Grant me Your Grace Chapter 66

At the border, the soldiers returned. 

 

When they had first departed the capital, their numbers were so vast that the end of the procession couldn’t be seen—yet now, not even half of that half had made it back.

 

The citizens of the empire wept together at the sight of the devastated survivors, offering prayers for those who did not return.

 

Dahlia, too, stood by the window, watching the returning soldiers. 

 

They looked no older than fifty, each one bearing the wretched appearance of the wounded. Their armor was so tattered that they could easily be mistaken for beggars wandering the streets.

 

Because of the emperor’s hasty judgment, someone’s father, someone’s husband, someone’s son had lost their lives in vain. 

 

Over the past few days, Dahlia had heard reports from informants about the situation outside, and the battered soldiers seemed to reflect the miserable reality of the empire’s people.

 

If only I had any power… If only I had even a shred of influence to speak a word in that chaotic political arena… Then perhaps they wouldn’t have had to return like this—losing comrades and family, their bodies broken in vain.

 

A sense of responsibility—one that she, as a royal of this nation, should rightfully hold for the people of Baran—rose within her, mingled with frustration. 

 

It felt as though their suffering was entirely her fault. 

 

Swallowing her surging emotions, Dahlia continued to observe the soldiers.

 

Her sorrow for the people soon spread into worry about one man in particular. She tried to ignore it, but her darting eyes betrayed her.

 

Hissin… I’m searching for him.

 

Was he the one being helped along by others? Or the one being carried on a stretcher? 

 

When she spotted a man whose arm had been completely severed, her vision darkened, and she gripped the windowsill tightly.

 

Pressing hard on the mark in her palm, she anxiously scanned the crowd—until suddenly…

 

BANG!

 

The door burst open, and Bertha rushed in, her face flushed.

 

“Your Highness, Your Highness! I found him! He’s here too—a gift from the gods!”

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“Yes! But his leg…”

 

Bertha hesitated for a moment, and Dahlia pressed her impatiently.

 

“What about his leg? Don’t tell me it’s… gone?”

 

“Huh? No!”

 

Alarmed by the ghastly suggestion, Bertha quickly waved her hands and continued.

 

“Both legs are still there! He was limping badly, as if he’d been hurt, but…”

 

“…I see.”

 

Dahlia barely swallowed the sigh of relief that rose in her throat and shook her head slightly.

 

The sacred blood could heal any illness or wound, but it couldn’t regrow severed limbs or regenerate a torn-out heart.

 

This was precisely why even the wielder of divine power was not immortal.

 

Still, he came back alive. That’s enough. That’s all that matters…

 

Dahlia hugged Bertha tightly, grateful that despite her puzzled look, the maid didn’t ask any questions.

 

Now, all she had to do was wait for the moon to disappear behind the clouds.

 

Only then could she go to see him.

 

Three days later.

 

Under the cover of deep night, Dahlia quietly slipped out through the rear gate of the princess’s palace. 

 

A light rain pattered against the ground, making movement difficult, but she shielded the faint candlelight as best she could and headed toward the northern gate.

 

The first escape had been hard, but the second time, her body had grown accustomed to it, allowing her to slip past the gate with ease.

 

This just shows how lax Baran’s soldiers have become. Some must be disheartened by the Moon’s Messengers…

 

Still, Dahlia remained cautious as she made her way to the hidden passage.

 

Beneath the desert sands, she uncovered a familiar wooden plank. Without hesitation, she lifted it and descended into the deep tunnel below.

 

Without looking back, she followed the glowing markers and ran. 

 

Unlike last time, when she had cautiously scanned her surroundings, today she saw nothing but the luminescent guide stones.

 

Hissin. The only thought in her mind was that she had to see him.

 

She pressed on without pause, tracing the markers—until suddenly, voices echoed from afar.

 

“Why’d they have to drag all of ’em back here? They ain’t gonna live long anyway.”

 

“Exactly. Should’ve just finished ’em off there. No one would’ve known…”

 

Dahlia hastily ducked behind a wall, extinguishing her candle in her rush to hide. She held her breath and listened. 

 

The clang of a cell door opening sounded, followed by the fading footsteps of the guards.

 

According to the note, the guards should have been on break by now. 

 

It seemed they were making late rounds, likely checking on prisoners wounded in the recent attack.

