Chapter 45
The man said nothing.
He simply stared intently at the photograph with piercing eyes.
Leaning back into the sofa, Ethan continued.
“Her name’s Hannah. She’s Lady Lascaille’s personal maid. I watched her kill the wyvern I released using Magic Gunsmanship. But… even after staying by her side for almost three weeks, there wasn’t the slightest sign of her memories returning. Maybe the return process just takes longer… or maybe I was wrong. Damn it.”
“…You said you saw Magic Gunsmanship.”
“That’s what I’m starting to doubt. Maybe it was some other kind of magic and I got so excited I mistook it for Magic Gunsmanship… It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the real thing, after all.”
“Longer than you think.”
“Yeah, whatever. The point is, I can’t tell anymore. I honestly don’t know. I keep hanging around her, waiting to see if her memories come back, and it’s driving me insane. I can’t exactly kidnap and interrogate a girl who might be Rita. If I just keep waiting like this, I’m going to lose my mind.”
The man ignored Ethan’s rambling.
He continued staring at the photograph.
Finally, he slowly set it down.
“I’ll meet her myself.”
Ethan blinked.
“And how exactly are you planning to do that? The Crown Prince showing up at a duke’s estate just to meet an ordinary maid? I’d love to see the scandal that causes.”
“If she’s a maid of House Lascaille…”
The man rested his chin on one hand.
“…Then I’ll attend Lady Lascaille’s debutante ball.”
“A ball? How are you planning to meet a maid there?”
“We’ll be in the same mansion. We’ll simply happen to cross paths.”
“‘Simply happen’? How?”
“That’s your job to plan.”
“…Damn.”
“What about the young lady?”
“Huh?”
“The duke’s daughter. Could she be a Returned One?”
“No idea. They say she’s got amnesia. Besides, when there’s someone who might actually be Rita standing right in front of me, do you think I’d care about something like that?”
“…”
“We’ve spent four years searching, and we never found another Returned One besides ourselves. Maybe Lady Lascaille was just kidnapped or something. At this point, it’s pretty obvious we’re the only ones who came back. Maybe Rita…”
The man silently looked at Ethan.
Ethan stiffened before roughly running both hands through his hair.
“No, I haven’t given up. I swear I haven’t. If I had, would I have found Hannah? We will find Rita. She came back. She had to…”
His voice faltered.
“This time… this has to be the right answer, doesn’t it… Boss?”
Covering his face with one hand, Ethan collapsed deeper into the sofa.
“Damn… having hope is even worse. Crazy Rita Pascal… Did you think we’d thank you for dying like that? Just come back already… Damn it…”
His muttering carried a hint of tears.
The man quietly watched him before silently refilling his empty wineglass.
The sound of wine pouring made Ethan crack open one eye.
He snatched the glass and drained it in one gulp.
While Ethan continued drinking one glass after another, the man set down his own unfinished drink.
He leaned deeply into the sofa, resting his hand against his mouth without moving.
By the time Ethan had nearly emptied an entire bottle by himself, he staggered to his feet.
As he walked toward the balcony with unfocused eyes, he glanced back at the man, who hadn’t changed position once.
“…There it is again.”
“…”
“Your hands are shaking.”
The man remained silent.
“I was wondering why someone who barely drinks had opened a bottle. Hey… how long’s it been since you actually slept?”
“Three days.”
“This time it hasn’t been that—… Wait, no. You mean the last time you slept was three days ago? How long did you sleep? And before that?”
“…”
“You should just drink more, Boss. Maybe then you’d actually get some sleep.”
“…”
“If you die before we find Rita, I’m going to kill you myself, you crazy bastard.”
Swearing under his breath, Ethan vaulted over the balcony railing and disappeared.
After Ethan left, the man reached for his unfinished wineglass.
His outstretched hand shook uncontrollably.
Crack.
The glass shattered inside his grip.
Wine mixed with blood as crimson streams ran down his palm through the embedded shards.
Without changing expression, he looked down at his mangled hand.
Then simply let it hang at his side.
The truth was…
It had been a long time since alcohol had been enough to make him sleep.
He reached into his coat and took out a small pill bottle.
A senior who knew his condition had made the medicine, warning him to take it only when he truly couldn’t endure anymore.
Without water, he bit down on one tablet.
