Chapter 92
“We’ll need to look into this. By the way, have you heard any news about Zeppelin’s memory returning?”
“No, ma’am. Nothing like that. They say his temper’s gotten worse than before, but he still doesn’t remember you, Lady Rebecca.”
“Is that so….”
But Rebecca was certain. On the balcony that day, Zeppelin had recognized her. The nonsense he’d muttered had proven it — his memories had returned.
Why, then, would he hide that fact?
As she pondered, a faint smile curved her lips.
‘He must be suspicious of Octavio.’
According to Grace, after Zeppelin lost his memory, Alicia and Octavio had started manipulating the household as they pleased.
If Zeppelin had regained his memory, it was only natural that he’d find something strange about the situation.
And if cracks formed between them, that could only be to Rebecca’s advantage.
“You’ve done well, Kanna. This must be your first time here, right? Take the opportunity to catch up with the people of Liberta, and then escort my mother home.”
“What about you, Lady Rebecca?”
“I have something urgent to take care of. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. You go ahead and rest.”
Kanna glanced toward the grand salon.
From the entrance, a few people from Liberta spotted her and waved discreetly.
“Don’t worry. I’ll accompany Rebecca,” Julian said, having quietly listened to their exchange.
Kanna looked at his confident, reassuring posture, then nodded silently.
“Planning to contact the Emperor, aren’t you?”
Julian asked inside the carriage on their way home.
“That’s right. It’s an unexpected opportunity — I intend to use it to ensure Zeppelin falls out of the Emperor’s favor.”
“It’s as though heaven itself lends you a hand.”
“Hardly. I’d say it’s just reaping what’s been sown. Zeppelin’s facing the consequences of his own deeds. I don’t believe in heaven’s will.”
“If a knight of the Holy Order heard that, they’d haul you off on the spot.”
“Then you’ll rescue me, won’t you?”
“Of course… though I still don’t understand why you trust me so much.”
“Because you’re a magician.”
“…What?”
Julian frowned at the absurd answer, and Rebecca laughed aloud.
“No, that was just a joke. Honestly, I trust you more than I trust a god who never answers. At least you feel… warm.”
Her voice softened as she turned her gaze toward the window. The sky was burning with twilight.
There had been a time when she thought the god who pitied her had granted her another life.
But gratitude had never taken root in her heart.
After all, wasn’t that same god silent through all her misery?
In her previous life, she had prayed until her throat went raw, yet only darkness had answered.
In the end, it was her own will that changed her fate — not divine mercy.
So Rebecca had abandoned her god.
If she had time to kneel and pray, it was better spent slapping Zeppelin across the face one more time.
“I like that answer,” Julian said with a smile.
For a man known as the Duke of Johannes, said to be blessed by the gods, her answer was almost blasphemous — yet he found it exhilarating.
“Then let’s destroy it all,” he said.
“Fine. But you, for now, need to focus on your work as a designer.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Still uncomfortable with that title, Julian cleared his throat awkwardly.
“When everything else disappears, that will be what saves you. Having something to pour yourself into helps you forget so much.”
Twilight sank across Rebecca’s face.
Julian’s gaze drifted toward the flickering red hues beyond the window — the color of a flame that burns fiercely once before it dies.
In this moment, Rebecca sat beside him, breathing the same air, yet her eyes were focused somewhere far beyond.
Julian felt a chill.
It was as if Rebecca lived in a world different from his own — a world he could never reach.
Suddenly afraid she might vanish back into that world, Julian grabbed her hand tightly.
“I won’t forget anything,” he said, his voice trembling.
His grip was so firm it almost hurt, and his eyes, shadowed with sorrow, sought hers.
“So don’t disappear, Rebecca.”
Rebecca stared at him — at the man holding her as if she were his last tether to life.
Did he, perhaps, already sense something?
She didn’t know whether to prepare him for what was to come or allow him a little more fleeting happiness.
But hesitation would only be poison later.
Rebecca took a slow breath and gently pulled her hand free from his grasp.
“When the contract ends, it’s only natural we go our separate ways.”
“…A contract?”
“Yes. Don’t forget — that’s all this is. Once it’s over, we’ll go back to how things were before. As if we never knew each other.”
Her voice was cold, sharp as an icicle.
But what pierced Julian’s heart wasn’t her words — it was her face.
Her expression was painfully strained, her breathing unsteady, her brow furrowed as though the lie itself wounded her.
Rebecca, who could hide her emotions so flawlessly before others, was always unguarded before him.
Julian loved that — and hated it.
He pressed his lips together until they nearly bled. His chest ached as if torn apart.
