Chapter 199: Kill Your Own Mother
When it came to ghost marriages, there was a second type—one where one partner was still living while the other had passed. This ceremony was far grander, almost like marrying someone alive. It involved date-setting, personal welcoming, and the formal binding ceremony. But there was an unspoken truth attached to this kind of marriage: the noble died, while the lowly lived.
Isolde, for all her noble blood, was caught in this predicament. Her father, the Duke of Blackmoor, was a powerful figure; her grandfather, a Great Marshal; and she herself had been granted the prestigious title of County Princess by the King. And yet, here she was, about to marry a dead general. Oliver Valois, once a Great Marshal, was barely given a second thought by anyone who mattered. Most considered him little more than a puppet in the Southern Watch, elevated by Doug Becker. To the court, he was like an ornament—a pretty face on a statue made of enemy corpses—gifted his rank thanks to the King's loyalty to Douglas. As for his own battle honors? There weren't many. One could count them on one hand, the most notable being the elimination of a band of bandits. The rest of the victories under his belt were nothing more than the Marquis of Eldermere's successes, fought by the Marquis's command, not his own.
So, when word spread of Isolde's upcoming marriage, it hit everyone like a punch to the gut. Even Geoffrey was left reeling. In fact, he was nearly the last person to know his own daughter was about to marry a corpse. The shock was too much to bear. He couldn't believe his ears. How could she—his precious daughter—marry a dead man?
Out of options, Geoffrey sought out Doug Becker, desperate for an explanation. Doug didn't waste a second on sympathy. The moment he heard the Duke wanted to talk about his daughter's marriage, he threw up his hands. “This is her choice. You wanna say something? Take it up with her.”
The Duke wasn't surprised. He'd known Doug wouldn't show him mercy, and he'd steeled himself for that cold reception. Hearing Doug's words, the Duke snapped, “You're her master, aren't you? You can't just stand there and let her marry a corpse, can you?”
Doug's face was stone-cold as he responded, “Even you have no say in this. What can I do?”
The Duke's expression darkened, his voice tightening with emotion. “Don't talk to me like that. I know I messed up. I'm not proud of it, but I've realized it. I'm just worried she won't know how to live the rest of her life. Can we have a civil conversation, without you throwing insults my way?”
Doug immediately slammed his fist on the table, his anger boiling over. “Is that supposed to be an insult? I haven't even said half of what I could. If I don't disgust you, who the hell will? You want to talk about being disgusted? Look at what you've done. That's disgusting.”
Geoffrey's posture slumped, his shoulders sagging in defeat. He lowered his head and sighed. “Go ahead, tear me apart if it'll make you feel better. But I'm seeking to convince Isolde not to make this mistake.”
Doug's thoughts drifted to the times Geoffrey had been hard on Isolde, and seeing him in this state, he couldn't help but sicken. “What do you want me to do? She made her choice. She's just as stubborn as her mother was. Remember back when the Marshal wouldn't let Prunella Langley marry you? He tried everything—persuading, yelling, even threatening—but it didn't matter. In the end, she still married him. She was a fool!”
The Duke froze, taking a long, deep breath. “I've failed both of them. All I can hope for now is to make things right… somehow.”
Doug scoffed, his voice cutting like ice. “You can't just fix this because you want to. Isolde… don't stop me.”
The Duke shook his head. “I can't just sit back and do nothing, even if she's angry with me. I have to try.”
Doug's fury flared again. “You really think she'll be happy marrying Oliver? Is that what you're holding on to? You've completely lost it. What the hell happened to caring about what actually matters?”
The Duke’s tone grew sharper, his gaze intense. “This is exactly what we should be involved in, whether you like it or not.”
Doug shot him a sharp glare, his eyes filled with frustration. He was honestly terrified that this guy might step in and screw everything up. He had no real skills, just a knack for stirring up trouble.
With that thought in mind, Doug spoke in a low, tense voice, “Listen to this: your mother poisoned Prunella multiple times. Isolde carried that poison in her womb. Sadic says she’s got maybe three years left, at most.” He dropped the bombshell and then, without another word, turned on his heel and walked away.
Geoffrey’s hands gripped the chair’s armrests, trembling violently. His mind went blank, but Doug’s words kept echoing in the empty space, rattling around in his head. Three years? Just three years? Is Doug trying to provoke me on purpose? But no… Doug wouldn’t curse Isolde like that. He cared too much about her. So, it’s true?
Geoffrey barely remembered how he even got back to the residence. He stumbled toward Prudence, his steps automatic, his mind still reeling. The servant greeted him as he passed, “My Lord, is that you?” He didn’t even acknowledge her, walking right past her as if she was invisible.
He sat by the bed, watching Prudence. She had taken her medicine and drifted off to sleep. The festering on their faces wasn’t fully healed, but at least the itching had stopped, giving them a brief moment of peace. Prudence might have sensed someone was nearby and stirred awake. She slowly blinked her eyes open, narrowing them again. “It’s… you.” After drinking the medicine to clear out the evil from the wind, it had worked. And on top of that, the cold medicine Isolde had given her had neutralized the lacquer tree sap and centipede ash. It was just what she needed. That’s why Prudence looked a little better now. Geoffrey didn’t say anything, just staring at her.
Prudence shifted slightly, her voice cold. “You hate me?” Still, the Duke didn’t speak, but his eyes were filled with nothing but pure hatred now.
“Hmph!” Prudence closed her eyes, hiding the hostility in them. “Trash, as long as I’m here… you and Clark can forget about standing up.” Her words were crystal clear.
Geoffrey slowly looked away and turned his gaze to the old woman standing nearby. His voice was icy as he commanded, “Bring me the salt.” Though the servant had no idea why he’d want salt, she knew better than to challenge Geoffrey. He wasn’t like Isolde; no matter how much she despised him, she wouldn’t make things difficult for Prudence. So, the servant went off and fetched a jar of salt. Geoffrey took it from her and placed it beside the bed. Then, he pulled out a dagger, its cold gleam lighting up the dark room.
Prudence opened her eyes and glared at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Without warning, Geoffrey grabbed her chin with one hand, his hateful gaze seething. Through gritted teeth, he spat, “Heal!” He ran the blade along her existing wound, scraping it. As the blood began to drip, Prudence screamed twice, but there was nothing she could do. She could only glare at him, stunned by how ruthless he was.
The servant stood frozen in shock. “Lord Blackmoor!”
“Get lost!” Geoffrey snapped, his voice low and dangerous. The servant had never seen him like this before. Terrified, she didn’t dare say another word. She quickly backed away, standing at a distance, watching in silence.
“You… you killed your own mother! You bastard!” Prudence snarled, her chin still clenched in his grip. Despite everything, she wasn’t about to let him get away with this. Geoffrey might have feared accusations of being unfilial, but not this time.
He smirked darkly, “Wrong, Mother. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m just treating your wound.” With that, he grabbed a handful of salt from the jar and spread it across her face. He rubbed it in, the coarse grains grinding painfully into her skin, pushing them deeper into the wound. Prudence immediately shuddered in agony, her body convulsing as she screamed, twitching uncontrollably.