Episode 61: “Only We Can Understand Ourselves”

For over a decade, she lived with that name. Lawrence gazed steadily at the woman who had grown over the passing years. A strange emotion stirred within him. On the night he fled, Lara also escaped from that land.

And now, they met again. Was it fate? Was it destiny that brought them back together? His chest ached. The left side of his heart tightened with heat. He observed the woman pacing anxiously under the tree and traced the edges of her eyes.

The memory of the day the withered girl clung to his waist surfaced. Before Lara was beaten by the Marchioness of Oppreezé, she often greeted him and struck up conversations. Even on the days he didn’t respond, she would burst into laughter.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing happened. Just… here, take this….”

After a brief hug, Lara’s face flushed red as she bit her lip. Lawrence grabbed her wrist as she tried to pull herself away.

“Tell me.”

“Why are you so curious? It’s my business.”

“Your dress is different.”

He cupped her chin, stopping her from averting her gaze, and scanned her from top to bottom. Although the moonlight barely reached beneath the tree, it was clear her dress was entirely different from the red gown that had exposed her shoulders.

Moreover, the diamond necklace and earrings that once adorned her neck were gone, suggesting she had changed not only her dress but also her accessories.

“It’s not Valerie, is it? Gladys, perhaps?”

Lara, who had been staring at the ground, lifted her head.

“Don’t concern yourself.”

“Why not?”

“This has nothing to do with you, Mr. Hamizel. Stop making baseless assumptions and return to the banquet.”

Her once-pale face grew cold. She struggled to free her wrist from his grasp, and Lawrence loosened his hold.

“Go back, Mr. Hamizel.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he gazed at her cold, shifting eyes. The redness under her still-trembling eyes betrayed her lingering agitation. He regretted pushing her to this point.

“I’m on your side.”

“You’re the Marquis of Heslow’s man, Mr. Hamizel.”

At her words, Lawrence’s lips curved into a faint smile. He swallowed a sigh and responded.

“I won’t remain his man forever. I joined him out of necessity, but I don’t intend to live as his loyal servant for the rest of my life.”

“I see. Then….”

“What I’m trying to say is—”

Cutting her off, Lawrence pulled Lara into an embrace.

“In this place, I’m the only one who can understand you. Not your husband.”

Lara’s face hardened. She pushed against Lawrence’s chest, glaring at him, but he didn’t let go.

“You feel it too, don’t you?”

“Mr. Hamizel.”

“The prince cannot understand you. He may love you, but he cannot grasp your pain or loneliness. It’s only natural—he’s royalty. From birth, he’s been at the top. People like him don’t consider those crawling beneath their feet as equals, let alone humans.”

Lara froze. She looked up at him with a face that seemed ready to shatter into pieces. Lawrence felt a pang of sorrow in his chest, mixed with a strange sense of exhilaration.

“You know this too, don’t you?”

“I…”

“I know. Even republicans like the Marquis of Heslow don’t see us as people with the same dignity as themselves. It’s an unavoidable limitation. It stems from their birth and environment—a subconscious bias they can’t change. They don’t even have the will to change it.”

Lawrence spoke quickly. Lara stared at him blankly.

“The reason he preaches republicanism and advocates for systemic change is because he’s not recognized in Travis’s central politics. The current emperor despises the bourgeoisie.”

“…”

“The marquis believes the emperor is using all his might to resist the tide of change. And he’s not wrong. The emperor foolishly thinks he can lead the country with the same authority as the lords of old manorial estates. That’s why the state is in such disarray.”

He let out a cold laugh. Lara continued to look at him in silence. Lawrence sighed.

“The emperor is a small-minded man, unfit for this era. He doesn’t even realize the transformations taking place in his own land. The Marquis of Heslow’s criticism of the emperor’s incompetence as a leader is accurate. But even he cannot fully accept the changes of this era.”

“…”

“He still thinks a slave has no right to sit at the same table as their master and discuss society or politics.”

Lawrence gently stroked her back. The woman, a former slave who had caught the favor of royalty and carried his child, stood frozen with a face as pitiful as her late mother’s.

As much as he wanted to let her go, he knew he had to drive the wedge deeper to sever her from the prince.

“Now, let’s talk, Lara. What kind of man is your husband, who has chosen such a master as his superior?”

Lawrence lowered his head, aligning his gaze with hers. He leaned in so close it seemed their lips might touch, his eyes fixed on her upper lip. Despite his persistence, Lara remained dazed, seemingly lost in thought, unaware of her surroundings. There was a bittersweet pleasure in her vulnerability.

“Love and understanding are different. That’s why I’m the only one for you.”

Because we are the same. Because our beginnings are identical. We are destined for each other.

“Lara,” he coaxed her again, almost pleading.

“Hamizel.”

