HSDOE 55

Chapter 55

Confusion

The aftermath of the trial was considerable.

Although the trial itself never took place, word had spread throughout the capital that the empress was not truly the emperor’s fated partner.

Perhaps because of this gossip, the gates of House Piellion were shut in complete silence. All social events were canceled, and every member of the family refrained from going out.

The young duke was nowhere to be seen in the capital, and it was said the Duke of Piellion did not leave his bedchamber at all.

Some claimed they were simply waiting for the rumors to die down, but in truth, the situation was far worse.

The young duke of Piellion had vanished to an unknown place, and the duke, having lost his will, was bedridden—just like the imperial tailor who had once lost part of his consciousness.

“Will this be enough, Your Majesty the Empress?”
“Yes… well done.”
“It’s nothing, truly.”

Rasillia was dressed for going out that day. Her skirt was slightly shorter for ease of getting in and out of the carriage, and instead of ornate, jeweled shoes, she wore comfortable boots with thick soles.

Her accessories were also kept simple.

Since their destination was a sickbed visit, Yvette had dressed her in a neat and modest style.

“Your heart must be heavy, Your Majesty,” Yvette said hesitantly, fiddling with the ribbon tying back her long black hair at the nape of her neck.
“I don’t know whether it’s a blessing or not that the trial was called off… What with the rumors, and now House Piellion’s misfortune.”
“Indeed…”
“Still, the rumors will quiet down soon enough. If anything, your relationship with His Majesty has grown closer since the trial was canceled.”

It was meant as comfort, but Rasillia felt slightly uncomfortable.

Had their relationship really grown closer?

If anything, it feels more like I’ve lost my sense of what’s what.

…No, on second thought, even that wasn’t quite right.

The only one who had lost her bearings was herself. The emperor’s conviction that she was the real one had never wavered.

I can’t make sense of it.

She still thought it impossible that she could truly be the fated partner. But when the emperor believed so firmly, it began to shake her own thoughts.

And once that doubt set in, she started to notice things she had once ignored.

Like the recurring dream.

If she really had no connection to any of it, why did demons keep appearing in her dreams? And why, each time she dreamt, did events mirroring those dreams occur in reality?

Pipi’s birth had been one such case, and so was the strange ability to see people’s inner thoughts from time to time.

In short, she was deeply confused. The rumors calling her a fake without the mark might have been circulating through the capital, but she had no mental space to worry about them.

“Your hand is almost fully healed now. Still, I’ll apply the ointment again—wouldn’t want it to scar.”

Yvette, having finished brushing her hair, took out a jar of ointment before putting on Rasillia’s gloves.

It was the wound caused by the emperor’s scales on the day of the trial.

Come to think of it, it was in the very spot where she’d once been burned by Pipi’s flames.

“Ah…?”
“Hm? What is it, Your Majesty?”

Yvette’s eyes widened when Rasillia let out an absentminded murmur.

“The burn… it’s completely gone.”
“You were burned? When?”
“A few days ago.”
“How did I not know about this?”
“Well…”

It had healed so quickly that Yvette never had the chance to notice.

And Rasillia thought she knew why.

Because he put his lips here…?

The emperor had kissed the burn, saying he wished for it to heal quickly. He’d told her that a wound caused by Pipi was the same as one he himself had inflicted, and so he could sense it.

If that was true, then perhaps the blood of demons had somehow influenced the healing process.

No, don’t go connecting everything like that.

She frowned and shook her head.

Once suspicion took root, every thought seemed to veer in that direction. And that irritated her.

What is this? At this rate, it’s as if… I actually want to be the real one.

If, by some massive concession, she really were the true partner—

And if that meant she could not avoid falling in love with the emperor—

Would that lead to the same ending as in the dream?

—I am your destiny. I love you.
—If that’s what love is, then I want no part of it.

Why had the emperor come to feel he no longer needed a fated partner?

There were still far too many unknowns.

If I truly am the real one, then there must be a reason for it. I should find that out first, and then decide what to do.

“The ointment’s all applied, Your Majesty. Wait just a bit before putting your gloves on.”
“Alright.”

As if on cue, the moment Rasillia put on her gloves, Serven and Decan arrived.

“We’ve come to escort you, Your Majesty.”

The Piellion townhouse in the capital wasn’t far from the palace—only about a thirty-minute carriage ride.

But by the time Rasillia reached it, twice that had passed. With thirty imperial guards in front and another thirty behind, the carriage’s pace was slowed to nearly half.

