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Cesare's voice sounded strangely irritated.
*‘Could it be that today, for the first time in my life, I'll get it from him?’* Eileen answered dejectedly:
"No..."
She shriveled and slightly pulled away.
Then Cesare reached out and touched her eye.
"So, the wife of Baron Elrod?"
Eileen could neither agree with nor refute his words.
In fact, she knew: Mother had loved her, but the Prince—even more strongly.
Between maternal love and her feelings for the Prince lay an abyss that only grew, giving no hope for closure.
When this gap crossed some boundary, Mother had changed.
She herself understood she was behaving abnormally and tried with all her might to take herself in hand.
But she only had to lose it once—and she could no longer stop.
For the first time it happened when Eileen was twelve.
A few days after she’d been kidnapped and Cesare had rescued and returned her home.
Mother heard some talk, after which she’d whipped her.
"Because of you... just because of one such as you!.."
Then too she’d first shouted for Eileen not to look at her with such disgusting eyes.
When Mother's anger receded, they’d hugged and cried together.
Mother asked forgiveness, and Eileen felt her shins, broken to blood, burning.
From that day Mother could no longer restrain sudden flashes of rage.
She’d tried to stick scissors in her eyes, took out on Eileen the anger received from her father.
But not always.
There were warm moments, and joyful ones.
Memories of how they’d cooked and washed dishes together, laughing.
How they’d woven bracelets from wildflowers Eileen had plucked.
How Mother had tenderly stroked her head before sleep...
If even so she could receive at least a grain of maternal love...
If it were only the remains of feelings intended for the Prince—but if Mother showed at least a bit of tenderness...
Eileen was ready to endure everything.
Squeezing her lips at memories of her mother, she noticed Cesare slightly frowning.
He pressed a finger to her bitten lips and said:
"Your mother is not the only person in the world."
"But she wouldn't have said such a thing without reason..."
"So I have no reason?"
"A-ah, no, I didn't mean... of course, Your Highness, that is...
Cesare..."
The more she spoke, the deeper she dug herself in.
Eileen chose a saving phrase: "Forgive me." She apologized not even knowing for what.
But Cesare was not so simple.
"Why?"
The short question made her think again.
In the end she gave the most neutral answer: "Because, it seems, you got angry because of me..."
"At you?" Cesare asked with a note of disbelief, as if the thought itself seemed absurd to him.
He smirked and pinched Eileen's cheek.
She, feeling guilty, didn't even squeak with pain and submissively offered the second cheek.
Fortunately, Cesare let her go almost at once.
While Eileen rubbed the reddened skin, he murmured: "One cannot pull the dead from the grave."
"What?" Not having heard, she asked again, but Cesare only raised her, saying it was trifles.
"Time to go home."
Already?
Time had flown by too quickly.
Eileen knew she had to go so as not to hinder him, but she so didn't want to...
She dreamed of spending at least a little more time with him.
While she lingered, he offered another option:
"Or stay the night."
"I-I'll go home!
You're busy after all!" The answer jumped out itself, although just a minute ago words hadn't come.
Cesare calmly led her to the door.
At first she thought he was just seeing her out, but no.
He opened the door of the waiting car, sat Eileen inside, and sat at the wheel himself.
"You... are going too?" Cesare, seeing her eyes round from surprise, smirked crookedly: "And you wanted to go alone?" Mimicking her intonation, he started the engine and said: "A husband will see you off."