IHYWRM l CH 06

Chapter 6

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“…(omitted)

My love, Charlotte—while remembering that day, I suddenly thought of this:

Just thinking of you dying makes it hard for me to breathe. What about you? Would you be very sad?

It may be a useless worry, but I thought about it for a long time and came to this conclusion:

‘Ah… I wish you could forget everything one more time.’

Hmm. Is that too sad a thought? If so, Charlotte—

If that ever happens, please think of me and be sad for just one minute a day.

Only that much. Any more would hurt me too—seeing you in pain.

Of course, I’ll do my best so that such a terrible thing never comes to us…(omitted)”

—From a letter written on a day Charlotte would never see.

“Your Grace, shall we refuse these gifts as well?”

Charlotte looked up from her work at her aide, who wore a troubled expression.

She signed the last document and leaned back. Even after three years, the chair was still too big and made her back ache.

“What kind of gifts this time?”

“Silks from Baron Illaire, dresses and tonics from the Marquis of Verche, and various gems and artifacts from others.”

“I see.” Charlotte tapped her fountain pen against the desk—tap, tap. Her usually blank face showed a small crack.

Once, that face would have been frightening. But now the aide looked not worried but almost… hopeful.

“Distribute them to the household staff as a mid-year bonus. Convert whatever’s left into cash and donate it to the orphanage.”

“Yes, Your Grace!”

His voice rose in surprise, and he shut his mouth quickly. Charlotte gave a faint smile at his reaction.

He cleared his throat. When a person who’s always expressionless smiles now and then, he never knows what face to make.

“Ahem. Then I’ll take my leave.”

He hurried out to arrange equal bonuses for every servant, himself included.

Charlotte stayed leaning against the chair a while longer.

Rattle.

She opened the familiar drawer. Unlike three years ago, it now held only a single letter.

She took it out and slit the edge with practiced hands. The cool, crisp paper felt soothing against her sun-warmed fingers.

For a while she didn’t open it—just smoothed the folded page slowly.

“What meaning should I live for now, Noctum?”

This was the last letter. And strangely enough, it was the last one he ever wrote—dated July 3rd.

‘Perhaps God gave me this trial so I could understand your pain.’

Holding down her pounding heart, Charlotte unfolded the page.

The familiar handwriting she had seen for three years greeted her first.

“Imperial Year 847, July 3.

To my beloved wife, Charlotte.

Charlotte! It’s already July 3rd. You probably don’t know why I’m reacting like this, do you?

But you’ll soon find out. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is July 4th? The only thing that happened then was my trial.”

Charlotte frowned. He was a grand duke and the first prince; there’s no way he didn’t know about her trial.

Then why did he sound so cheerful? She kept reading to find an answer.

“Normally, I should keep my mouth shut, but I don’t want you to be too shocked, so I’ll write a little.

Maybe this will calm my heart too.

For July 4th, I received much help from the Hueril Trading Company and the imperial family. I trusted what you told me.

His Majesty said I was getting ahead of myself, but since you told me that, I can’t help expecting things and making many plans.”

“What on earth…?”

What did I say to him—right before a summons for my trial arrived?

Charlotte let out a sigh.

The more she read, the less sense it made.

What she had told him, the plans he made, the summons to court—
none of it fit together.

She tried to recall anything she might have said to Noctum, but nothing came to mind.

“I don’t want to see your tears, but tomorrow—just for tomorrow—I really do want to see Charlotte cry.

For that, I’ll make one last visit to the Hueril Trading Company today to confirm things.

I hope you aren’t too startled by the letter from His Majesty…

Ah, I must go.

Dreaming of our future starting again.

Your husband, Noctum Afros.”

“…”

The letter ended. Normally she would have read it again and again, but today she just stared at the signature—his name.

Puzzling. Even she, who always braced for the emotional aftershock of these letters, felt something new.

She even wondered if he had arranged all this so she wouldn’t lose the meaning of life after his death.

“If it wasn’t a criminal trial… then what was it?”

Her free hand clenched.

Looking back, there were a lot of odd things—so many that she wondered why she hadn’t felt it sooner.

Even if she was Noctum’s wife, with him gone the family could have been dissolved without issue.

Yet she clearly became head of the ducal house. There was no trial. Even the emperor did not show her any displeasure.

“…I should go to the Hueril Trading Company.”

It would be hard to get the whole story from the emperor. The last hope was the company mentioned in the letter.

Charlotte called her aide back and ordered him to gather information on the firm, then returned to the mountain of work.

In the three years since Noctum’s death, she had worked without rest, determined not to stain his name.

