"Call me Grandma, my dear," she said.
The words startled me more than the trembling earth had when her fist shook the room earlier. Her voice carried none of the distant frost I had always associated with her. It was soft, almost playful, the sort of tone that belongs in kitchens and gardens, not in gilded halls. And she was insistent about it, so insistent that I—Josephine, who had never been allowed to cling to anyone—simply nodded and obeyed.
Grandma.
It felt strange on my tongue. But not wrong.
We sat together then, speaking not as duchess and granddaughter, not as warlord and cursed child, but as two women who had been denied each other for far too long. The words came haltingly at first, awkward like a song with missing notes. Yet the longer we spoke, the more it seemed that silence had been waiting only for this: to be broken.
I told her everything. How, from the moment I could walk, I was measured, weighed, and found wanting. How Adele took the spotlight, dazzling the family with her gifts, while I stood in shadow, clutching at scraps of attention. How my efforts, my years of desperate striving, only earned me a place in the spare mansion—out of sight, out of mind.
Angelica held my hand through it all. Her grip was firm, a soldier's grip, but warm. Every time my voice faltered, she squeezed tighter, grounding me as though daring the memories themselves to let me fall.
When I finished, she clenched her fist so hard the air itself seemed to shudder. The entire room trembled with her restrained fury. For a moment, the warlord of old glared through her weary frame. "That damned son of mine…" she hissed, her voice low and trembling. "Even if I did not raise him right—how could he do this to his own daughter?"
Her eyes, sharp and storm-bright, turned solemn. "And worse," she muttered, "he has the gall to flaunt his illegitimate child. That child is praised and cherished more than you. And the Konrow Duchy—what is it doing? Standing idle, nodding along, while you are cast aside?"
Her words carried the bitterness of decades, and for once, that bitterness was not aimed at me.
I opened my mouth to reply, but she caught herself, and her face softened into something achingly maternal. "But… I am powerless. As you know, the curse of the former monarch still binds me. I cannot raise my hand, even when my heart burns to." She lowered her gaze, her voice breaking. "If only I had freedom… I would have raised you myself."
I smiled weakly, though tears blurred my sight again. For the very first time in my life, someone from my family was not speaking to me as a burden, not as an obstacle, but as someone worth loving.
"Don't cry again, granddaughter," Angelica murmured, cupping my cheeks. Her thumbs brushed away tears with surprising gentleness. "Grandma is here now. Grandma will always be here to listen."
Something inside me, something that had been coiled in loneliness for years, finally unraveled. I broke down again, not in rage this time, but in the desperate relief of a child who had found a hand in the dark. I clung to her dress tightly, crying into her shoulder as if I could bury all my years of pain there.
And she—she held me. Angelica von Konrow, warlord of the empire, terror of nations, held me like I was the most fragile treasure in her keeping.
"Why… why didn't you show up sooner?" I sobbed. The words came not as accusation, but as lament, the voice of every younger version of me who had longed for this.
Her eyes softened, and her own tears glimmered anew. "I know. I know, my dear. Please, forgive me…"
The years of absence, of silence, hung heavy between us. Yet in that moment, we were not duchess and heir, but grandmother and granddaughter, crying into each other's arms like the world could wait.
At last, after what felt like hours, the tears slowed. Our eyes were red, swollen, and sore. My throat burned, my chest ached, but for the first time, I felt lighter.
I wiped my cheeks, and with trembling hands I summoned divine power to heal the swelling. A soft glow smoothed my skin, the sting of tears fading into calm.
Angelica blinked in astonishment. "You… used divine arts? On me?"
"Of course," I whispered. "It would be unfair if I looked fine while you still bore the marks."
"You're quite mischievous, my grandchild," Angelica said, her voice carrying that rare softness, "hiding your power like that."
Josephine smirked, leaning her head against her grandmother's shoulder. "Well… I'm not particularly fond of attention. For their sake, it's better if they don't know."
Angelica only looked at her more gently. "You are a good child, deep inside. I've heard the rumors—that you bullied your half-sister. But seeing you now… I think I find it justifiable."
Josephine pouted, her lips pressing together like a sulking child. "That's not how it was… I know I was wrong, and I won't pretend otherwise. But Adele…" Her voice faltered, a flicker of shame and old bitterness stirring in her chest. "I couldn't blame her entirely either."
Angelica exhaled slowly, her aged features hardening. "Then who will you blame, child? Yourself? No. It is your father. That damned son of mine. Do not fret—one day, I will teach him a lesson he will never forget, should the chance ever come."
Josephine's pout gave way to a faint laugh, both amused and relieved. The sound was lighter than anything that had escaped her lips in years. For a few more minutes, the two simply sat together, speaking as any grandmother and granddaughter might, with the ease of family rediscovered.
"How about your fiancé?" Angelica asked suddenly, her sharp eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Are you doing well with him?"
Josephine stiffened, her smile freezing into something awkward. "T-that's—" she laughed nervously, tugging at her sleeve. "It's… complicated."
Before Angelica could press further, a knock interrupted them.
"Matriarch Angelica. Lady Josephine," a maid called, bowing low at the door, "it is time."
The warmth in Angelica's face faded like a candle shielded by glass, replaced by her usual mask of iron dignity. Yet, before stepping forward, she extended her hand.
"Come," she said simply. "Let us go, my granddaughter."
Josephine hesitated, then reached out, taking her grandmother's hand. For once, she did not walk behind, but beside her—two Konrow women, bound not by silence but by something newly fragile, newly real. Together, they moved toward the banquet hall, the distant light spilling into the corridors ahead.
And then, in the quiet corner of her mind..
-
[Yoo-ra… I have a favor to ask.]
A ripple stirred across the mental landscape, and my voice answered.
I was letting Josephine act since it was a personal matter but to personally call me..
[Hmmm? What is it?]
[Is there… any way to break the curse binding my grandmother?]
Josephine's inner voice trembled as she knelt in that shared inner realm.
[The Blood Bond. The chains that silence her. Please—there must be something. Please find a way to free her. I beg of you.]
Silence. A silence too heavy.
[Based on what we know now… there is none,]
I finally admitted.
I mean, it is also a curse that binds us both to the Konrow Duchy
Josephine's form lowered further, her forehead nearly to the ground in that dreamlike field.
She bowed down to me.
[Please,] she whispered.
[If there is even the faintest chance—find it. Even if it takes everything. I don't care what price is asked. Just… free her.]