The Devil's Betrothed
Chapter 493: Witch’s Memories

Chapter 493: Witch’s Memories

(Flashback)

That morning, upon awakening, Oriana found herself nestled in the warmth of her bed, but she recalled last she was by her grandpa’s side. Without lingering on the memory, she gracefully rose from her slumber, refraining from summoning her attendants.

After freshening up, she emerged from her chamber, only to be greeted by a cadre of servants patiently awaiting her presence outside of her chamber. Their countenances bore expressions of relief, and smiles adorned their lips. Finally the Crown Princess was awake and they could prepare her for the wedding.

"Good morning, Your Highness," they chorused in unison.

Ana, eager to speak, was halted by Oriana’s raised hand. Undeterred, Oriana proceeded downstairs, intent on reaching her grandfather. The entrance to Philip’s room closed promptly upon her arrival, leaving Ana and the other attendants perplexed outside. The Crown Princess was clearly not in a favorable mood, and they dared not disturb her.

Following Erich’s instructions, Oriana prepared the prescribed medicine for the ailing man. Once administered, she seated herself on the floor beside the bed, tenderly grasping her grandfather’s hand. With eyes glistening, she gazed upon his frail and pallid countenance, a poignant moment hanging in the air.

"Grandpa, what am I supposed to do?" Oriana whispered in a fragile voice. "Since I killed that witch, fragments of her memories keep haunting me, revealing the past she witnessed. In those memories, I saw..." She suddenly felt a lump in her throat. "...I saw you kill the Queen. You regretted your actions, but why would you do such a thing?" Tears streamed down her face as she wept silently.

At that moment, a tall figure, who had silently appeared inside the room a while ago, approached her and knelt beside her.

Sensing another presence, Oriana opened her teary eyes and turned her face to see the newcomer.

The silver-haired man offered her a compassionate smile. "You seem troubled."

She nodded quickly, and tears gushed out of her reddened eyes intensely.

"Care to accompany me somewhere?" Yorian offered, attempting to wipe away her tears.

"W-Where?"

"Somewhere you might find solace," he replied, extending his hand.

Yorian assisted her in standing, and in the blink of an eye, they vanished from the room. Moments later, they materialized on the grounds of a stately mansion, impeccably maintained but conspicuously devoid of any signs of life in the vicinity.

"What is this place?" she inquired, sensing an inexplicable connection to the surroundings.

"Your family residence," Yorian responded, prompting Oriana to recoil in astonishment and turn to face him.

"Lord Philip Verner’s residence, where you were born," Yorian clarified.

Oriana felt a weight on her heart, grappling with the tumult of emotions. Her gaze wandered, eventually fixating on the grand mansion that stood at the heart of an expansive estate, encircled by towering compound walls.

As Yorian spoke, Oriana moved toward the main building. "This residence has been under King Ailwin’s care since your grandfather left with you. Only a handful of guards stationed at the main gate are allowed access, along with a few servants who clean it once a month—strictly forbidden from altering anything. Perhaps King Ailwin preserved it as it stood, confident in eventually finding both you and your grandfather."

Oriana absorbed the information, grappling with mixed emotions. Should she feel gratitude toward the king? But why? This place held no memories for her, let alone any emotional attachments. Undeterred, she entered the grand foyer, adorned with beautiful paintings that hinted at her grandfather’s fondness for art.

Navigating through the mansion, she discovered the path leading to her grandfather’s room. It bore the unmistakable mark of a man, the master of this grand estate.

The room, though simple, exuded majesty, a testament to refined aesthetics. Paintings and lamps adorned the walls, while a few vases added subtle elegance. The subdued ambiance resonated with the taste of a person steeped in nobility—a manifestation of the room’s distinguished owner, a curator of enduring aesthetics.

Her grandfather, who had led the life of a mercenary, engaging in menial tasks to scrape together a living, could scarcely fathom that the manor’s previous owner had lived in opulence. What compelled him to make such a daunting decision, upending their lives? Why would one willingly forsake luxury, subjecting themselves and their loved ones to the hardships of poverty?

The tears, momentarily quelled, surged forth once more. "Lord Yorian... you know... my grandpa..." She faltered, unable to articulate the profound transgression committed by her family.

Yorian approached her, stating, "I know. I overheard your conversation in your grandfather’s chamber."

With teary eyes, she met his gaze. "What should I do now? Everything I believed has proven to be wrong. I feel like I’ve lost everything."

Yorian gently wiped away her tears as he drew closer. Oriana, overcome by her emotions, yielded to the catharsis. She needed someone to lean on, to share her worries and confusion, and as always, Yorian stood steadfast by her side.

Taking solace in his embrace, she continued to weep. "My grandpa is a murderer... He truly killed his mother... He didn’t even try to save her life... He is indeed a murderer... Why would he do such a thing?"

All the beliefs that had fueled her courage to fight for justice were now shattered. Yet, he was her grandfather, her sole family, the one who had raised her with love and care. How could she bring herself to harbor hatred for him, especially when he lay between life and death?

Yorian continued to tenderly caress the back of her head while holding her in a gentle embrace. He inquired, "Did you discover the reason behind his actions?"

Oriana stifled her sobs against his chest and replied, "No. It’s from the witch’s memory, so I only saw what she saw."

"Hmm, how did he seem after committing the deed?"

"He fled immediately. I witnessed him removing the cloth from its place, his expressions fraught with regret and fear, as if grappling with the weight of his actions."

"Perhaps he didn’t intend to do it?" Yorian suggested.

"But that doesn’t change the fact that he did," she said, tears streaming down her face.

"We can delve into this later. For now, let’s wait for your grandfather to wake up," Yorian advised. "Aren’t you curious to learn about your mother?"