DL chapter 1: A Pitiful Princess (1)
What is the most terrifying thing?
Is it disappointing people?
Is it being called incompetent?
Is it that her father shakes his head in disappointment when he sees her?
Is it people mocking her, reminiscing about past glories?
All of those are frightening, but Marian Cromwell Goddarm thought that the most terrifying thing is when a loved one sees her as pitiful.
“You said you weren’t feeling well.”
“……Yeah.”
David quietly looked down at her. His gray-blue eyes were deep, like a cave that revealed nothing, and Marian felt suffocated by the pressure just from his gaze.
Ordinary people would likely feel tense just knowing his position. But she wasn’t an ordinary person—she was his wife.
“You’re saying you’re unwell?”
“My head has been hurting.”
“……..”
“My knee is also injured.”
“Is that so.”
His tone was unusual, unclear, and evasive, as if he couldn’t quite believe her.
‘It really hurts…’
Marian felt hurt by his reaction but quickly shook her head. She shouldn’t be upset. After all, she looked perfectly fine outwardly. He’d be able to tell if she lifted her skirt.
She thought about lifting her skirt to show him the bruised knee, but then shook her head again. If he saw it, he would ask how it happened, and answering would lead to more conflict.
‘It’s fine. I just have to endure.’
Marian kept repeating a phrase she had thought of most frequently in the past few years.
“I’ll have a doctor sent to you.”
“……Thank you.”
“But you’ll need to leave tomorrow.”
“That soon?”
She jolted in surprise and looked up, their eyes meeting briefly. His gray eyes met hers, and she flinched. She had always thought his eyes were striking—like a winter forest blanketed in snow. They were mesmerizingly beautiful and pristine, but devoid of any warmth.
‘Cold…’
It hadn’t always been like this. Before she disappointed him again and again, he had always looked at her with warmth. ‘Princess’, his once tender voice floated in her mind like smoke.
“Princess.”
Marian’s fingers curled inwards, as if cast aside in the depths of winter. The same familiar title now felt painfully distant from the past. Her slightly plump, graceful lips remained unchanged, but the monotonous voice and the brief, stifled silence that followed made her lower her gaze.
“Gloria Abbey has strict rules. For a princess to be here is a privilege not usually extended to common residents.”
Privilege, privilege.
Her throat was full of things she wanted to say, but she couldn’t figure out what to say first. She didn’t even know what she was capable of saying anymore. Too many thoughts crowded her mind, and as a result, she forgot the very things she needed to do.
“……I know.”
“…….”
“I’m leaving, David.”
She gave a weak smile.
“I never thought staying in the Duke’s household would trouble you so much.”
David’s expressionless brow furrowed slightly at her words.
“That’s a bit harsh to hear.”
“…….”
“It’s not about me being troubled. It’s about you being troubled.”
Marian shivered, her shoulders trembling. Had the window been opened? The air felt cold, pressing against her skin like iron.
“I’ve told you several times already. Stop worrying about others. Are you really in a position to think about others now, Princess?”
A suffocating silence settled, pressing down as if the room was being crushed by steel. She desperately fought back tears that welled up in her eyes.
“Princess.”
“I’m sorry.”
“……Ha.”
Marian couldn’t lift her gaze. Looking at his face would make it impossible to hold back her tears. He no longer trusted her, cared for her like before, but she didn’t want to disappoint him further by showing weakness. Yet, it seemed it was already too late.
“Really, nothing ever changes.”
His voice, colder than before, signaled the end of their conversation.
“I’ll send a doctor to you. Make sure you receive all necessary treatment before returning to the Abbey.”
Before leaving the room, his parting words caused her to break down into tears. The clear message—that she needed to get treated and disappear quickly—stung deeply.
As tears fell, her head throbbed violently. The cold night at the Abbey, untouched by fire, brought with it headaches and exhaustion. Her entire body felt chilled, and the bruised knee she could not avoid recalling throbbed mercilessly, reminding her not to forget.
“Being ill makes everything so sad,” she thought.
That’s why it hurts like this.
That’s why her heart is so heavy.
Marian buried her face in her palms, swallowing her cries. The effort to keep silent only allowed her tears to flow quietly, soaking her hands thoroughly.
She didn’t blame anyone.
She kept trying not to.
Not the nuns who tormented her, not the residents who avoided her because of her privilege, not her father who showed no interest in her after marrying her off to the heir of the Cromwell family as if fulfilling a bare minimum duty, not her stepmother or half-brother who always seemed on her side but now treated her like a burden, and not even David, her husband, who once swore to stand by her but now distanced himself.
No, not even her husband.
Let’s not hate.
Let’s not hate.
“God does not give trials that one cannot endure; this must be a burden I can bear.”
After whispering that several times, like a lie, hatred and sorrow began to fade. She finally managed to smile faintly, as if relieved. Her tear-streaked face radiated softly, even under the dim light of a candle.
Though no one was watching, Marian smiled. She believed her mother and younger brother, who were in heaven, were watching her and wiping her tears.
She pulled out a handkerchief that had turned dull and worn from constant use in the Abbey, and carefully wiped her face. Gloria Abbey didn’t permit the use of expensive items, but her handkerchief had always been worn and thus wasn’t considered an issue. It had always been a cheap item—when she first received it, she was crying.
At the Howell Monastery, which was called God’s cradle, she had studied with other nuns. One day, the puppy they raised together, Al, died. Losing a cherished life was something she had never experienced before. David had paid for the handkerchief to comfort her after seeing her weep all day.
“Princess, don’t cry. Al is watching over you with God.”
“…….”
“So please, wipe away your tears. Unless you want to make me sad too.”
Marian smiled softly as she looked at the handkerchief stained with her tears. Remembering those warm memories lifted her spirits, as if the heavy darkness in her heart had lifted.
Although their relationship now felt like a cold and impassable fortress, someday it would crumble. For God had shaped all humans with love.
All humans carry love within them, and therefore, eternal hatred does not exist. Beware of Satan, children of the Lord. They spread a hatred difficult to erase from our hearts.
Marian recalled the words of Saint Dominic, the former Pope, who had long since passed into the Lord’s embrace.
David was the son of God’s love. He had done no wrong. If she could stop disappointing him, perhaps their relationship could return to the warmth of old.
Yes, if she could stop disappointing him…
“Princess.”
At the soft knock, Marian beckoned them in. A young maid with healthy brown hair, dotted with freckles like sesame seeds on a golden pastry, entered. Her kind face paused briefly when she saw Marian’s flushed face, then she placed a tray beside the desk. She offered a steaming cup of milk tea filled with honey.
“Here, I brought you milk tea with lots of honey.”
“Margaret.”
Marian wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Even though the handkerchief had absorbed her tears, she still worried that a trace of moisture might remain.
Margaret, who had been her devoted maid ever since Marian arrived at Cromwell’s house with no proper attendants, pretended not to notice her red eyes. The steaming cup held in Marian’s hands carried a rich, sweet aroma, as comforting as the thoughts of her caring maid.
