WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Malfoid

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◈ Fragments of Thorns and a Cradle ◈

Chapter 18

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Content Warning: domestic abuse; explicit sexual content; physical violence; reproductive coercion; sexual coercion or assault; sexual exploitation and slavery.

"Didn't you hear me?"

He roughly twisted her head.

He wrenched her head around. In an instant, he threw her onto the floor. Randolph kicked the shards of glass aside and spread Agnes's legs.

He licked the fingers of Agnes's hand, imagining another man's touch on them, then pulled down her neckline. The skin, swollen red from his biting and sucking the night before, looked obscene.

He lifted her skirt and thrust his shaft into her dry opening. Agnes swayed like a doll without releasing even a faint moan. Her body, thin beyond recognition, was like blue, sharp thorns. He held the female slave with a distorted expression.

The more he tried to grasp her, the farther away she seemed.

Like water rushing harder the more one tried to reverse its current.

He felt as though he were clutching at things that could not be undone. He did not know what had gone wrong. But at some point, he and Agnes had become twisted beyond repair.

He could not accept it. Could not allow it.

He remembered Lucrezia and something she had once said.

"You may not want to admit it, but Agnes's heart has already left you. If you want to remember love, even as a memory, leave before you show her anything uglier. That is what would be best for her."

"Are you jealous?"

Lucrezia had burst out laughing at that, as though she had heard something absurd.

Randolph had stared coldly at her.

"Have I gone mad? Agnes is the only foolish woman in the world who could love someone like you. So stop talking nonsense."

Lucrezia had looked at him as if he were beneath her interest, then turned away.

Randolph shook his head.

She could not be jealous. Lucrezia had a lover.

He had once been a mercenary from the Turkis Empire, which ruled vast deserts and plains beyond the Black Sea. Randolph had valued the man highly several years ago. Lucrezia had secretly been involved with him since she was engaged, and their affair continued still.

Jealousy, from that woman?

Even if she felt it, why would Randolph need to know? Lucrezia was not someone who would look back if a matter did not benefit her.

Nothing about her pleased him. Her pride and rigid temperament were unbearable.

Unlike her brother, whose striking features had somehow survived a life rolling through battlefields, Lucrezia was plain-faced and stiff-bodied. The only reason Randolph had given her the place of San Arzok's lawful mistress was the power and wealth behind her. His San Arzok would be complete through her.

Marriage was business for her as well.

Even while taking her in his arms, Randolph thought of what Gwendel could gain from Durak: its mines and maritime trading rights. He intended to calculate every benefit and strip it clean.

If Lucrezia bore an heir, both would belong to Gwendel. It was the perfect chance to expand the family enterprise and reclaim the sea-trade rights his grandfather had lost.

There was no reason to refuse Lucrezia.

If another woman could offer him all this, he would have chosen another woman. That had been the only purpose of the marriage.

Lucrezia, daughter of Duke Durak, had also married into San Arzok for her family's gain. Originally, she had been in marriage negotiations with the son of Count Planzok, the Minister of Internal Affairs. But the prestige and wealth offered by Gwendel of San Arzok far exceeded that match.

Lucrezia had made the choice.

Duke Durak had not initially intended to marry his cherished daughter into a knightly family. Even if the other noble house was less influential than Durak, he had wanted her to marry a nobleman forbidden from taking concubines.

In Kailak, no man except a knight could take a concubine.

Lucrezia could have avoided watching her husband drown himself in obsession over a female slave. Yet she had chosen Randolph.

He spent nights with her because he wanted a child from a woman of good blood, and Lucrezia bore him a son.

Randolph still remembered that night.

It was the night Agnes had cried without end.

For several days afterward, she stopped eating. She did not welcome him when he returned.

What he remembered was her face and her questions.

"Did you truly spend the night with her? Did you hold her as you hold me? Did you give her the seed for a child?"

Agnes had asked endlessly.

Randolph had told her that it was natural for him to have an heir. Just as she had borne a child, Lucrezia would bear one. And it was only natural that the child Lucrezia bore would inherit what he possessed.

Agnes had looked devastated.

At the thought that the other woman would have a child as Agnes had, her shoulders had drooped. Then, with the expression of someone who heard nothing, she nodded at his words.

After that day, everything changed.

Agnes changed. Agnes's love changed.

He still did not know what had gone wrong. He did not know what had changed her.

Everyone lived as he did. Every female slave lived as Agnes did. Agnes was treated better than other concubines, at least.

Because Randolph had always loved her.

Even when he took Lucrezia in his arms, Randolph thought of Agnes. Her soft body, her white, rounded breasts, her cheeks flushing sweetly.

When Lucrezia's stiff and joyless body failed to stir him, he buried his face in the undergarments Agnes had worn.

Did Agnes know that?

"Agnes."

He moved his hips. Even after time had passed, the opening around his dark shaft remained tight. Since Lucian's death, Agnes had been even less herself.

He had thought time would make her better. They could have another child.

With Endymion already born, Randolph had no urgent need. Endymion would inherit everything, so it did not matter if Agnes did not become pregnant.

But Randolph wanted a child with Agnes. More precisely, he wanted a daughter. If she bore a daughter who resembled her, he thought he would cherish her beyond measure.

A daughter would have been better.

He thought of Lucian. Whenever he saw him, he had imagined how perfect it would be to have Lucrezia's son, who would inherit Randolph's possessions and San Arzok, and a pretty little girl who looked exactly like Agnes. But Agnes had borne a son, and to him the child did not resemble Agnes much.

The squires under him and the servants in the castle said the child resembled Agnes's maternal grandfather somewhat. Certainly, he had the look of his mother's family. Agnes insisted that the child looked only like her, but even by an objective eye, not only by Randolph's, the child did not resemble Agnes. So...

"I want a daughter this time."

He whispered as he held her out of habit. This time, he wanted to have a proper child. More precisely, a daughter. If it were a daughter who resembled Agnes, he thought nothing in the world would be too precious to give her.

He took pleasure as he held the listlessly swaying woman as though he would crush her. Even as thin as a dried branch, Agnes was always stimulating to him. He lifted her in his arms and kissed her.

Afterward, Agnes fell ill with fever for several days.

Her throat swelled so badly she could not swallow even thin porridge or speak to anyone.

Randolph stayed glued to her side. He even handled his work in her bedroom.

The servants said that since his illegitimate son had died, the marquess had become even more obsessed with his female slave.

On the fourth day, Agnes opened her eyes and swallowed some porridge. She recovered enough to move, but she had lost so much weight that she looked thinner than ever.

Randolph repeatedly kissed her hollow cheeks and touched her as cautiously as though she were a glass doll.

Agnes glanced at the man feeding her porridge himself, then lowered her eyes. She did not want to put anything in her mouth.

Randolph watched her carefully and waited for her to open her heart again. For her to return to how she had been, to become his sweet lover again.

But Agnes did not recover her senses.

Then the physician told them that she was carrying a second child.

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