“They say it wasn’t the prison itself, but the guards’ barracks that caught fire. Since it happened in the dead of night, the casualties among the guards were reportedly severe.”  

 

From people burned from head to toe to those crushed under the collapsed barracks—just hearing about it was horrifying enough to send chills down one’s spine.  

 

“So now there’s a critical shortage of guards to watch the underground prison, and they’ve reportedly sent a petition to the imperial palace.”  

 

“What kind of petition?”  

 

The answer that came to her careless question was dreadful.  

 

“They’re asking for the Crown Prince’s divine power to heal the injured guards.”  

 

“…What?”  

 

For a moment, Dahlia’s vision swam. Her barely stabilized heart plummeted straight to the pit of her stomach.  

 

If she were to heal that many guards with divine power, the pain would fall entirely on her. 

 

With Hissin imprisoned and difficult to meet, there was no way she could endure the agony of those horrific burns alone.  

 

‘But the imperial family has never officially used divine power except during the Maksru period.’  

 

Hadn’t the Emperor refused to recklessly wield the heavens’ divine power even during the plague’s outbreak? If he were to shed blood for injured guards now, the public’s backlash would be inevitable. 

 

With the people already restless, there was no way the Emperor would make such a decision.  

 

But perhaps this, too, was just the naive wish of a sheltered princess.  

 

“Your Highness, Priest Hovan has arrived.”  

 

A few days later, when Hovan visited at midday, Dahlia welcomed him without suspicion. But the expression on his face as he stood beyond the door was one she knew all too well.  

 

“…Has there been word from the Crown Prince’s palace?”  

 

Instead of answering, Hovan simply bowed his head. It felt like a cruel verdict meant only for her ears.  

 

Dahlia closed her eyes tightly and stood in silence for a long moment before finally dismissing her maids. 

 

Fear rose to the very top of her throat.  

 

“Just a moment… Just a moment, please.”

 

For the first time, Dahlia, who had always resigned herself and silently headed to the prayer room, shook her head. Her terrified eyes darted between Hovan and the prayer room before finally turning upward to the sky.  

 

Tears welled up and streamed down her temples. She trembled so violently that she couldn’t even muster the presence of mind to wipe them away.  

 

The price of blood was cumulative. 

 

It wasn’t that Dahlia suffered the same pain for each person she healed—no, the pain multiplied with every life she saved.  

 

This was why the Emperor had refused to use divine power to cure the plague. If Dahlia were to die from the overwhelming agony of compounded pain, the divine power would be lost forever.  

 

‘But why… why now of all times…?’  

 

Dahlia cupped her hands over her face, trying in vain to contain the unstoppable flow of tears.  

 

They say a tongue accustomed to honey is more vulnerable to bitterness. 

 

Thanks to Hissin, Dahlia had learned how to escape the price of blood—yet now, in his absence, she was paralyzed with terror.  

 

‘I don’t want to hurt. I don’t want to hurt either…’  

 

Her pitiful sobs soaked her palms.  

 

But there was nothing she could do. Even if she refused this command, she would only be dragged to the underground dungeons and drained of blood like an animal.  

 

To offer her blood willingly, or to be slaughtered like livestock—no matter which she chose, her fate remained wretched, and she was utterly powerless before it.  

 

Slowly, Dahlia lowered her hands. Her tear-filled eyes glistened with bitter resentment.  

 

‘God has always been cruel only to me.’ 

 

“…Let’s go.”  

 

Once again, Dahlia had no choice but to walk toward the prayer room on her own.  

 

Because she had to live.  

 

Because only by living could she see him again.