Chapter 40: The First Encounter

It was sweet and tender. His wife was a woman so lovely that even her polished nails seemed sweet. He couldn’t let her go. Living without seeing her was worse than death itself. Alec pressed his lips against his wife’s pale ones, his hands gently caressing her cold cheeks.

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Alec and Lara first met in August of that year. It was after the harsh winter, when frost clung to the window frames at dawn and even the firewood that had burned through the night froze like blocks of ice. It was the same year her biological father had passed away in January.

That winter, which had been bitter enough to devour every fragment of bone, passed, leading to May, when Lara met Dallas and became his daughter. And then came August, when she encountered Alec—the boy who was called the walking curse of Laurent.

Alec was a thin thirteen-year-old boy, unusually tall for his age, but emaciated to the point that he looked like a walking skeleton—thinner and more hollow-eyed than Lara, who had endured harsh labor in the workhouses.

An orphan abandoned by his parents, he wandered the village like a ghost.

“Orphan. Walking disaster. Wretched brat…”

Lara first saw him under the shade of a tree near the chapel. In his long, bony hands, rough from labor, he held a half-chewed tree root. His round fingernails were stained with dirt.

She had stepped into the yard for a moment, leaving Dallas inside the chapel as he spoke with a young elder of the village. Under the towering poplar tree, Lara stood gazing down at the boy who had fallen asleep. His thick black hair, long enough to cover his neck, contrasted sharply with his pale skin.

Trembling eyelashes and closed lids. A high, straight nose. Beneath it, a pronounced philtrum and finely shaped lips… His features had an elegance to them. Yes, elegance. It was a peculiar impression, one that lingered vividly even years later.

Even at that young age, Alec exuded a stern, noble aura. The saying that nobility was only a product of fine clothing and good food was rendered meaningless by his very existence.

Was nobility something innate?

Alec was nothing more than a starving orphan of thirteen. Yet the strange dignity in his features was not easily overlooked. This was why the people of Laurent rejected him, reluctant to offer their hearts or trust.

More than just being handsome, his face—gaunt and hollowed by hunger—radiated a noble quality. And so, Lara could never forget their encounter that year.

The boy, so thin that his ribs jutted out, roamed the chapel grounds in a tattered dress shirt and black trousers. Whether it was a tree root or a bone gnawed on by a stray dog, anything that could fit in his mouth, he would chew on without regard for anyone watching.

There were even rumors that one day he had eaten scraps of food mixed with dirt, only to fall ill with severe stomach pains and vomiting. At that time, Alec was neither a prince nor the grandson of a great scholar.

He was the orphaned boy even Laurent’s three-year-olds avoided for fear of bad luck. And yet, despite everything, Alec thought of himself as a prince.

His identity was rooted in a lineage and status so profound that even his half-brother, who had ascended the throne, could not tarnish it.

Thus, whether he had to eat dirt or steal scraps from a dog’s dish, he paid no heed to others’ opinions. He would survive, prove his existence, and one day sever the necks of those illegitimate offspring of his father who had reduced him to this state.

“Uh…”

Lara’s lips moved slightly. Alec, who had briefly fallen asleep clutching a tree root, opened his eyes at the sound of her approach. Startled, Lara took a step back. The boy’s steely gray eyes met hers.

In an instant, their gazes locked. His sharp, angular face carried an air of unsettling precision. Even though he appeared utterly exhausted, a peculiar intensity seemed undiminished.

Yes, intensity. Arrogant and cold. His pale face, devoid of much emotion, gave the impression of touching an icy dagger.

“Hello.”

She greeted him, assuming he was one of the village boys. His appearance was unusual, but there was nothing to suggest a distinct identity or status. Lara awkwardly tugged at the corners of her mouth into a smile and waved.

Alec dusted himself off and stood up, turning away without a word. Lara flinched at his cold expression. She felt a pang in her chest; she’d been in the village for less than a day, and already a boy from the village had ignored her greeting.

“Afrosa, come here and see Elder Tasson off.”

“Yes!”

Dallas’s voice called from a distance. Lara quickly ran toward him. Elder Tasson, who had been chatting with Dallas in the chapel, was now stepping outside, apparently ready to leave.

Lara stood close to Dallas and bowed her head politely.

“Goodbye, Elder Tasson.”

“Take care, child. If you ever have questions about the village, don’t hesitate to come to me.”

“Thank you, Elder!”

“Your name is Afrosa, correct?”

“Pardon? Yes, that’s right. Afrosa Katlyn.”

“That’s a beautiful name. You resemble your father greatly. How old are you?”

“I’m eight years old.”

“My daughter is eleven. Her name is Zhenya. She’s very good at making paper flowers and running fast, so I’m sure you two will become great friends.”

Elder Tasson patted Lara on the head, making her blush. Her heart raced.

It was the first time since receiving her new name that she had introduced herself as Afrosa instead of Lara. From the moment she arrived at the edge of Laurent and became Afrosa, she had always thought of herself as such.

Dallas’s eight-year-old daughter, Afrosa Katlyn. The real Afrosa had passed away less than a week after she was born, but Lara had been told she shared the same hair color and eye shade as the late child.

