The Abandoned Villainess Decides to Take It All Chapter 11

Chapter 11

In her dream, Lillian was walking across a snow-covered plain.

She was limping badly, breath coming hard and fast.
Strangely, her right leg wouldn’t move properly—as if it had once been gravely injured and had withered away entirely.

Why…?

But the question faded almost at once.
In the dream, she accepted her condition as something natural.

The sorrow swelling up into her throat,
the guilt squeezing her heart—
those too felt inevitable.

Ah—!

She didn’t make it very far.
At last, she collapsed onto the snow-blanketed ground.

That was when someone shouted from behind her.

“Lillian!”
“Don’t come any closer!”

Lillian screamed at the man chasing after her with her eyes alone.

He didn’t move an inch—
as if he were nailed to the earth.

Or rather, he couldn’t move.
That description fit better, considering the devastation etched across his face.

Still, Lillian cried out through her tears.

“I hate you! I hate you so much!”

Tears spilled from her eyes.

Even though it was only a dream, the wind was bitterly cold, freezing the tears on her cheeks almost instantly.
Yet she couldn’t stop.

“I hate you… for making everyone hate me…”

The hatred was so intense her heart felt like it might burst.

She begged—desperately—to be abandoned.

But nothing ever went the way she wished.

What happened after that?

She couldn’t remember.

Snow began to fall again.

All the pain and suffering quietly sank beneath the pristine white, as though ignoring the wounds might somehow erase the pain.

Two days after Lillian Tillard collapsed.

Ebren narrowed his eyes as he stared at the tent flap.

Inside, groans of pain still leaked out—feverish, unrelenting.

Female espers were clustered around Lillian, holding her hands, rubbing her arms with care.
And yet, the awakening fever showed no sign of easing.

On the contrary—

“Forgive us, Your Highness…”
“We can no longer absorb any more control power.”

Those assigned to nurse her emerged looking healthier than ever, as though they’d reached their limits.

The ones who returned whispered among themselves.

“I thought she was a non-awakened.”
“That’s what I heard too.”
“But I feel better than when I was helped by an A-rank controller.”
“Wow… my head feels drilled open. It’s unbelievably refreshing.”
“Same—wait, stop. Any more and I’ll die.”

It had been ages since their minds had felt so crystal clear.

Given the urgency, none of them dared voice their amazement aloud—but thoughts churned.

What kind of rank is she going to awaken into once this fever ends?
She’s compatible with all of us—this isn’t normal.
At least B-rank? No… probably A.

A strange sense of anticipation began to spread through the camp.

Controllers were rarer than espers.
High-rank ones were rarer still.

Even struggling families would throw lavish banquets if a child awakened as a high-grade controller.

So it was only natural to feel excited—
even if it was a Tillard.

But Ebren was growing increasingly irritated.

What is this? Why isn’t she getting better?

“We can’t move someone in that condition. Is there truly no solution?”

“Well… Your Highness. There is one possibility…”
The physician cleared his throat awkwardly.

“In cases where awakening fever appears late, it is often triggered by contact with an esper.”

“Lillian Tillard has met countless espers until now,” Ebren replied flatly.
Starting with that damned fiancé.

“For awakening to be triggered, the esper must usually be… extremely high-rank.”

“……”

“Simple hand-holding wouldn’t be enough to act as a catalyst…”

The physician glanced at Ebren’s expression.

The Shadows almost looked up—then barely restrained themselves, eyes darting instead.

A very high-rank esper present here…
If S-rank was the benchmark, there was only one.

Then what kind of contact—beyond holding hands—had served as the trigger?

The physician hurriedly continued, clearly trying to escape the awkwardness.

“We don’t know why she’s reacting only now. However! The person who acted as the catalyst must remain by her side. That’s the fastest way to stabilize her power and bring down the fever.”

“……”

“It would be quicker than anyone else. At the very least, you should keep holding her hand. In fact, it might even be advisable to—form an imprint—”

“……”

“—I beg your pardon. That last remark was inappropriate.”

The physician bowed deeply.

Imprinting.

A permanent bond between an esper and a controller.

A controller could use their power for only one person.
In exchange, the esper would devote everything to that controller.

A promise more enduring than love—stronger even than human marriage.

“Physician.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“So you had enough strength left to say something so useless and grotesque.”

“…My apologies.”

The physician all but collapsed as he retreated, while Ebren stepped inside.

The hastily prepared sickroom was steeped in a sweet yet clear fragrance.

The others were fine.

Those who had nursed Lillian before showed no ill effects.

Ebren rubbed his shoulder in silence.
His muscles ached throughout his body.

At the center of the room lay Lillian, buried in the bed.

So many people had tended her over two days.

And yet her fever hadn’t broken at all.

Creak.

Ebren sat lightly at her bedside.

Every sound seemed unnaturally loud—perhaps his hearing.

Tap. Tap.

He gently touched Lillian’s palm, her eyes closed from the heat.

Her hand was soft.

Of course it was—she wasn’t someone who held a sword.

He traced the delicate lines of her palm with his index finger, brushed the rounded flesh beneath her thumb, then feathered his fingertips along the inside of her wrist.

It was impossibly slender compared to his own.

He tried contact for a while, but childish, tentative touches did nothing to ease the fever.

“Contact,” at minimum, meant properly holding hands.

Yet Ebren simply stared, unable to grasp her hand.

“That hypocritical Tillard, flitting about like a butterfly…”

Even the gods had mocked the Tillard family as nothing but pretense.

But he’d thought they were different among themselves.

Ramio Tillard—renowned as polished and kind.

Seeing such a man sneer at Lillian as she struggled on the ground had been unexpected.

Ebren stopped hesitating and closed his hand around Lillian’s right hand.

He’d heard his subordinates whisper earlier—
that her control power felt as clean and refreshing as an A-rank controller’s.

But the moment he held her hand, his breath caught.

A sickeningly sweet heat slithered up his spine like a slow serpent.

Why did this overwhelm him far more than any sense of clarity?

Even if the trembling had stayed confined to their joined hands, that would’ve been one thing—

but his breath burned, as though his heart itself were on fire.

Just lacing his fingers between hers, filling that narrow space, sent a ringing through his ears.

This couldn’t be control.

This was—

“…Your Highness.”

The interlaced hand twitched.

Ebren wiped his overheated eyes with the back of his hand.

Lillian—who had been unconscious until now—opened her eyes.

They were unfocused, clouded, but—

Ebren forced his ragged breathing to settle.

And then he met her gaze.

Green eyes, half-hidden behind trembling lashes.

For a split second, Ebren almost stood up in shock.

What is this?

His heart pounded wildly.

It felt as though an invisible leash had been snapped around his neck, choking his breath.

“Huh?”

He scratched at the back of his neck.

Nothing was there.

But instinct told him the truth.

This was something no one needed to explain.

“…Ha.”

He had been imprinted.

By Lillian Tillard.