Acidity of Regret Ch 64
- Jan 20
- 6 min read
The Grand Duke wore a wide smile as he reached out to stroke Hayden’s hair. He looked like a father beaming with pride for his beloved son.
He had never touched his own son that way.
Declan had long known that his father favored the Empress’s child. Once, while visiting the study, he had seen a list of gifts on the desk. At the time, he had entertained a foolish hope that they might be for him. He had been so desperate for affection that he let himself dream.
But he had later overheard a conversation with an aide. Every single gift was for the Crown Prince in the capital. His father’s devotion to either the Empress or her son was so profound it bordered on obsession.
[Declan] "..."
Even though he knew the truth, his chest tightened with a sharp ache. A dark emotion coiled within him like a serpent, rising like bitter venom. Seeing the person who possessed everything he lacked, he could finally give that feeling a name.
Inferiority. Jealousy.
He was jealous of the Crown Prince for receiving the love that should have been his. It was a wretched, ugly feeling.
Hayden appeared perfect—friendly, bright, and without a single flaw. It seemed impossible for a human to radiate such light. From the Emperor and Empress to Declan’s own father, it was as if the boy had been born with the world’s blessing.
Declan turned away, unable to watch any longer.
As he walked blindly through the palace, he caught his reflection in a window. In the glass, he saw his own face, cast in deep shadows—the complete opposite of the radiant Hayden.
If the Prince was the sun, then he was the darkness itself.
[Declan] "Ha..."
A hollow laugh escaped him. His heart sank into a pit of gloom.
That first trip to the capital was a disaster.
After the awkward introduction, Declan never met the Crown Prince again. Paralyzed by his own resentment, he stayed locked in his room until it was time to leave. His father, having achieved his goal of presenting his son at court, never called for him. The neglect only deepened Declan’s despair.
By the time they left the capital, the relief he had felt upon leaving the Duchy was gone. His heart felt as heavy as sodden wool. Alongside his bitter jealousy, a new worry began to gnaw at him: his mother.
As they drew closer to the Vinkart estate, his anxiety reached its peak.
[Butler] "Welcome back, My Lord."
Among the servants waiting to greet them, the Duchess was nowhere to be seen.
[Declan] "Where is my mother?"
He asked the question the moment he dismounted. The butler took the reins and bowed.
[Butler] "She is in her bedroom, Young Lord."
[Declan] "Has anything happened while we were away?"
[Butler] "No, sir."
Declan felt a momentary sense of relief. If there had been a problem, a messenger surely would have been sent.
While he stood there, the Grand Duke walked away with an aide without a single word to his son.
Throughout the journey home, Declan had hoped for an explanation or a single kind word from his father. But the man’s lips remained sealed. The smile he had given Hayden was a luxury he would never grant his own flesh and blood.
I’m a fool for hoping.
He felt pathetic for clinging to such empty dreams.
[Declan] "Is she unwell?"
He asked as he hurried toward his mother’s quarters. The butler followed closely behind, shaking his head.
[Butler] "No... In fact, she has been in better spirits these past few days."
[Declan] "Better?"
He stopped in his tracks, unable to believe it.
[Butler] "Yes. She went for walks every day and even stopped taking her sedatives."
The butler was a reliable man who managed the entire castle, yet Declan found the news impossible to swallow.
His mother—a woman so fragile and sensitive she spent every waking moment tormenting those around her—had been happy while her husband and son were gone? It didn't make sense.
He picked up his pace. He had to see it for himself.
He reached the door and knocked softly.
[Declan] "Mother."
There was no answer. He listened, but heard no movement inside. He turned the handle and pushed the door open. A sudden chill drifted out from the crack.
The room should have been warm, tended to by a dozen servants. Yet a biting cold seeped out, making his fingertips go numb.
Through the gap in the door, he saw an overturned chair. His gaze slowly traveled upward.
The door swung fully open.
The servants and the butler behind him turned pale. Their gazes converged on a single spot in the room. Some screamed; others collapsed in horror. Even the butler, a man hardened by years of service, froze in shock.
Declan only stared straight ahead.
He could not take his eyes off his mother’s body, suspended in the air by a single rope. She hung limp, the light of life already extinguished. The unnatural cold in the room seemed to radiate from her cold skin. Her dark brown hair, damp with what looked like dried tears, veiled her face.
[Duchess] “Declan, I was wrong. Please don't go. I’ll die of loneliness... please?”
Her desperate, trembling plea from the day he left echoed in his mind, shattering his composure.
He stumbled forward, his gaze shaking as he struggled to process the reality before him.
[Declan] "Mother."
His voice trembled violently.
He expected her to react. He expected her to strike him or burst into tears. He expected the usual madness. But the fragile figure hanging from the ceiling remained still. Only the terrible chill continued to grow.
He stared blankly at his mother’s body even after the servants lowered her to the ground. He remained there until the Grand Duke, having finally heard the news, arrived at the room.
[Grand Duke] "Tsk."
That was it. That was his only reaction to his wife’s death. To anyone watching, he appeared to be a man who was simply annoyed by a sudden inconvenience.
That was the moment Declan finally snapped.
[Declan] "...Just once."
His mother’s face, now visible, looked hollow and exhausted. He hadn't realized how much she had wasted away. When she was screaming and clinging to him, she hadn't looked this broken. Or perhaps she had looked this way all along, and he had been too tired to notice.
[Declan] "You could have looked at her, just once."
He hadn't expected attention for himself, but for her...
[Declan] "Just one look..."
If his father had known she was fragile enough to leave the world just because her son turned his back, he should have looked at her.
The Grand Duke paused at the doorway. But even then, he did not look back at his dead wife. He kept walking.
Perhaps there was a valley of resentment between his parents that was deeper than Declan could see. Regardless, he could never forgive his father.
In that moment, the anger that had been simmering within him merged with the guilt he felt for his mother. All of it was directed at his father.
The Grand Duke acted quickly. The death was ruled an accident—a carriage mishap involving a falling rock during a walk by the lake. He claimed that admitting she had taken her own life would tarnish her reputation.
When Declan heard the explanation, he couldn't hold back a sneer. His mother had no reputation to speak of. His father wasn't protecting the "Grand Duchess"—he was protecting the title itself. He was protecting the legacy of his ancestors.
His father hadn't spared a single thought for the woman herself. There was no grief in his actions, only the cold calculation of a man maintaining a pristine image.
The bedroom where she died was declared a forbidden zone. It remained a mess, a final testament to her rage, but Declan ordered the servants not to touch it. He didn't know why. He just felt that the room should never be disturbed again.
The months that followed were a blur.
Declan began his formal training as the heir. During that time, the blade of resentment inside him was sharpened in silence.
He met Hayden again a year later.
Declan was looking down at his palms, which were covered in calluses from constant training. When he turned his head, he saw soft, silver hair shimmering in the light.
It was Hayden de Ingzella.
[Hayden] "Hello. You’re Declan Vinkart, right?"
He wasn't surprised; he knew the Prince was at the estate for a diplomatic meeting regarding the border walls.
He stared at him for a moment, then grabbed his sword and stood up.
He tried to walk past as if no one were there, but a hand caught his shoulder.
[Hayden] "No? I’m pretty sure it’s you."
[Declan] "What do you want?"
His voice was like ice, but Hayden only smiled, seemingly oblivious to the frost in the air.
[Hayden] "We met before. Don’t you remember me?"
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