Never Die Villain

Valentin turned around.

There were tears in his eyes.

"Why didn’t she ask me to go with her?!"

"...."

Valentin stared at his son for several seconds before grief finally broke through whatever remained of his anger.

"...Diane. Goddamnit... Diane..."

He lowered his head into his hand.

Ilya remained several steps away, his cheek still burning where his father had struck him, yet he could no longer bring himself to feel angry about it.

Valentin had lost the woman he had loved since childhood, and Ilya had returned from Rabelle as the only person who might have been able to tell him what happened.

Yet even now, Ilya couldn’t give him the answer he wanted.

"I’m sorry..." Valentin muttered, his voice cracking as he covered his face with one hand. "I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you, Diane. If I’d only been stronger... if only... Haa..."

Ilya watched his father from several steps away.

The man before him hardly resembled the Grand Duke he knew. Valentin had always seemed large than life in Ilya’s eyes, yet now his shoulders were trembling as he struggled to keep himself together.

Since that day, the Grand Duke had gradually shut himself away from the rest of the world.

Valentin stopped appearing at meals, rarely left his office unless his duties demanded it, and eventually ceased speaking to Ilya about anything beyond what was absolutely necessary.

Whatever little relationship father and son had managed to build over the years slowly fractured after Diane’s death, until the distance between them became so ordinary that neither seemed to know how to close it anymore.

Anastasiya, meanwhile, tried her best to approach Ilya.

She would look for him whenever his lessons ended, sit beside him even when he refused to speak, and occasionally bring him sweets from the kitchen because she remembered he used to like them.

Yet Ilya remained distant, answering her attempts with little more than a nod or a few quiet words before retreating somewhere he could be alone.

"It’s okay, Ana. Give him some time."

Mariya placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

"He just lost his mother." She gave Anastasiya a gentle smile before looking toward Ilya. "There are some wounds you can’t make better just by staying beside someone, no matter how badly you might want to."

"...But he won’t even talk to me."

"He will."

"How do you know?"

"Because you’re his sister."

Mariya gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before walking toward Ilya herself.

He was sitting alone near the window, staring outside without appearing particularly interested in anything beyond the glass. Mariya stopped beside him and gently ruffled his hair, much as Diane had often done whenever she found him brooding.

"Is it hard?"

Ilya didn’t answer.

Mariya continued running her fingers through his hair.

"You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to." Her voice remained gentle. "I won’t ask what happened in Rabelle, and I won’t tell you that everything will eventually be alright. I’m sure you’ve heard enough adults say things like that already."

"...Then why are you here?"

"Because you’re alone."

Ilya looked up at her.

Mariya smiled. "And because Diane would probably be angry with me if I saw her son sitting here like this and just walked past."

His expression changed at the mention of his mother.

"She loved you very much."

"...I know."

"She talked about you constantly, you know." Mariya laughed. "Sometimes so much that I wanted to tell her I already knew how wonderful her son was."

"...."

"You know, Diane and I, we’ve known each other since we were children." Mariya sat beside him, leaving only a small distance between them. "Long before all of this, there was simply Diane and me."

Ilya’s fingers tightened against his clothes, saying nothing.

"I know you don’t think very fondly of me, Ilya." Mariya smiled faintly as she lowered her eyes toward her hands. "And I understand why. I’m your father’s wife, Anastasiya’s mother, and no matter how kindly I speak to you, there will always be a part of you that remembers what that made Diane in the eyes of everyone else."

"...Mother never hated you."

"I know. That almost makes it worse, doesn’t it? Diane was always like that. Even when she had every reason to be angry with someone, she would somehow find a way to forgive them before they could even apologize."

Ilya finally looked at her.

Mariya met his gaze.

"I truly wish to be there for you, just as Diane was once there for me. You don’t have to think of me as her replacement, and I would never ask you to call me Mother."

She reached over and carefully placed a hand on his head.

"I just don’t want you to believe that because Diane is gone, there is no longer anyone in this house who will stand beside you."

"...Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you care about me?"

Mariya’s hand stopped. For a second, she looked almost hurt by the question.

"Because you’re Diane’s son."

Her fingers slowly moved through his hair again.

"And because I’ve watched you grow up since you were born." Mariya’s smile returned, gentle enough that Ilya found it difficult to look directly at her. "Perhaps you never thought of me as family, but I’ve always thought of you as part of mine."

Ilya lowered his eyes. "...Even though I’m Father’s bastard?"

"Don’t call yourself that."

"...."

"You are Ilya."

Mariya turned toward him fully.

"Whatever resentment exists between the adults of this family belongs to us. None of it was ever yours to carry."

She brushed his hair away from his forehead.

"You didn’t choose how you were born, you didn’t choose whom your father loved, and you certainly didn’t ask everyone around you to turn those things into reasons for treating you differently."

Ilya’s lips pressed together. "But they do."

"I know."

"And they always will."

"...Perhaps."

Mariya didn’t lie to him.

"But that doesn’t mean you have to face them alone."

She slowly opened her arms.

Ilya stared at her without moving.

"You don’t have to," Mariya said with a small smile. "I told you already. I won’t try to replace her."

That was exactly why Ilya eventually moved.

He leaned against her, and Mariya wrapped her arms around him without pulling him any closer than he allowed.

Her hand settled against the back of his head, gently stroking his hair while Ilya buried his face against her dress.

"That’s enough," she whispered. "You don’t have to be strong all the time."

Ilya’s fingers slowly caught the fabric of her sleeve.

Mariya felt it and tightened her embrace just a little.

"I miss my mother."

"I know."

Mariya rested her cheek against his head.

"I miss her too."

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