The faint crackle of the fireplace reached my ears, along with the low murmur of voices. My body felt heavy, pinned by the weight of fever, but my mind caught fragments of the conversation nearby.

“Mary said you knew nothing about Frey being pregnant before she left,” my father’s voice came first—controlled, but the anger still threaded through it like a drawn blade.

There was a pause. Then Sabatain’s voice, quiet and strained. “I did not…” His tone wavered with guilt and something deeper—sorrow. “I accept whatever punishment befalls Mary.”

Why is he accepting Mary’s punishment? What does he have to do with Mary’s omitted secret?

My dad’s sigh came slow and sharp, cutting through the silence. “Your love for your wife is stronger than your loyalty to me.”

“I am accepting her punishment as her husband,” Sabatain replied, steady but low. I could almost picture him bowing his head. “And I understand why she kept the secret. We both know why.”

They're married! Didn’t see that coming. So Mary didn’t tell her husband sabatain about mom’s secret pregnancy? If I was in Mary's shoes I'm telling my husband.

The pause that followed was long and heavy. I could hear the faint sound of fabric shifting—perhaps my father pacing near the foot of my bed.

“She kept the pregnancy to herself for months,” he bit back, voice trembling—not just with fury, but with pain.

A deep silence followed. My heart thudded weakly beneath the blanket, my breath shallow. Every word felt like it pressed against my fevered mind, each truth cutting deeper than the last.

Months!? I wish I had the strength to get up. To engage.

I felt a hand graze over my face, the touch cool against the lingering heat of my fever. The gentle motion steadied my breathing, and through the haze, I recognized my father’s voice.

“Mary chose her master’s loyalty… her peace,” he began, his tone deep and weary. “She chose her friend who was in pain.”

A pause. Then his voice softened. “Rena’s fever seems to be dropping.”

Don’t change the subject. I need to know.

“That’s great news, sir,” Sabatain replied, his tone careful, respectful. “May I add something?”

“Go ahead,” my father uttered, the words more command than permission.

Sabatain exhaled quietly before speaking. “Mary said if she had told me… I would have informed you. And she’s right. So she chose her master.” His voice trembled with guilt, every word heavy with regret.

My dad’s silence stretched until it felt suffocating. Then, finally, he spoke—cold, deliberate. “She did indeed. Frey was already suffering in health, and she was enduring a child at the same time. Then she disappears with that child… to a secluded location.”

His tone faltered briefly, only for sorrow to twist into anger. “My child grew up away from the world—away from me. She buried her own mother alone.”

Like a caged bird, if i get an opinion to add to the pot. She grew up like a free bubble kid. The only good thing she saw was from within her bubble.

He drew in a shaky breath, the sound raw. “Mary’s choice is just as reckless, selfish, and irresponsible as Frey’s.” His voice dropped, almost breaking. “And to add… kidnapping the duke’s heir,” he spat bitterly, though the pain beneath it was unmistakable.

Silence filled the room. I could hear the faint rustle of fabric, the sound of someone turning away. Then a deep, tired sigh.

“Execution,” he said finally, the word falling heavy as stone.

That took an extreme turn. Was it irresponsible, yes. Does that cause death? I’m not sure. Am I upset that she kept this secret, yes. But not as strong as him.

“I understand,” Sabatain whispered back, voice hollow.

Wait! So is he going to die in Mary's place? Dad’s surely just going through his emotions. He’s not going to execute sabastian.

The room grew still again—so still I could hear the faint rhythm of my own heart. My fevered body trembled, and tears pricked the corners of my closed eyes. The truth was out. When I woke, the world was quiet except for the steady ticking of the clock and the soft rustle of curtains moving in the breeze. My head felt heavy, but the fever’s grip had loosened. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the dim light.

My father sat beside the bed, his expression unreadable but weary.

“Here,” he said gently, handing me a cool glass of herby water—the kind I’d grown accustomed to drinking.

I took it with trembling hands, the chill biting against my palms. Slowly, I drank, the familiar taste grounding me back in the moment. When I finished, I set the glass on the stand beside me.

“Are you really going to execute Mary?” I asked, my voice hoarse but steady enough to sting the air between us.

His eyes flickered—pain, restraint, and exhaustion blending together.

“I want the truth too,” I added, my voice cracking despite my will to sound strong.

My head is throbbing. Is this also a part of this mana fever? 

He leaned back in the chair, elbows resting on his knees, gaze falling somewhere distant. “We do not know the true reason why she left…” he began slowly, as though the words themselves hurt to speak.

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Listen… There were many who did not want Frey to have my children. And there were even fewer who did. We often feared the ones that did.” His tone grew darker, quieter. “She was under pressure… constant pressure. And carrying children was…” He hesitated, his throat tightening. “…difficult.”

The silence that followed was fragile, like the calm after a storm. I could see the weight of memory in his eyes—remorse, regret, and something he wasn’t ready to name.

Were there other children before me? Was Rena not meant to be the only child? The obstacles they must have gone through. 

“I can understand,” dad began after a long silence, his voice carrying both weariness and sorrow. “She withheld the information—even from me—for protection. A… genuine desire for you to have a long, happy life.” He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “And I bet she spent those years with you, making sure they had bliss. But…” His tone hardened slightly, though pain lingered beneath. “It still doesn’t excuse selfishness.”

I agree. Mom should have gone to you to figure something out together. To try to solve the problem together. Instead she tackled that challenge on her own.

I looked down at my hands, then back up at him. “I just don’t think someone needs to die for Mom’s actions. She’s not even here—but I know she would agree.”

I know mom would whole heartedly take full responsibility and not have Mary or anyone’s head on the chopping block for her decisions.

He nodded quietly, his gaze distant again, heavy with longing and regret. I reached out, resting my hand gently on top of his head until his eyes lifted to meet mine.

“I’m glad you’re my Dad,” I whispered. He reminds me a bit of my old dad. Maybe that's why I'm as comfortable with him as my dad.

His expression softened—his eyes lowering, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you,” he said, voice warm and steady. “ I am glad you are my daughter.”

A small smile crept onto my face. “And… I agree. Mom’s choice was selfish and irresponsible. She should’ve figured something out with you.”

My words slurred slightly as a yawn escaped me. My eyelids grew heavy, but I still managed a sleepy grin. “Besides, Dad… Mary was just trying to keep a promise—to protect Mom. And I’m here now…” I mumbled, already half drifting into dreams.

At the end of the day this was all Mom’s fault. We are all playing to the scheme she created, and she’s not even here to fix it…. To explain…