Grant me Your Grace Chapter 61

“Is that true?”  

 

“Yes, Your Highness. I saw it clearly with my own eyes.”  

 

Miftah’s green eyes flashed as he listened to Sebak’s whispered report upon returning to the carriage.  

 

Something poured from a vial had instantly revived the dead land. 

 

Though he had traveled the world and encountered countless rare and mysterious things, he had never heard of a medicine capable of restoring lifeless soil in an instant.  

 

“What could it have been? There’s no way Emperor Khankundra would give such a precious medicine to an imprisoned princess.”  

 

As Miftah rubbed his chin, deep in thought about the nature of the medicine, Sebak hesitantly added,  

 

“This is just my speculation… but perhaps what the maid poured on the ground was His Highness the Crown Prince’s blood.”  

 

“…The Crown Prince’s blood?”  

 

Miftah frowned and asked again. 

 

Glancing at the coachman smoking in the distance, Sebak lowered his voice further.  

 

“Yes. When I touched the ground up close, something red and damp clung to my fingers. It had a distinctly metallic smell—just like blood.”  

 

But Miftah scoffed in disbelief.  

 

“Impossible. Even when our people were dying of plague, the Emperor refused to share the divine power, claiming it was only for the gods. Why would he give it to an exiled princess?”  

 

“But it was definitely blood. The dead fig tree came back to life immediately.”  

 

The more he heard, the stranger it seemed. 

 

A red liquid, revived land, and trees—anyone would recognize it as the work of divine power.  

 

Except for one detail, the one who poured it was the princess’s maid.  

 

Tap, tap, tap— 

 

Miftah drummed his fingers on the carriage seat, lost in thought.  

 

‘The princess had her maid pour the Crown Prince’s blood on the dead land…’  

 

The Crown Prince wouldn’t willingly give his blood to the princess, and if the goal was to restore the land, there was no need to involve the princess’s maid—let alone conceal their actions so thoroughly.  

 

Which could only mean one thing, the princess used the prince’s blood without his knowledge.  

 

‘…No way.’

 

💫

 

Tack— 

 

The fingers tapping the sheet stopped. Miftah’s tightly pressed lips curled slightly upward.  

 

Miftah, more of a strategist than a warrior, was particularly skilled in power games. 

 

At this very moment, his mind quickly calculated who he should control to his advantage.  

 

“Sebak, we’re returning to the imperial palace.”  

 

“Huh? Then what about Prince Nameur—”  

 

“That bastard is no longer worth my time.”  

 

Miftah crumpled the letter he had been reading into his bag and straightened his posture.  

 

“The marriage comes first. Turn the carriage around.”  

 

“Yes, yes.”  

 

Sebak, still dazed, immediately called for the coachman. 

 

Then, as if struck by a thought, Miftah smirked and muttered under his breath.  

 

“Before the wedding… it wouldn’t hurt to put a shackle on the princess’s ankle.”  

 

As Miftah whispered something, Sebak bowed his head and quickly headed off somewhere.  

 

💫

 

Dahlia realized Bertha had safely reached Nuan’s land even before receiving the letter. 

 

An indescribable, heavy pain pierced her body, accompanied by dark spots.  

 

The price of healing the land seemed to come to her stomach—the center of her body—as red spots spread below her navel.  

 

‘If the blood price has appeared, it means the land was affected too.’  

 

Fortunately, this pain was bearable. 

 

Though her stomach churned and an unexplainable discomfort writhed inside her, compared to the agony of burns, this barely registered as pain.  

 

Dahlia adjusted her clothes and looked at the table. 

 

The scattered papers still glistened with faint, wet ink.  

 

They were the letters Aaron had instructed her to send—to those central nobles who had yet to declare support for the crown prince, those who could stop his vicious rebellion.

 

Once Bertha returned, the plan was to fully revive the dead land and ask for support in gathering strength.  

 

‘By the way, did Bertha make it safely to her homeland…?’  

 

She had already been through so much, and it weighed on Dahlia’s heart that she couldn’t even provide her with a proper carriage, let alone an escort. 

 

Unable to ease her worries, Dahlia couldn’t relax.  

 

She prayed for Bertha’s safety until sunset and faced an unusually lonely night. Without the child’s chatter, the surroundings seemed to sink into silence.  

 

Just as she was about to call a maid to retire early—  

 

“Your Highness, Prince Miftah Hayad of Hayad requests an audience.”  

 

“…Prince of Hayad?”  

 

Confusion crossed Dahlia’s face.  

 

She was certain Miftah had left for the Kingdom of Hayad earlier that morning—she had heard the news while sending Bertha off.  