At last, he spoke through clenched teeth.
“When it’s all over — if I still feel the same — I’ll decide then.”
Rebecca turned away, unable to bear meeting his eyes.
The brilliant light of dusk lingered for only a moment before vanishing.
In an instant, night fell between them.
“They say the Earl of Devonshire has been released…”
Zahydra fell into silence at his secretary Abraham’s report.
Rebecca’s words echoed like a prophecy in his mind:
‘Now that I’ve chosen Julian, he will rise higher and higher, while Zeppelin will fade like the setting sun. So, Your Majesty — whom will you choose?’
At the time, he had dismissed it as youthful bravado.
He had chosen not to act, merely watching to see how events unfolded.
But things had gone exactly as she predicted.
Was it her cunning? Or did Zeppelin’s dark ambitions simply expose themselves?
Zahydra had not wanted to discard such an old and loyal house.
Every time he saw Zeppelin, he remembered his late friend, Zakim Devonshire.
But now, there was no longer a choice.
The final step in consolidating imperial power was before him, and he could not afford new variables — not when the Holy Temple’s collapse was imminent.
Seeing the deep furrow in the Emperor’s brow, Abraham cautiously spoke.
“Could it be that Duke Johannes manipulated things so that Your Majesty would doubt the Earl? He has deep ties to the Temple, after all.”
“That’s possible,” Zahydra murmured, narrowing his eyes.
His piercing gaze made the secretary’s hairs stand on end. That stare — sharp, calculating — was always terrifying.
“But I doubt it. To free the Earl, Julian would have had to kneel before the Pope himself. And the proud Duke of Johannes would rather die than do that.”
Yet, recalling the way Julian had looked at Rebecca during the banquet, Zahydra sighed deeply.
“Still… there’s nothing a man in love won’t do. Those were the eyes of a fool in love, no question. Hah — who would’ve thought I’d live to see Julian look like that.”
He rubbed his temples wearily.
“By the way, how’s Catherine faring?”
“She still refuses to eat, Your Majesty.”
“The Imperial Princess can’t afford to be so weak-minded.”
“She’s still a young girl, sire.”
“She is my daughter. My children cannot afford weakness.”
Zahydra’s tone was firm, enough to make Abraham flinch.
The Emperor was as strict with his children as he was with himself.
He forced the princes and princesses to hold monthly presentations to prove their worth — ranking them and punishing those at the bottom.
Catherine was almost always near the bottom.
Yet her beauty and enchanting voice had barely kept her from falling completely out of favor.
Zahydra touched the corner of his eye thoughtfully.
“It’s time we found her a husband. Draw up a list of kingdoms offering favorable alliances.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
His words were flat — as though he were haggling over a market bargain rather than arranging his daughter’s marriage.
For a brief moment, Abraham pitied the young princess, but he quickly bowed his head. It was not his place to feel sympathy.
Then came a knock on the door.
Abraham stepped out, then returned a moment later.
“Your Majesty… Duke Johannes has sent a gift.”
“A gift? Bring it in.”
At his command, several strong servants entered, each carrying a large framed painting.
They lined up in front of the Emperor, holding the paintings upright for his inspection.
Zahydra’s lips curved into a faint smile.
“Well, well…”
The portraits were of himself — stately, noble, heroic.
Heavily idealized, perhaps, but undeniably flattering.
Abraham was quick to praise it.
“Magnificent, Your Majesty. It perfectly captures your majesty and strength. I’ve never seen such a splendid portrait.”
“Zeppelin has always had a good eye for art. I suppose this was his way of winning my favor.”
“Your Majesty? But this came from Duke Johannes—”
“No. Forget I said anything.”
“Ah, and there’s also a letter.”
Zahydra accepted the perfumed envelope. The delicate floral scent made his face twist in disgust.
The thought of Julian perfuming a letter for him was nauseating — so he chose to believe Rebecca had written it.
To beg pardon for our previous discourtesy, we send this humble gift.
We chose it with utmost care and hope it pleases Your Majesty.
In addition, we would like to deliver our wedding invitation in person,
and so we are hosting a small tea gathering.
The featured dessert shall be Mont Blanc cake.
We sincerely hope that Your Majesty will grace us with your presence,
accompanied by any dear companions you wish.
Zahydra read the address written below.
La Bonne Salon?
He’d never heard of the place.
And typically, a salon was held in one’s own home — yet the address was not the Duke’s mansion, but somewhere within his duchy near the capital.
When Zahydra showed the letter to Abraham, the secretary frowned in confusion.