Most of all, she focused on projects for the people of the empire, and they began to call her the “Saintly Duchess.”

A far cry from the old title—“the wicked woman who mocked the people with her money.”

‘Because Noctum died, the story veered away from the original.’

Charlotte signed the final report for the free medical program for citizens.

Exhausted, she moved from her office to the bedroom connected to it—Noctum’s old room.

Without any maid’s help, she finished getting ready for bed, took the letter she had read today, and read it once more, slowly.

“For that, I’ll make one last visit to the Hueril Trading Company today to confirm things.”

“So… if it was for me, then I drove you to your death.”

Her voice, tinged with tears, echoed in the dark, empty room.

“If only I could go back. Then I could have told you I loved you before you got in that carriage.”

But that’s a foolish dream. She gave a faint smile, and a tear at the corner of her eye rolled down her cheek.

‘You said you wanted to see my tears—I could cry until the ice melts.’

Ignoring her tear-soaked face, she closed her eyes. Her head spun; she had cried too much.

‘I’ll read it just one more time and then… sleep…’

But before she could, her head drooped and she nodded off.

Nngh.

Her whole body ached, as if she’d been hit. Even her skull throbbed; she couldn’t tell dream from reality.

Could she open her eyes? She frowned.

‘Have I been pushing myself too hard?’

Since the letters began to run out, she’d been sleeping less than three hours a night.
As she moved to get up, a thud sounded nearby.

That kind of sound had no place in her bedroom. The ducal estate was layered with the protection spells Noctum had carefully set.

‘Then this must be a dream.’

She thought hazily. The person who made the noise walked toward her with steady steps.

“…Are you alright, my lady?”

Tap, tap. A man touched her shoulder. Charlotte focused on his voice more than his touch.

Low, rough, unfamiliar—yet one she knew well.

A voice she missed dearly.

As she realized who it was, her stiff body relaxed and her eyes flew open.

My God.

“Honey!”

It was Noctum. Truly Noctum.

Tears rose instantly. Afraid he would vanish, she grabbed his arm in a panic.

“Why—how—why did you come to me only now, in a dream? I’ve waited so long…”

It was far too late. He’d been gone three years before he finally showed his face even in a dream.

He said something, but she was overwhelmed by the vivid feel of him. Dream-Noctum was strange—the way his hair didn’t stir over his uniform, for example.

“Did you cut your hair short even in my dream because I said I disliked it long? I… oh, Noctum. How could this be…”

Seeing his short hair made her heart ache. Lowering her gaze, she noticed the sword at his waist.

“Why are you wearing a sword? I’m sorry. Because of me you’re carrying such a harsh weapon.”

Was this also because of the cruel things she’d once said?

‘I hate your long, flowing hair. I hate that your face is prettier than a woman’s. I hate that you study magic instead of the sword, that you stay home because of it, and that you’re so gentle. I hate it all.’

Tears ran down on their own. Why had she said such things, forcing him to appear like this even in her dream?

Why had she been so cold—why had she made his last days so hard?

“Sob… I wanted to tell you not to ride that carriage, to tell you I’m sorry…”

The words tumbled out—excuses, really. He could have been angry, even in a dream, but he gently patted her.

“If only you were alive…”

If he were, she would feel like she had the whole world. She cried for a long time. He kept patting her silently, and she fell asleep again, wrapped in his warmth.

Maybe because only one letter remained, or because of the trading company—

Even after dreaming of Noctum, Charlotte had another dream.

This time, she became the villainess—the woman who cruelly tormented the male lead, Noctum.

‘How dare you lowborn things touch me?! Get out of my sight!’
‘Who do you think you are, calling me “sister”? With filthy blood like yours, keep your head down and hide. To think you’re my sister—disgusting!’
‘I offer charity and you dare protest? Ha! This is why commoners are hopeless—like insects!’
‘Grand Duke Noctum Afros! I will marry you. If not him, I’ll never marry at all!’

It felt so real that for a moment Charlotte wondered if she had become that villainess.

But right then—

“…Charlotte!”

Someone called her desperately. Pulled to the surface of sleep, she snapped her eyes open.

What she saw wasn’t the familiar ducal bedroom, but an unfamiliar ceiling painted with fancy designs.

‘Still dreaming?’

She stared blankly up at the ornate ceiling.

The nightmare that had just tormented her was already fading.

Then, as if to prove it was a dream, someone “tackled” her with a remark from beside her.

“I couldn’t see you anywhere and came looking—nearly died of fright, Charlotte.”

It was none other than Adrian Verche.

“…What?”