 

‘Then why is he back already? And visiting the princess’s palace at this late hour…?’

 

For him to seek her out at night, even obtaining the Emperor’s permission, was unexpected. Dahlia hesitated to respond immediately.  

 

“Your Highness, the Prince earnestly requests to see you.”  

 

The maid outside the door announced Miftah’s visit once more.  

 

If it were Bertha, she would have noticed Dahlia’s discomfort and tactfully sent him away. 

 

But the new maid, perhaps inexperienced in attending to the princess up close, seemed only focused on the immediate task.  

 

With no other choice, Dahlia allowed Miftah into the reception room.  

 

“Greetings, Your Highness.”  

 

Dahlia watched his sly smile with indifferent eyes, then stopped the maid from closing the door.  

 

“Leave it open. The night is deep, and I doubt he’ll stay long.”  

 

It was a precaution—to prevent any repeat of his past brutish behavior by keeping the surroundings exposed. 

 

Despite the obvious warning, Miftah only flicked an eyebrow, showing no sign of unease.  

 

Instead, meeting Dahlia’s cold gaze, he calmly lifted a teacup with an air of leisure.  

 

“Your Highness seems weary, so I’ll get straight to the point and take my leave.”

 

Miftah Hayad took a loud sip of tea and grinned.  

 

“It’s been a while since I last traveled, but I must say, there are truly beautiful places all across the Baran Kingdom. On the way to the Hayad Kingdom, there were so many sights that caught my eye—I couldn’t help but stop at every one and eventually had to turn the carriage around.”  

 

“You said you’d get straight to the point.”  

 

Dahlia’s reply was icy, a clear demand to skip the unnecessary details.  

 

Miftah let out a soft chuckle and continued, unfazed.  

 

“Among them, there was one place that instantly captured my attention.”  

 

His green eyes locked straight onto Dahlia.  

 

“Nuan.”  

 

“…”  

 

“The fig trees there were so full of life.”  

 

A chill ran down Dahlia’s spine, as if a snake were coiling around her neck. Her pupils trembled violently.  

 

Why was this man suddenly mentioning Nuan? 

 

It was a remote borderland—hardly an appropriate tourist spot for an unannounced midnight visit.  

 

‘And fig trees full of life…?’

 

No way.  

 

Dahlia’s gaze hardened. Miftah, amused by the ever-shifting emotions in her eyes, read her thoughts and curled the corner of his lips thinly.  

 

“You’ve been up to something interesting, haven’t you?”  

 

Clink— 

 

Miftah set down his teacup of fig tea and stared straight at Dahlia with his green eyes. Her fingertips trembled slightly as she clenched her fists, forcing strength into her voice.  

 

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

 

“Ah, what a pity.”  

 

Miftah tilted his head theatrically, like an actor on stage, his snake-like eyes narrowing.  

 

“Well, if you don’t know, then I suppose I’ll have to show you myself.”  

 

He raised his hand and flicked his fingers into the air.

 

At the signal, his waiting underlings entered through the open door.  

 

Clink— 

 

A small wooden box was placed beside Dahlia’s teacup. When she shot him a questioning look, Miftah opened it himself and showed her its contents.

 

“…!”

 

Dahlia felt her breath catch in her throat, freezing in place. Inside the box lay a long braid of hair.  

 

The familiar yellow ribbon tied at the end was unmistakably the gold-threaded ribbon she had tied in Bertha’s hair just this dawn. 

 

A fiery rage ignited in Dahlia’s usually calm eyes.  

 

“What have you done to my maid?!”  

 

“Shh. Lower your voice, Your Highness.”  

 

Miftah grinned slyly, his voice a hushed whisper.  

 

“Do you truly wish to announce to the world that you secretly sent that girl out without anyone’s knowledge—and even gave her covert instructions?”  

 

Dahlia had no choice but to fall silent. 

 

The other maids believed Bertha was bedridden with a severe fever.  

 

But if it were revealed that Bertha—a palace maid who could not leave without the Emperor’s permission—had secretly slipped out, the consequences would undoubtedly escalate.  

 

Had she known this would happen, she would have risked the secret getting out and assigned guards to escort her.  

 

But regret was useless now. 

 

The damage was done. She had to stay sharp and prevent the situation from spiraling further.  

 

“…The night air is quite chilly. Close the door for a moment.”  

 

At Dahlia’s command, the maid shut the parlor door. 

 

Finally, alone with Miftah, Dahlia suppressed her fury and spoke.  

 

“What is it that you want?”  

 

No matter how complicated things became, saving Bertha was her priority now.