Hughesin raced to the unconscious Fantasia. A gash was found on her neck when he knelt beside her. A long one that ran down from her right ear all the way down to her throat. The lethality of such a wound was not lost on Hughesin. As a veteran of the battlefield, he was acutely aware that Fantasia would succumb to her wound if left untreated. But a common priest wouldn’t have the ability to treat her. And neither did he want any inferior priest practicing their immature arts on this beautiful young lady.

One person popped into Hughesin’s mind. He had no other choice but to rely on 

that

 person, whether he liked it or not. It pained him to think that he’d have to ask them for help, but it couldn’t be helped if he didn’t want lady Fantasia to die. The person would be a pain to deal with, but it’d also save him just as much pain if he asked. 

A can of worms, that was the situation. This person was most definitely capable of solving his problems, but this person was also a huge problem Hughesin had yet to solve. He never felt respected as a powerful commander nor a mature adult in the eyes of that person. He was eternally viewed as a child that required supervision. 

That was why Hughesin never wanted to bother with this person. They were the very last person he wanted to let know the existence of Fantasia. But he had to. Not unless he wanted the beautiful young lady in front of him to die.

“Has my mother retired for the night yet?” His voice boomed across the grounds. “Call for her maids. Have them escort her to the drawing room if she’s awake. Say that a patient requires her services.”

“Say the patient is me, if she asks.” He added. “That’ll smooth things over.”

The servants didn’t move. They were still in shock. 

“Hurry!” Hughesin roared.

Several servants fell to their feet at his outburst. Again, this red-eyed master was a new sight for them. A response was stammered out before they scampered off, but not before hearing one last remark from their master:

“Should your dilly-dallying cost this young lady of her life, then I’ll have your tendons cut and your flesh flayed!” 

An effective threat. Every servant in earshot ran off as quickly as they could, convinced that this was no idle threat. They all served under the same master for far too long to not know that. Hopefully the madame would still be awake.

Left alone with Fantasia, Hughesin picked her up and headed back inside. Kicking off the glass-littered ground, he leaped through the window and back into the manor.

Several of his servants were already there, pushing cushions together to form a makeshift bed for Fantasia to rest upon. A maid was arranging several goose-feather blankets on the bed for added comfort. Gingerly, Hughesin laid Fantasia on top of it and stepped back for another servant to press several towels against her wound. 

Hughesin was knowledgeable about emergency medical aid in wartime, but professional help was best left to the specialists. And he was no specialist. So he stepped back. The towels would suffice in staunching the blood flow for now, but something still had to be done about the underlying wound. Aid must be administered by a specialist rather than a layman with no medical knowledge whatsoever. All Hughesin could really do was pray to the deities above for time to be granted to this young lady until his mother could arrive.

It was often said that a prayer made in earnest would have the greatest chance of being heard. And heard his prayer was; the rapid shuffling of footsteps could be heard from above as the head butler came shambling down the steps with Hughesin’s mother in tow. 

To the servants of his manor, Hughesin was a powerful master and commander. To the border territories, he was a powerful duke and a leader of the aristocracy. To the emperor, he was a formidable envoy of the outer regions. To the Moderates, he was known as the premier pillar amongst the Hardliners. 

But to his mother, he was the child that never quite grew up.

The scene developed as Hughesin expected. His mother’s eyes were only on Hughesin when she entered the room. Her eyes were scouring his body from head to toe in search of a wound that didn’t exist despite how many times she looked.

And that soured Hughesin’s mood. Any other healer would’ve known who the real patient was the moment they stepped into the room.

He bit back his complaints. “Mother, I apologize for waking you at this late hour, but I fear we are pressed for time. A dear friend of mine has suffered a grievous wound only you can treat. Please take a look and see what can be done.”

Duchess Saludy, the mother of Hughesin, noticed the pale-faced patient on the bed then. A quick look-over told her that this person had already lost a tremendous amount of blood.

Nervous, Hughesin watched as his mother stared at Fantasia. Was she sizing Fantasia up as a patient or a potential daughter-in-law? 

“My dearest child, I applaud your choice of woman this time. She is of better stock than the other women you tend to bring home. I can rest assured if you choose to marry her, now tell me—of which house is she from?” Came a cheerful answer.

“Mother,” He spluttered, aghast. How could he have a mother whose priorities were so seemingly different from his own? “I implore you, she has not a second left to waste.”

His response brought a smile to the duchess’ lips. It appeared that her son was quite smitten with this one rather than the many other young ladies he played around with before. Yes, Saludy smiled, she was quite satisfied with the young lady in front of her as well. 

“Worry not, my dearest son. Your sweetheart will be fine.” She crooned before stepping toward Fantasia.

Humming, the duchess brought her palms forward. Her hands began to glow with a resplendent light, lighting up a mark that symbolized the benevolent Goddess of Life, Cirine Sylneia.

Saludy pressed her palm against the wound and had her magic start to heal it. By her power, the flesh began to knit together at an accelerated pace. Soon enough, the wound was gone. A pink line over her skin was all that was left of it.

Hughesin pressed his finger gently against the scar, his expression masking his emotions.

“Worry not, my son.” The mother comforted him, “The scar will fade away. I promise you, your sweetheart will be unblemished.”

Hughesin returned her words with a pained smile. Where was he to begin explaining the complicated relationship between him and Fantasia? That the latter was the self-proclaimed niece of his political enemy, Kebrilio? That she was some sort of special member from the Sovereignians, as reported by Somiret? That he only planned on having his fun with the girl before throwing her to Somiret or the Sovereignians to deal with before cutting all ties with her?

Multiple questions whizzed past his head. Where should he even begin? His mother was one thing, but he didn’t even know what he should tell himself. Why was he so upset about this entire situation? Why was he so panicked to see Fantasia hurt? Why he was just a tad bit happy to hear his mother’s acknowledgement of her? Why he was worrying so much about everything. Why...

The duchess, as expected from a mother, saw the confusion on her son’s face. “Why don’t you explain the situation, my son? I am quite curious.”

　　※※※

Hughesin was still at a loss on how to best respond to the question. It took him a long time before his mind could come up with a suitable start: how Fantasia was linked to Sovereign. He also decided to divulge Somiret’s suspicions about her as well.

“She is the niece of master Kebrilio. Her name is Fantasia…”