So, was it not okay to think of Dallas as her real father? It wasn’t that she wanted to forget her deceased biological parents. But she was no longer a slave. Lara was no longer the slave girl from Heidelbern who was treated as less than human. She was now the daughter of a devout priest, revered as a servant of God.

If she were the real Afrosa, how would she look at Dallas? How would she smile at him and act in his presence? Lara genuinely wanted to become Afrosa. Leaving behind the labor camp in Heidelbern and receiving her new name made her feel even more so.

Thus, Lara was the first to call Dallas “Papa.” Compared to her late biological father, Dallas was gentle and kind. In truth, Lara’s father had been a strict man. Though he had been caring, he wasn’t as warm toward her as other fathers were toward their daughters.

Lara was all the more shocked. That her father—who had seemed as strong and unyielding as the overseer—was dragged by his hair and beheaded…

It shattered something within her. It made her feel as though there was no one in the world who could protect her.

Her father had been the strongest and most formidable person she had ever known. He had understood the dangers and kept Lara close to him, even in the labor camp.

He tried to maintain his distance whenever possible, refusing to cry out even when struck across the face by the overseer. In front of his daughter, he might kneel, but he would never submit to anyone.

Yet, that very father had died a miserable death. Truthfully, Lara wanted to forget them. Her parents, Sophie, the lord and his young daughter… even the two noble boys who tormented her and the old woman. She wanted to leave it all behind and start anew.

So, Lara thought of herself as the real Afrosa Catlin. She imagined what the daughter of the late Dallas Katlyn, Afrosa Katlyn, would look like if she were alive today. Thinking about this every day, her personality naturally brightened.

After her mother’s passing, she would have been the only one left, fragile and dependent. Surely, she would have been the sole recipient of her father’s love and care. She would have been a beloved child—kind, gentle, and affectionate to everyone, a sweet and loving girl.

“Yes, Elder. I can’t wait to become friends with Zhenya,” Lara responded cheerfully to Tasson’s words. He laughed warmly, as if amused by her cuteness. Lara laughed along, wondering if she truly felt like the real Afrosa Katlyn in that moment.

In fact, ever since she had repeatedly affirmed to herself, “I am the real Afrosa Katlyn,” it seemed her personality had changed somewhat.

Even just now, she found herself gazing beyond Tasson to the shaded spot where the boy had been sitting asleep. Tasson followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“By the way, Afrosa, about that boy just now,” Tasson said, speaking to her again. Lara looked up at him. His face, which had been cheerful moments ago, was now contorted with a faint displeasure. It was such a stark contrast that Lara found herself shrinking in fear, her shoulders hunching instinctively as if she were back in the labor camp.

“Did that boy speak to you?” Tasson asked.

“No, sir,” Lara replied.

“Then?”

“I just… I just greeted him…”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why?”

She almost asked, but the look in his eyes as he looked down at her made her close her lips tightly. It wasn’t a scolding gaze, nor one of a warning.

Afrosa’s face turned into one that looked like she might cry, and she pressed her lips together. Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Dallas Priest hid Lara behind him and chuckled softly.

“Is that boy a troublemaker in the village? I don’t think I saw him last time I visited…”

“He’s not the kind of boy you’d normally care about, but… to put it simply, he doesn’t belong here.”

“Eh? Then…?”

“Neither his father nor his mother are from here. In fact, we don’t even know where they are now.”

“I don’t quite understand.”

“You probably wouldn’t. I don’t understand it myself sometimes.”

“Ah…”

“So, that boy being here… He doesn’t belong here, but he’s been lurking around the village for some time now.”

It sounded like something you’d say about a dog or object abandoned by its owner. Afrosa felt a strange fear rise up inside her as she looked at the young elder’s face. The elder, whose build wasn’t much different from Dallas’s, suddenly felt like a huge, terrifying man.

Her stomach churned, and dizziness overwhelmed her. It was a familiar feeling—the same sensation she had often felt at the labor camp and in the grand, imposing lord’s castle, where she never had a moment of rest.

Even before, in front of the lord’s daughter, who was her peer, she had shuddered in the same way. Whenever she stood in front of those who treated people like objects, this was how she felt.

“Anyway, it would be best to keep your distance from that boy.”

The elder said this shortly before turning around. Dallas Priest didn’t respond, merely smiling faintly. After he saw the elder off, he turned to look down at Lara, who was hiding behind him, clutching the hem of her clothes.

“Lara.”

“It’s Afrosa. You called me Afrosa.”

“Right. Afrosa. Were you very scared?”

“…No.”

Lara shook her head vigorously. Dallas didn’t press her any further. As soon as they entered the village of Laurent, Lara, who had been chatting non-stop, suddenly became quiet, almost as if she had turned into a completely different child.

Her slightly shrunk demeanor felt like she had reverted to how she had been weeks ago. Dallas, feeling sorry for his adopted daughter, lightly picked her up and patted her bottom.

“Well, I’m glad you weren’t scared. Let’s eat lunch. Today’s special is lamb stew cooked with butter.”

“Really?”

Lara, who had been feeling down, smiled brightly as she looked at Dallas. Dallas, amused by her lovely smile, chuckled and then kissed her round cheek, which was just beginning to blush. Surprised, Lara opened her eyes wide but gathered the courage to kiss his cheek in return.