Then he collapsed onto the sofa.
Blood dripped steadily from the hand hanging over the armrest.
As the medicine slowly took effect, the pain from the broken glass gradually dulled.
Just before finally falling asleep for the first time in three days…
The man stared blankly into space.
…She really does look like her.
This was the closest lead he’d ever had.
If it’s not her this time…
The thought never reached its conclusion.
Sleep, as deep as death, swallowed him whole.
April 17, 1770 — Evening
The sun had set.
Darkness spread across the land.
Before the stars could fill the sky, countless lamps illuminated the capital.
Luxury carriages arrived one after another.
Footmen rushed about busily receiving guests and guiding them inside.
Tonight…
Lady Lascaille’s Debutante Ball was about to begin.
Among House Lascaille’s servants, the newly hired footman Ethan noticed one carriage in particular.
It was unusually large.
Pitch black.
Painted on its side was a black dragon wearing a crown.
Its golden eyes, fashioned from real gemstones, gleamed beneath the lantern light.
It carried the most distinguished guest of the evening.
Instead of an ordinary footman, even the head butler hurried out personally to receive it.
Ethan fixed his gaze on the black-haired man stepping from the carriage.
Looking at him now, it was impossible to believe those hands had been trembling only hours before.
His face was perfectly composed.
His naturally imposing, intimidating features were softened by a carefully practiced smile.
Once he concealed both the overwhelming aura he was born with…
…and the broken state of his mind…
He looked like nothing more than an absurdly handsome, unmarried Crown Prince.
Ladies stepping from nearby carriages immediately began whispering excitedly.
Even the gentlemen couldn’t help looking his way.
Through the gathered nobles…
Ethan met the Crown Prince’s sharp golden eyes.
He gave the slightest nod.
The preparations were complete.
Hannah the maid would “coincidentally” run into him.
Meanwhile…
Lilietta was so tense she felt as though she were entering the territory of an unknown magical beast.
At least I managed it.
For the past several days, she’d practiced the waltz with Anton…
…and later with the knights of House Lascaille whose faces she still barely recognized.
Just as thinking of Luca had helped her dance with Anton, imagining similarities between the knights and her old Beacon comrades had also helped.
The Crown Prince will be the same.
His build… his hair… his voice…
If I focus on something that reminds me of someone I already know…
Then even if he accidentally steps on my foot… I won’t instinctively chop him in the throat.
All she had to do was survive the first dance.
After that she’d simply claim exhaustion, politely refuse every invitation, smile, exchange greetings…
…and make it through the evening.
Everyone knew Lady Lascaille had been frail as a child.
No one would insist she keep dancing after she claimed to be tired.
Just survive the first dance.
That’s all.
“My lady! You look absolutely beautiful! Look!”
An overexcited Hannah held up a mirror.
Seeing herself properly for the first time…
Rita honestly admired the result.
I’m even prettier when I’m dressed up.
Since Lilietta had expressed no opinion regarding her debutante dress, the Duchess’s tastes had dominated the design.
Believing her only daughter to be an angel—or perhaps a fairy—the Duchess had chosen the theme:
The Iris Fairy.
The finished gown consisted of countless overlapping layers of lavender fabric in shades ranging from pale lilac to deep violet, arranged like flower petals.
Tiny jewels were scattered along the hems like morning dew.
A braided strand of pearls cinched her waist.
Her long golden hair was left flowing freely, decorated with iris-shaped amethyst hairpins.
She wore diamond earrings and a matching necklace.
Instead of bracelets, elegant white lace gloves covered her hands.
She was perfect.
When she stepped out of her room…
Her waiting family simply stared.
“…That’s cheating.”
“She’ll be the belle of this year’s debutantes.”
Rihardt laughed helplessly.
Leonhardt smiled with satisfaction.
The Duchess burst into tears of joy.
Even the Duke’s eyes turned red as he pressed his lips tightly together.
The tension Rita had carried—as though preparing for battle—slowly melted away at the sight.
These people…
Would believe in her no matter what.
Even if she made a mistake…
They would stand by her.
Her family.
A moment later, the Duke approached and offered his arm.
“Would you give your father the honor of escorting you, my dear daughter?”
“With pleasure.”
Smiling warmly, Lilietta placed her hand on her father’s arm.
It was time…
To enter the Cream Dome.
