Night Monarch's Cannon Fodder Bride-Chapter 42: A Vase

Time, Severine found, was an abstract term. There was no way to measure it.

At times, she would blink, and hours would pass. Then there were moments like this—when she stared at the pristine ceiling, yet the clock refused to move.

The darkness had blanketed the earth. Through the drawn curtains, faint moonlight spilled onto the other side of the bed.

Severine placed her hand there, curling her fingers as if she were catching the silvery shine.

Catching the moonlight. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

She used to play this silly game with someone. Though the memory was hazy, she remembered it was another child.

After nightfall, they would hide together in the cupboard, sneaking away from bedtime.

Then they would try to catch those misty wisps, giggling at the meaningless game.

As she grew up, her mother’s control over her time increased. Every little minute was planned.

Soon, she had no time to hide in the cupboards.

Little Severine fell from the horse for the sixth time that day.

"Where is your mind? How can you do anything if you’re this distracted?" Isabella’s voice remained serene, but Severine caught the familiar sigh of disappointment beneath it.

Her little face scrunched up. Anger flared in her round gray eyes, and she threw the whip on the ground.

A few bits of mud instantly splashed on her uniform.

"I don’t want to! You can do it if you like it so much!"

Slap!

Nothing registered in Severine’s mind—not until her body fell into the same muddy patch as her whip.

Her cheek throbbed with pain.

Isabella’s furrowed brows and glaring eyes made her annoyance clear.

"Take her to receive the punishment," she ordered the old butler, Alfred.

Alfred looked at the little girl, still in shock from the slap, then at his mistress.

In the end, he helped Severine and led her back.

The punishment Isabella referred to was a small, metal-barred cell.

The chilly air inside smelled faintly of rust. From the outside, it looked more like a dog cage.

Severine, already used to it, stepped forward while Alfred locked the cage with a heavy key.

Unlike before, the old man didn’t leave immediately.

He crouched down, sitting on the cold floor. His brown eyes were filled with so many emotions that young Severine found it hard to decipher.

"I know you must be tired," he said while patting her head through the metal bars.

The tears she had been holding back rolled down her swollen cheek. "She isn’t like other mommies at all. Uncle Alfred, W-Why does she hate me?"

Alfred wiped her tears with his handkerchief.

"It isn’t that she hates you, young miss. She just loves you too much."

Seeing her clear disbelief, the old man let out a long sigh.

"When you liked that vase, what did you do to it?"

Severine’s wet eyelashes blinked, and a few more drops fell. "I took care of it so it wouldn’t get hurt."

"Yes," Alfred said. After wiping her face, he gave her a small bottle of juice.

Severine peeked around to make sure no one was looking before grabbing it.

If her mother knew, she would have to stay in the punishment room for another few hours.

"To your mother, you’re like that vase. She wants you to be strong—so no one can hurt you when you grow up."

Severine took a sip. A cold orange liquid left a sweet and tangy taste in her mouth.

"Hmm. I am a vase."

"Pfftt," Alfred hurriedly covered his mouth. Nonetheless, a few muffled laughs still spilled through his palm.

However, for some baffling reason, Severine found the idea of becoming a vase hilarious.

"Hahaha..." She burst out in silly giggles along with Alfred.

Children’s emotions were like that, coming and going in the blink of an eye.

After that day, Severine tried her best not to make her mother angry.

That was also the last time she was slapped.

Isabella wasn’t a violent person by nature, so such a physical response hardly ever happened again.

Now, all grown up, Severine found the explanation absurd.

In her mother’s eyes, she really was just a vase. A body that would hold the crown of Vale Enterprise. And if she failed, there was no need to care for such a useless vase anymore.

Perhaps even then, she had understood those unspoken words. Maybe that was what had driven her to learn everything her mother asked.

Her dark lashes fluttered in a slow rhythm. Then, they gradually stilled.

The medicine carried a heavy sedative.

So, it wasn’t surprising that despite sleeping for three days, she still managed to feel drowsy.

What surprised her was the ease she felt in the room—almost like her own place in Winterhall Enclave.

Before she could focus on the reason, she fell asleep. Her palm lay half open, holding the moonlight.

Triggered by her thoughts, her dreams filled with the past. They relentlessly reminded her of her failures, one by one.

Her eyes flew open, a gasp tore through her throat. Cold sweat beaded her forehead, and the intense pain rushed back to her senses.

It felt as if her body had been borrowed, used, and returned carelessly. When she willed her limbs, they refused to move.

It hurts...

"Ugh," she groaned as she curled into herself.

The effects of the medicine had worn off, leaving her to face the impact of her slow awaking in the middle of the night.

Gritting her teeth, she patted beside her. Her fingers brushed against the tiny switch on the bedside table.

"You are weak."

"Why can’t you focus on the important things?"

"Useless people are only meant to be slaves to money for the rest of their lives. Do you want to become one too?"

Her mother’s words hammered her skull, relentlessly pounding on her every nerve.

"It was your birth, young miss, that had changed the mistress. Isabella Vale was a force to be reckoned with. But after your arrival, she shifted from a business tycoon to the role of mother."

Alfred was a good butler. He never said a word against Isabella.

However, Isabella’s words had caused Severine to think of another question.

How does it feel to be so unwanted?

She hated that she knew the answer.

Why was she born again? To aid her mother? Or to follow her father’s footsteps?

Her existence, her role in this perennial cycle... everything had become unbearable, just like the pain.

Through the haze, she heard the distant footsteps rushing toward her.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Despite feeling like her limbs were being torn apart and rejoined, her senses sharpened to an alarming degree.

She could sense the presence of the housemaid Naira along with Killian.

Samuel crouched beside Dr. Edmund, demanding to know what went wrong.

I can bear it, she wanted to tell him. But her teeth were clenched too tightly, her jaw aching from the strain.

"Hurry up, bring me that suitcase," Dr. Edmund directed everyone around him.

"What happened?" Samuel asked again. "Is she alright? You said the worst time was already over."

"It was supposed to be." Dr. Edmund’s fingers nimbly inserted a new needle into her veins. Another sedative and pain reliever was administered intravenously.

Killian remained standing beside the bed. His gaze was locked onto the small figure curled under the sheets.

He silently watched as Samuel and Naira made an extra effort to straighten her. If anything went wrong, she might lose the sensation in her limbs.

Awakening...

He had taken two days to awaken, writhing in bone-crushing pain the entire time.

The sedatives had kept him in a haze that shifted from reality to dreams. If not for such strong medication, he wouldn’t have survived such misery.

Severine had initially borne it without any help. They all had assumed that after three long days, the ordeal was over.

Yet it had returned with more force.

Slowly, Severine’s struggling body went limp.

Dr. Edmund wiped the sweat from his forehead before looking at his employer.

Tsk. Look at you, so scared.

"She will be fine. Just don’t aggravate her emotions. Honestly," he pointed at Killian. "What the hell did you tell her? She was fine when I left."

Samuel recalled how Severine looked visibly annoyed after this young lord’s visit, and his suspicion grew.

I should’ve taken the boss to my home.

"... I didn’t."

Dr. Edmund snorted. "You better be. She is in a critical stage. Anything could set her off. And the more agitated she becomes, the lower her chances of survival."

With that, the old man left the room.

Naira arranged the blanket around the sleeping lady before bowing to the master of the house.

It was time to retire to her room.

Samuel wanted to stay, especially when he saw Killian standing there like a statue.

"You should go, young master," he began with a polite smile. "I’ll stay here and keep an eye on her."

All of a sudden, Killian raised his head.

Red. That was all Samuel could think about when his entire focus shifted to those bloody eyes.