Who gets married for that reason? - Chapter 15

Lydia suddenly spoke to Ilian, who had been staring intently at the bracelet in his hand.

“Marquis, do you know what magic truly is?”

His gaze turned to her, filled with the unspoken question of what absurdity she was speaking now.

Unperturbed, Lydia drew her legs together, settling comfortably, and patted the seat beside her, gesturing for him to sit as well.

But Ilian remained motionless, his eyes fixed solely on her. She had no choice but to give up and continue speaking, instead pointing toward the bracelet he held.

“All magic, at its core, stems from an earnest wish, a desperate plea given form. It is the realization of desire, its manifestation into reality. The more grandiose and impossible a wish seems, the more magical it appears when it comes true.”

She noticed how, at some point, Ilian had tightened his grip on the bracelet, his gaze lowered, listening intently to every word she spoke.

“And this bracelet, it holds that same kind of magic.”

A faint, almost hollow breath escaped him, carrying the trace of a bitter chuckle.

“Are you saying my half brother was a magician?”

“Something like that.”

But Lydia was wholly serious. If her suspicions were correct, Ethan Esteban had, without even realizing it, invoked the most fundamental form of magic.

“This bracelet carries the pure wish for the wearer’s happiness. That kind of magic lingers here, faint as a breath, almost imperceptible, but magic, nonetheless.”

Ilian, caught off guard, instinctively returned the bracelet when she held out her hand. He could only watch in silence as she took his wrist and fastened it around him.

“If your brother had lived in an age where magic flourished, he might have become a great sorcerer. But now, even those born with such gifts don’t recognize them, leaving behind only faint traces, echoes of forgotten spells.”

She paused momentarily, focusing on tying the knot securely so the bracelet wouldn’t slip off.

“Perhaps, in the simplest way, magic still lingers in our time, like when someone who carries even the smallest spark of magic mutters, ‘I hope that person has a terrible day,’ only to find them tripping over a loose stone on the road. A mere coincidence, yet…”

Lydia lifted her head, only to find herself mere inches away from Ilian’s face.

Their eyes locked.

After a moment’s silence, he spoke, his voice slow and weighted with emotion.

“…Ethan is gone because of me. If not for me, he would still be alive. Do you think… he would have still wished for my happiness?”

“I heard it was an unfortunate accident,” Lydia replied. “That means it was beyond your control.”

Ilian’s face twisted with the pain of remembrance, his gaze drifting into the distance.

“But if I had been more aware, if I had been paying attention, I could have prevented his death.”

Lydia could feel the depth of his guilt, the self inflicted torment that bound him to the past.

Placing her hand gently over his, she said, “How could something you could never have foreseen be your fault?”

“You say that because you don’t know the full story.”

“Then tell me,” she murmured. “Tell me about Ethan.”

Ilian could not bring himself to turn away from the quiet resolve in her eyes.

Ethan Esteban had never resented him. Ilian knew this. And that only made it harder to forgive himself.

“Brother, don’t hate yourself.”

Ethan had been gentle yet keenly perceptive.

Even in his final moments, he had known what would follow, that Ilian would destroy everything, including himself, in grief.

So he had left behind those words. A plea.

But Ilian had not been able to grant it.

He had buried it all instead, Ethan’s voice, his final wish, because he did not know how to exist in a world that demanded he move on.

He had left only the Marquis of Esteban in his place, shedding everything else.

Or so he had believed.

“Ethan… he forgave too easily.”

He had always been that way. He even loved the mother who had never given him so much as a sliver of affection, unable to bring himself to hate her.

And so, for Ethan’s sake, Ilian had tolerated Madeline Ines.

Not because she deserved it, but because Ethan had once called her ‘Mother.’

“But I cannot forgive her so easily.”

Madeline Ines. Princess of Ines.

Though she had been the wife of the former Marquis of Esteban, she had always detested the title of ‘Marquise’, unwilling to be overshadowed, always insisting on being addressed as ‘Princess Madeline.’

To Ilian, she had never been ‘Esteban.’ Only Ines.

“That was all it was. She sent word that she was coming to the capital, and you, unfortunately, became the target of my irritation.”

Lydia blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sudden shift in conversation.

It was only after a pause that she realized, he was apologizing.

“I owe you an apology. I should not have spoken to you as I did that day.”

“I…”

She had been angry, of course. But she had never expected the proud Ilian Esteban to so readily acknowledge his mistake.

And now, knowing even a fragment of his past, she could understand.

She could see how much he must have resented his mother, how deeply he must have loved Ethan to endure her presence for his sake.

“I understand,” she said gently. “Everyone has their moments.”

Her grandmother had once warned her, ‘You always try to see the good in people, Lydia. Make sure you don’t lose yourself in the process.’

But years spent running her antique shop had taught her otherwise.

People were never just one thing.

They were not merely the sum of their worst actions or best intentions, but an intricate weave of past and present, shaped by tangled emotions.

So she had learned not to judge too quickly.

“And as I said before, if we speak honestly, things are much easier to resolve.”

“You ask of me the hardest thing.”

Honesty bridges distances. And Ilian could already feel how dangerously close she had drawn.

Closer than he had ever allowed anyone to be.

“Don’t forgive so easily, Lydia. It will only hurt you in the end.”

His words were cool, but as he reached out to brush a speck of dust from her hair, his touch was careful.

His hand lingered, trailing down to cup her cheek, a fleeting, featherlight contact.

Their gazes met once more, the air between them taut with something unspoken.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the moment shattered.

“Go now, before you let the dust consume you.”

Rising, he helped her to her feet, only to pause when he felt her fingers tighten around his own.

“If you cannot forgive yourself, then let me do it for you.”

The world had always believed there was no one who could leave Ilian Esteban speechless.

Yet Lydia Solem had done so time and again.

Daring to say such things to him, and somehow, making him unable to argue.

He had spent his life shouldering the expectations of perfection, barely holding together the fractured pieces of himself.

But Lydia… Lydia stood whole, untouched by the weight he carried.

And perhaps that was why she could reach places within him that he had long thought buried.

Perhaps, deep down, he was allowing her to.