A low voice broke the tension. Lawrence turned his head with an expression that betrayed no surprise. The prince stood there, flanked by a group of guards. They were imperial soldiers, the elite assigned exclusively to direct royal descendants and tasked with guarding the prince’s residence.

“Your Highness.”

“You seem overly interested in my wife.”

Lawrence wanted to retort that she wasn’t truly his wife—merely a concubine he kept by his side while showering her with sweet lies and hollow promises. The scene reminded him of the Marquis of Oppreesé, who toyed with his mother.

To Lawrence, the prince was no different from his biological father—someone who violated a maid, sired children through her, and then refused to acknowledge them as human.

Like all noblemen of this land, the prince treated a beautiful yet pitiful woman’s life as a mere plaything.

“Don’t you know it’s forbidden to lay hands on royalty?”

The prince’s cold gaze fell on the arm Lawrence had wrapped around Lara. Lawrence looked down at her. Lara finally seemed to regain her senses and tried to push him away.

Releasing her, Lawrence let his hand graze her lower abdomen. Lara took two steps back. That’s when it happened. The guards beside the prince surged forward, forcing Lawrence to his knees.

“How dare you touch my wife and child…”

Had he seen the touch on her abdomen? Lawrence laughed. The prince’s face twisted in anger.

“It’s a misunderstanding, Your Highness. I was merely comforting her. Leaving a woman crying alone without her husband hardly seems gentlemanly.”

The prince did not reply. Lawrence remained calm, meeting his piercing gaze. It reminded him of the feeling he had when facing the Marquis of Oppreesé years ago.

“…Take him away.”

A voice as heavy as iron commanded in a low tone. Lawrence, who had been forced to his knees, was yanked to his feet and dragged away by the guards. Lara, who had been watching, stepped in front of the guards and shook her head.

“Stop.”

“Lara.”

“Don’t do this, Alec.”

“I’m only following the law.”

“I’m not royalty. Arresting Hamizel isn’t right.”

“Don’t defend another man in front of me.”

“It’s not a defense—”

“That kind of talk,” he interrupted.

Lara drew a sharp breath. Alec glared at her with icy eyes and spoke again, slowly, deliberately.

“Save it for the pillow talk.”

Alec turned his gaze to Lawrence and enunciated each syllable with cutting precision.

---

It felt as though his heart was being crushed under the sole of a boot. Thump. Thump. It was as if someone was stomping on it until it was unrecognizable, then spitting on the remains.

Alec had never felt such boiling rage before. Another man had touched Lara. Gripped her wrist, embraced her waist. Another man’s chest…

“Your Highness.”

Brett’s voice called to him. The hand gripping the quill trembled slightly. Even as he looked over the documents listing the textile mills and munitions factories he had recently acquired, his heart pounded violently.

It was the night after the banquet had ended. After handing Lawrence over to the security bureau, Alec had dragged his wife into the bedroom and left her there, his breathing heavy and uneven.

Her repeated attempts to defend Lawrence Hamizel had driven him out of the room and into his study.

The nobles who had attended the banquet had long since departed in their carriages. The Marquis of Heslow, however, was waiting in the drawing room, demanding to discuss Hamizel’s arrest.

“I’m not royalty. Arresting Hamizel isn’t right.”

The memory of Lara’s face as she pleaded with him replayed in his mind, her words echoing in his ears. His eyes began to twitch uncontrollably.

In a fit of rage, he began throwing and smashing everything within reach. Brett froze in shock, his lips pressed tightly together.

“This… this!”

Alec pounded the desk with his fist until it cracked. Blood smeared the wood as his skin split open, and he stared blankly at the wounds.

It was a sensation he had never experienced before. The feeling of losing his wife… even after enduring the death of others, the thought of the woman he loved being held by another man…

“Lara.”

He whispered her name like a lament. When Lawrence Hamizle had touched Lara, when his long fingers had brushed her slender waist, it felt as though his blood had surged backward. He had wanted to tear the man apart, to shred him into pieces.

“Are you all right, Your Highness?”

Brett, who had been waiting for the documents to be signed, cautiously spoke. Alec, who hadn’t even noticed his presence, quickly nodded before dismissing him.

“Should I summon a physician?”

“Leave. I’ll handle the paperwork in the morning.”

Alec waved him off, shaking his head firmly at Brett’s concerned expression. Without another word, Brett left the study.

Alec unclenched and clenched his trembling fist repeatedly, trying to steady his breathing. The heat welling up in his eyes left his eyelids feeling damp.

A wretched sense of despair forced his mouth open. Like someone on the brink of drowning, he gasped for air, his breaths shallow and uneven.

He yanked off his cravat and flung it onto the shattered desk before burying his face in his hands.

No matter how hard he tried to forget, the image of Lara in another man’s arms refused to fade. The sight of that man leaning in as if to claim her lips remained seared into his mind.