“Especially in times like these, it would have been better to be seen accompanying His Majesty,” Decan said from inside the carriage.

Normally, Serven should have been at her side, but he’d been demoted to a low-ranking knight and was riding behind on horseback.

Decan had hesitated for a while before finally speaking.

The three shadow knights were different in many ways, yet similar in one respect: if they believed something served the emperor’s interest, they could not hold their tongues.

“His Majesty was quite disappointed.”

It had been Rasillia who had stopped Lescal from coming along.

Politically speaking—for both the imperial family and House Piellion—Decan was right. But with her mind as tangled as it was, Rasillia couldn’t bear to be near Lescal right now.

He was the one who confused her most.

“I know you are right.”
“Do you still have the same reason for refusing His Majesty?”

That was the same as asking if she was still thinking of the young duke of Piellion.

She had no excuse—she had brought the misunderstanding on herself.

“I’m doing my best—to keep the promise I made to His Majesty.”

She gave a vague, evasive answer.

Decan’s quiet eyes studied her.

The only sorcerer in the empire, his eyes were like deep water. Perhaps they could see the things hidden from ordinary sight.

“It doesn’t seem you’re lying. You don’t appear to harbor lingering feelings for the young duke.”
“That’s… a relief to hear.”
“And you’ve never once asked His Majesty to lift the warrant on the young duke, either.”
“…? Would that even erase what he’s done?”
“His crimes are clear. Interfering with a trial is a grave offense, punishable even for nobles. But setting the law aside, His Majesty would not have refused such a request from you.”

He was right.

The emperor had already made an exception for Yvette, even going so far as to make the absurd claim he would adopt her. Everyone except Lescal had been dumbfounded by that.

“You must know this. Which makes me wonder if, from the start, you never had any affection for the young duke at all.”

“….”

The imperial sorcerer was sharp.

Holding onto her false claim—that she had tried to run away out of love for the young duke—was becoming difficult, so Rasillia cut the conversation short.

“It’s not your place to judge my feelings. Let’s leave it at that.”
“I overstepped. My apologies, Your Majesty.”

Decan’s apology was crisp.

But he wasn’t done speaking.

“Delarta has a new king.”
“What…?”

The name Delarta came out of nowhere, utterly unexpected.

“The king died suddenly, and one of the royal brothers took the throne. The crown prince fled to the nearby Lanadia territory and refused the new king’s coronation. It seems a civil war is imminent.”

So the king had died—killed by Prince Ricardo, no doubt.

Despite receiving a prophecy from the gods, she had been unable to stop it.

Guilt washed over her. But there was something more pressing than guilt right now.

“Why… are you telling me this?”
“It was His Majesty’s order. To investigate Delarta’s current state and report to you. This is only what I could gather for now—if there is something you wish to know in particular, tell me, and I will find out.”
“But why bring up Delarta all of a sudden…?”
“I heard Your Majesty once wished to go there. His Majesty assumed there must be a reason for that, since the Temple of Healing isn’t unique to Delarta.”

A strange feeling came over her.

It had been the emperor himself who had first said she could go to Delarta if she wished. Now he was even offering to find out anything she wanted to know about it.

It was as if he already knew she had come from Delarta—like he was hinting that he was aware she was not truly Cartagena Piellion.

And that was strange.

Did the emperor truly not care if she wasn’t the real empress?

If someone suddenly switched places with another, and he found nothing odd about it—wasn’t that, in itself, odd?

But if that really were the case…

…Then I wouldn’t have to lie anymore.

She wouldn’t have to pretend she’d refused him because she loved the young duke of Piellion.

She could tell the truth—that she had once been a prophetess of Delarta, betrayed and killed by the one she trusted most, and for some unknown reason brought back to life in the body of the empress.

And that this was why she could not believe herself to be the emperor’s true fated partner.

Could I… really do that?

Her heart began to race.

Until now, Rasillia had assumed the reason she would die was because the truth—that she was a fake—would be exposed.

But lately, everything between her and the emperor seemed to be veering away from that foretold outcome.

Decan’s next words drove the point home.

“If you miss Delarta, Your Majesty, simply say the word. His Majesty commanded that whatever you desire, you shall have.”
“I… Wait—what did you say?”
“If you miss Delarta,” he repeated.

To miss something meant to long for something no longer in one’s possession—in other words, to have once had it.

So Decan was essentially asking if she had, in fact, left Delarta.

Rasillia’s hand tightened unconsciously around the folds of her dress.