Chapter 43
A Beautiful Song

When Matthias swam back and changed clothes, the sunset had deepened. Yet Layla still sat in the tree, crying. She hadn’t noticed his presence—just as before.

He stopped beneath the tree. Only after some time did Layla finally turn her head. This time, though, she didn’t flinch or avert her gaze. Nor was there fear or wariness in her face.

Puzzled, Matthias quickly realized why. Though her eyes were turned toward him, she wasn’t really seeing him. Her dazed gaze seemed fixed somewhere far away—where the doctor’s son had gone.

By the time Matthias’s lips curled into a crooked smile, Layla’s eyes regained focus. When her green eyes finally met his, they filled with confusion. Her face stiffened, her shoulders hunched. That was the Layla Llewellyn he knew.

Watching her tear-streaked face, Matthias folded his arms. It was a leisurely evening. No need to rush. And there was no reason he couldn’t wait for her. Perhaps realizing he had no intention of leaving, Layla’s eyes sharpened with open wariness. The defiance made Matthias smile.

“You know it already, Layla. He’s not coming back.”

Matthias took a step closer toward the tree where she perched.

“Kyle Etman. The boy you’re waiting for. Or… should I say, the boy who’s already left you?”

His smile never wavered, his voice low and smooth, even as the words struck cruel.

Layla gave a hollow laugh. She turned her head toward the evening sky—empty now even of birds. The swelling in her chest spilled over into hot tears trailing down her cheeks.

She bit her lips hard, refusing to answer. If she waited for this merciless man to leave, she might be trapped in the tree all night.

She climbed down the far side of the trunk, out of his sightline. Her dizziness from too many tears nearly betrayed her, but she landed without collapsing, at least sparing herself further shame.

Leaning against the trunk, she wiped her wet face with her apron. She smoothed her hair, straightened her posture. Only then did she turn back. The Duke was still blocking the path to the cottage.

Instead of fleeing around him, she walked straight toward him—step by step. Tears welled again, blurring her face, but she didn’t care. If they couldn’t be hidden, then she would face him with dignity. She would not be reduced to his plaything.

“Forgive my discourtesy. Then, good evening, Your Grace.”

She stopped two steps short, bowed deeply with perfect form. The manners nobles craved were as natural to her now as breathing.

“Layla.”

Her name halted her just as she passed. She flinched, but did not stop.

“Layla Llewellyn.”

He spoke her name like a scoff. Layla pressed forward as if deaf.

His brows twitched at the provocation. But then, as she trudged like a ghost, she suddenly collapsed. She stayed there, curled and trembling, unable to rise.

Clicking his tongue, Matthias strode over. Layla Llewellyn—the proud girl who never lost her defiant gaze even through tears—now lay broken, sobbing on the ground.

He narrowed his eyes and crouched, lifting her fallen glasses. When Layla raised her head at last, he found her tears far less amusing now.

What was this feeling? Watching her cry for Kyle Etman… it dawned late. Contempt. A sentiment he’d never known in his ordered world.

“Don’t cry.”

Matthias seized her chin, voice commanding and low. She tried to turn her head, but his grip was unyielding.

“Let me go!”

“Don’t cry.”

She struggled, but he simply repeated himself—calm, unmoved, restraining her with one hand as if she were nothing.

“If I cry, shouldn’t that delight you, Your Grace?”

Layla’s voice broke. The humiliation of being trapped in his grasp made her tears burn hotter.

“Since when have you cared whether I’m delighted?”

He laughed, though she sobbed in despair.

“You hate when I’m pleased, don’t you?”

“No.”

She shook her head weakly, fighting to steady her breath.

“Whether you’re pleased or not—it has nothing to do with me. Just as my tears have nothing to do with you.”

“What a shame, Layla. They do.”

His head tilted slightly, almost tender.

“Don’t cry.”

Back again. His face softened as if in kindness.

“Do I need your permission even to shed tears?”

Layla gave a bitter laugh.

“And if you did?”

“Why should I? You have no right.”

“No right…”

He frowned faintly, then smiled again.

“Then I’ll take it now.”

The smile vanished, leaving his face blank as still water. The sheer emptiness terrified her. Her lips trembled.

“So I can be your master.”

His fingertip brushed her lips. The touch recalled last summer, making her shudder. The burning grief of losing Kyle froze instantly into ice.

“…No.”

Unable to bear lying at his feet, Layla forced herself upright. Like a child discarding a toy, Matthias released her without effort.

She staggered to her feet in his shadow. Dirtied and tear-streaked, but her eyes burned clear again.

“I despise you, Your Grace. You, your shameless behavior despite being betrothed—all of it.”

“And?”

He toyed idly with her glasses.

“What does your heart matter to me?”

His voice held no menace.

“I want it.”

And if he wanted, he would take. That was all. Matthias von Herhardt wanted Layla Llewellyn. He would have her, and only by discarding her after could he restore his world to wholeness.

He settled the glasses gently on her stunned face.

“Go on.”

As his hand left, she collapsed again.

He stood watching her for a while, then strolled away along the riverbank as though out for a walk. Even after he disappeared, Layla sat unmoving in the dirt.

“Layla! Layla! Come here, quick!”

Back at the cottage, Bill Remmer’s voice rang out with uncharacteristic excitement.

Layla forced a smile and went to him on the porch. She knew he wouldn’t be fooled by her ruined face, but she refused to look like a weeping fool.

“What is it, Uncle?”

“A telegram. For you.”

“A telegram?”

She tilted her head as Bill handed it over. It was news of a teaching position in a village school not far from Arvis. From the new term, she would no longer need to travel to a distant town.

“They said there were no openings in Karlsbar…”

It was good news, yet Layla felt strangely dazed. Bill ruffled her hair gently.

“I didn’t like the thought of you living far away. What luck this is, Layla.”

Meeting his eyes full of relief, she nodded and smiled. He was right—it was fortune. Even though she had planned to lodge in the neighboring town and return on weekends, the thought had left her hollow.

But…

The Duke’s face haunted her. She couldn’t rejoice. She didn’t want to leave Bill, yet she longed to escape Matthias. Such foolishness.

“Something’s wrong, Layla?”

Bill asked carefully. Only then did she realize her face was stiff.

“No.”

She smiled again, bathed in moonlight.

“It’s just… unexpected good luck. I’m still a bit stunned.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

Her smile brightened.

“You must be hungry. Let’s have a good dinner, Uncle.”

The bedroom curtain billowed in the night breeze, then fell still again. The piano piece playing softly echoed the same rhythm—intricate, delicate, almost neurotic in its brilliance.

Matthias lounged in a chair by the window, scissors and a handkerchief in hand. At a snap of his fingers, a canary fluttered down to perch on him.

It sang, trained to perfection, its voice more beautiful each time. Matthias smiled, watching the small feathered body tilt and sway as if in thought.

When the clear song ended, he gently wrapped the bird in the handkerchief.

Trainers blindfolded birds before clipping their wings—so they wouldn’t know who had done it. Otherwise they might grow fearful of the hand that cut them.

Matthias spread the wings with practiced ease.

At first, he had trimmed them too short, drawing blood. The sight of golden feathers stained with red had displeased him, so he grew more careful.

Confirming the feathers to be cut, he lifted the scissors. The sharp blades snipped cleanly, and the discarded plumes fluttered down, settling on his polished shoes.

He clipped the other wing as well, then removed the cloth. The canary fluttered, perched on his finger once more.

And as if nothing had happened, it sang again.

A beautiful song.