 

What now? Should I turn back?

 

But there was no telling when another cloudy night would come, allowing her to slip out of the palace again. 

 

And in these filthy, wretched conditions, an injured leg could easily fester—rot was only a matter of time.

 

Sharpening her hearing, Dahlia moved forward again. With no candlelight, she had to trace the glowing markers with her fingertips.

 

Yet, deprived of sight, her other senses grew keener than ever, sharpened two or threefold. Thanks to that, she navigated the jagged, uneven tunnels without stumbling.

 

How long had she walked?

 

Her fingers, still brushing the faint markers, suddenly met cold iron. 

 

Swallowing dryly, Dahlia gripped the bars and gave them a small shake.

 

The stagnant air inside the cell shifted heavily, and then—a man spoke.

 

“So you’ve come walking again.”

 

Her endlessly weary voice carried a hint of sarcasm. 

 

It seemed she was both disgusted by the Crown Prince, who had taken more blood again, and mocking herself for rushing here the moment she heard the prisoners had returned.

 

Dahlia stared into the impenetrable darkness before quietly speaking.

 

“It’s true I came to see you, but not because I needed to.”

 

Silence followed instead of an answer. 

 

The image of Hissin raising an eyebrow flashed in her mind, making her feel strangely unsettled.

 

She felt something like embarrassment, an inexplicable anger, and… even worry.

 

After hesitating a few times, she finally spoke with forced composure.

 

“How badly are you hurt?”

 

Hissin let out a short, hollow breath, as if only now realizing why Dahlia had come.

 

The sound of dragging footsteps echoed before his icy voice reached her.

 

“Go back.”

 

“I heard you badly injured your leg.”

 

“It’s just a shallow cut.”

 

“If left untreated, the wound will fester and rot.”

 

“So you’re saying I should transfer the pain of this rotting wound to His Highness? To watch his body be covered in scars?”

 

“Hissin, I—”

 

“Or,” his voice dripped with a bitter laugh,

 

“Do you just want to cling to me?”

 

The deliberate provocation made Dahlia glare resentfully into the darkness.

 

But she couldn’t turn back now. Even now, the metallic stench of blood and the putrid smell of festering wounds hung thick in the air.

 

Dahlia stepped closer to the iron bars and spoke to Hissin.

 

“Come closer.”

 

“I told you to leave.”

 

“Then, like last time, I’ll keep cutting myself until you drink my blood.”

 

Dahlia pulled out a dagger she had brought with her. Hearing the sharp scrape of metal, someone behind the iron bars muttered a low curse.

 

Just as she was about to drag the blade across her palm, convinced this was the only way—

 

“Of course, you wouldn’t listen.”

 

A hand shot out between the bars, seizing her wrist in an iron grip. The dagger clattered to the ground with a sharp ring.

 

“So this is what it’s come to.”

 

Behind the beast-like growl of his voice, something hot and wet brushed against her fingers. Before she could even register that it was Hissin’s tongue, a dull pain pierced her skin.

 

“Ah—!”

 

Blood, hot and thick, welled up from the wound left by his fangs. Hissin slowly ran his tongue over it, lapping up the crimson droplets.

 

In the darkness, the obscene sound of him sucking at her fingers echoed unnervingly. He licked and licked, as if unwilling to waste even a single drop.

 

The cut wasn’t deep—it shouldn’t have bled much. Yet Hissin kept licking, over and over, until the wound closed.

 

Just as the sting in her fingertip finally faded—

 

“…!”

 

A sharp pain shot through her ankle, followed by countless others, large and small, erupting across her body.

 

The price of blood—the spreading curse had begun.

 

Dahlia staggered, unable to bear the agony. 

 

Hissin swiftly reached out, his arm wrapping around her waist to steady her. His grip was firm, almost angry—or maybe desperate.

 

His breath brushed close to her lips.

 

“Since you recklessly shed blood again, I suppose you need my body now.”

 

It should have been mocking. A taunt for her foolish choice.

 

“Tell me where it hurts.”

 

So why did his voice sound so guilty?

 

“Anywhere. I’ll lick it clean for you, like a dog.”

 

“Hah—!”

 

With that, Hissin pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. Then, an uncontrollable, scorching heat swallowed her whole.