Chapter 33
It wasn’t just a hunch.
She knew exactly who the culprit was.
Ethan Estevan.
The memory of his brazen face, calmly admitting that he had sabotaged Derek’s carriage so he couldn’t come, made Elisa curl her fingers into a fist.
What Ethan had done was an undeniable crime.
And a man who committed a crime deserved punishment.
Yes—that was the truth.
So why couldn’t she bring herself to say his name?
Ethan’s name hovered on the tip of her tongue, but that was all.
Her lips, dry and pressed tight as though sealed, refused to let it slip out.
She swallowed it back down instead.
Was it fear?
Fear that if Ethan were exposed as the culprit, it would also come to light that he’d done it for her?
That was part of it, perhaps—but no, it didn’t feel like the whole reason.
Her tangled thoughts coiled around her like a tightening noose, choking the air from her lungs.
Elisa’s face turned paper white, her bent fingertips trembling uncontrollably.
“Elisa?”
Derek’s warm hand closed firmly over hers. His voice brimmed with worry.
“Are you all right?”
No.
Not in the slightest.
Yet Elisa gave a small nod.
Derek’s relieved smile struck her heart like the thrust of a blade.
“I must have asked something too heavy. Forgive me.”
“N-no, it’s fine.”
The irony gnawed at her.
The one who owed the apology said nothing, while the one who deserved it kept apologising.
“It’s just… the cold hasn’t quite left me yet, so…”
Even as she spoke, the excuse tasted pitiful in her mouth.
She clamped her lips shut.
Derek claimed he was bad at reading people, but he wasn’t.
He was the quickest to catch on of anyone she had ever met.
And so, unable to meet his gaze, Elisa lowered her eyes.
Her lashes quivered like fragile wings.
Her wandering stare caught on the pristine white blanket—then halted at a faint blush of pink.
A stain left behind by the peach she had dropped earlier.
“Even if it’s difficult,” Derek’s earnest voice broke the silence, “could you try to recall if you’ve ever seen someone who might bear me a grudge? I truly want to see the one who did this brought to justice.”
His heartfelt plea made her stomach churn worse than morning sickness.
Elisa fixed her eyes on that peach-colored blemish as if sheer willpower might erase it.
Slowly, she parted her lips.
“…I can’t really think of anyone. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.”
She prayed desperately that her voice hadn’t trembled.
“No one comes to mind, hm?”
When she knew perfectly well who it was.
After Elisa left, Derek let out a low laugh and sank deeper into the pillow.
His eyes, fixed on the spotless white ceiling, were unnervingly calm.
To the officers, and to everyone else, he had said the same thing—that he hadn’t seen the culprit, hadn’t a clue who it could be.
But that wasn’t the truth.
He knew.
Ethan Estevan.
That bastard.
When he’d dragged his battered body from the wrecked carriage, he had seen them—those cold, grey eyes, gleaming with mockery.
There were many reasons he hadn’t denounced Ethan, but the biggest was simple: there wasn’t enough evidence.
The coachman had witnessed a man leap acrobatically over the carriage just before the crash, but hadn’t caught a glimpse of his face.
Worse still, Giselle Brianna had been all too eager to tell anyone who would listen that she had attended the Amour River boat festival with Ethan, even playing the part of his alibi.
With things as they were, accusing Ethan was useless.
The authorities wouldn’t believe it. They couldn’t arrest him.
More likely, Derek would face backlash—condemned for slandering a celebrated war hero.
He knew who the culprit was, and yet he couldn’t report him.
It was infuriating.
Humiliating.
To be so helplessly at Ethan’s mercy.
But what unsettled Derek most of all… was that Elisa had been there that day, with them.
To be precise, she had been with Giselle Brianna—she even rode the gondola with her.
What baffled Derek was that even after he failed to show up long past their appointed time, Elisa hadn’t gone looking for him.
Instead, she’d calmly ridden the gondola with Giselle.
No matter how he turned it over in his mind, it made no sense.
Still, Derek never believed Elisa was in on it. He was convinced there had to be another reason.
So when she later came to visit him in the sickroom, he deliberately prodded her.
Her reaction had been more frantic than he’d expected—utterly flustered, unable to hide it.
And when she insisted she couldn’t think of anyone suspicious, Derek knew.
She knew everything.
What stung was that she’d pleaded with him, swearing she wanted to uncover the culprit—yet she’d hidden the truth all along.
How dare she?
Did she really think he was so blind?
Or was she hoping—begging—that he would play along with her pretence?
“How much of a fool does she take me for?”
A hollow laugh slipped from Derek’s lips again and again.
He reached for one of the peaches Elisa had brought, rolling it into his palm.
“They say, when kindness is given without end, people start to mistake it for their right. How perfectly that applies here.”
He tossed the peach lightly into the air, catching it over and over like a toy.
The firm flesh quickly softened under his grip. The sensation repulsed him.
With one smooth, unerring motion—so precise it belied the fact that his arm was supposed to be injured—Derek hurled the peach at the wall.
It burst on impact, the pulp bursting open and sliding down the plaster in a sticky mess.
“This way, Elisa, I can’t offer you kindness any longer.”
The sardonic curve of his mouth hardened, and whatever trace of humour had lingered in his face vanished completely.
The allied conference—set to decide on compensation, the division of spoils, and plans for the future—was scheduled for the first Monday of the following month.
The venue: the island kingdom of Moro, one of the seven nations that made up the alliance.
Ordinarily, hosting such a grand assembly was a prize in itself, offering prestige and profit.
Kingdoms competed fiercely for the honour.
But this time, the war had ended only recently, leaving every nation drained and reluctant.
The burden fell, inevitably, on the weakest of them all—Moro.
Prince Alex, loath to travel all the way to Moro, had initially refused to go as part of the delegation.
But the moment Howard volunteered, Alex abruptly changed his tune, insisting he would attend.
Worse still, in that very day’s council, he’d gone so far as to suggest bringing along Ethan Esteban—the war hero who had led the alliance to victory.
The queen, the crown prince’s faction, and even Princess Camilla herself had seized on the idea, praising it as excellent, declaring Ethan’s presence essential.
“He’s afraid that while he’s gone, I’ll ride your prestige and win the people’s hearts for myself. That’s why he’s dragging you along,” Howard muttered, scowling as he recalled the council chamber buzzing with voices like a swarm of sparrows.
“And Camilla—she’s scheming to slip you into the marriage delegation while she’s at it. What in the world is she thinking? She’s a princess, for heaven’s sake, and she still hasn’t grown up.”
Clicking his tongue in irritation, Howard dismissed the notion as childish nonsense.
Ethan, sitting on the edge of his desk bathed in the golden glow of sunset, listened quietly to the prince’s complaints.
His complexion was so pale, so weak, it would not have been strange if he had collapsed the very next day.
Elisa Leslie.
It had to be her.
There was no one else in this world who could shake him to the core like that woman.
It was she who had given him the strength to claw his way through the hellish battlefield and survive.
Howard had never experienced such a thing himself, had never been so consumed by anyone.
He couldn’t understand why Ethan clung so desperately to Elisa.
But he had seen it with his own eyes—how deeply it mattered to him.
And for that, he pitied him.
“So even after all that, things didn’t work out with her, huh?”
He was referring to the staged carriage accident that had injured Derek Grenville, and to the ploy of sending Giselle Brianna to lure Elisa onto the gondola.
When Ethan glanced at him, as if to ask how he knew, Howard merely shrugged.
That shrug, and the silence that followed, was enough of an answer.
With a long sigh, the prince leaned back against the sofa, one arm thrown over the backrest.
“If it were me, I’d tell her everything. Leslie was the one who broke the contract first. Why in the world are you still holding back?”
“…Strictly speaking,” Ethan murmured at last, “it wasn’t Count Leslie who broke the contract.”
