Chapter : 159. We Are People, Not Flowers (10)
The Crown Prince drank the awakening potion personally prepared by the palace chef as if it were water, then drew back the curtains and looked outside. The morning sun was faintly rising, but the Crown Prince had not slept a wink the previous night. Yet, there was no trace of fatigue in his eyes.
“Your Highness, did you rest well?”
The man who entered the office, neatly dressed, was Ilyas, his cream-colored hair carefully combed. The Crown Prince nodded without bothering to hide his pleased expression.
“And the Count—did you manage to rest?”
“Yes. Perhaps because my life hung by a thread, I couldn’t help but rest. And Your Highness, did you sleep at all?”
“I’m holding on just by thinking I’ll sleep soundly later.”
Ilyas let out a quiet sigh, feeling a pang of sympathy as he glimpsed the shadow over the Crown Prince. His mother had died young, he had no supportive relatives, and even his father, the Emperor, was indifferent. All the while, he had to confront the overbearing nobility faction. Ilyas could almost see the hardships etched into the Prince’s life.
Perhaps the Emperor and Marquis Duha were similarly only focused on what they wanted. Ilyas swallowed his judgment of the older generation alone.
“And Marquis Duha?”
“I thought a blast of cold air through the cracks in the stone walls might sober him up, but he seems to be well.”
“And his son?”
“I detained Deniha Duha separately, though he doesn’t seem particularly useful.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. It seems the Marquis carried out his grand plans on his own.”
Was it indifference—or something else?
Ilyas let the thought drop. Meanwhile, the Crown Prince asked when would be the best time to begin the interrogation, and Ilyas merely replied that evening, when the sunset approached, would be ideal.
“Why are you here so early, Count?”
“I thought I might take the first move, to make it slightly easier to hear the answers.”
Ilyas smiled gently. He had finally captured the person who killed his parents. Everything was now so close he could almost grasp it with his hands, yet he felt an odd sense of calm. Perhaps Fernsiana had felt the same. Ilyas allowed himself a brief thought of her.
“You?”
“This is the matter you promised me previously.”
“I see.”
It will not negatively affect our grand plans, Ilyas said with a faint smile. Since it was a promise already made, the Crown Prince nodded silently. Ilyas had never once said anything frivolous, so the Prince trusted his words about “making it easier to hear the answers.”
“Do not overexert yourself. It would be shameful if your health suffered, Count.”
“Your Highness, you have the elixirs prepared for Fernsiana, do you not? No need to worry.”
Ilyas smiled, bowed, and withdrew. The Crown Prince watched the office door close, then pressed his throbbing forehead and let out a sigh.
‘You really went after her, didn’t you, little brother…’
He had intended to have a young girl deliver the potion to Ilyas, but from what he heard, Fernsiana had followed anyway. Perhaps she worried about going alone, or perhaps she was concerned about meeting Count Seiran—either way, she went herself.
Despite the younger brother protesting, the Crown Prince sympathized with his preordained heartbreak.
‘It feels like a dream.’
The notebook in his arms felt heavy. He could not believe everything would be over soon. Though he had said he slept well, he had also spent the previous night awake.
The palace air was icy and harsh, yet only Ilyas’s steps felt light. People quietly made way for him, but he did not notice, walking straight toward the underground prison. Nobles like Marquis Duha, even if guilty, often faced house arrest. But due to repeated assassination attempts on the royal family, he was sent to the underground cells without opposition.
The guards were strict. At every entrance and fork in the path, two or three soldiers were stationed. Even underground, their number did not decrease. Two guards stood outside the very cell where Marquis Duha was held.
“You’ve arrived, Count.”
One guard recognized him and nodded. Perhaps pre-informed, the two guards naturally stepped back a short distance.
Once the clanking of armor faded, Ilyas brought a chair and sat in front of the bars.
“Marquis, did you rest well last night?”
The question was almost mocking to someone who had spent the entire day on the cold stone floor of the cell accused of treason, but the Marquis did not answer. The sun had just risen, yet he remained perfectly upright. Even in the darkness, it seemed his cream-colored hair and eyes were clear.
“This is the first time we’ve properly faced each other, isn’t it?”
As a child, he had been just a commoner boy; when older, an information broker; then, at most, a Viscount. Marquis Duha would never have paid him any attention.
“I expected the Crown Prince to come.”
“Well, Your Highness has not yet. He gave me the time first.”
Ilyas answered smoothly, surprised at how effortlessly his voice carried.
“I haven’t properly introduced myself.”
“If you are Count Ilyas Seiran, I know you. You’ve been assisting the Crown Prince lately.”
“To be recognized by that name is an honor… or perhaps I should say, you do not know the full story…”
Ilyas slowly traced his cheek. What had Marquis Duha been thinking all his life? He had failed to recognize even the son who bore the exact likeness of the sister he had murdered.
“What… are you saying?”
“I’ve heard you resemble your parents greatly. Don’t you see it?”
Or perhaps the fairy bloodline in him had exerted its influence. He had wished that no one would recognize him—and indeed, no one had.
‘Perhaps the Crown Prince had sensed it briefly.’
Marquis Duha looked at him, trying to conceal his confusion, his face demanding a proper answer. Ilyas decided to oblige.
“Caram Duha. That is my mother.”
Seeing the Marquis’s expression crumble was immensely satisfying. Ilyas had not expected that merely hearing the name would reduce him to such a state. He had thought the Marquis would handle it with more composure.
“You know her.”
“…How dare you speak that name!”
“Dare? Shouldn’t it be you who dares not speak it? After all, you killed her yourself.”
“…”
Regarding the murder, he had expected denial. Instead, Marquis Duha’s face had turned pale as he stared at him, examining every detail, as if confirming whether he truly was Caram Duha’s son.
“I have an interesting item. I never imagined it would be used this way.”
Ilyas now smiled and revealed the object he held—a pumpkin-shaped glass container he had received from Ambrose.
“Do you recognize it? It is an heirloom of the Mirabeau frontier family. It can distinguish between those of blood and those without.”
When Ambrose had offered it, Ilyas had initially refused, yet inwardly he had celebrated. With this great treasure, Fernsiana could become part of the royal family without issue. This artifact, passed down through generations of the Mirabeau family, could prove blood relation to the Emperor, solving everything.
With this, she could reclaim her family.
‘I never thought I’d use it for this purpose…’
Ilyas opened the lid of the glass pumpkin. Golden liquid swirled inside.
“I thought you might not believe it. Shall we see whether the Marquis and I are truly blood?”
“You brat…”
“If you dislike that, there’s another. Shall we see whether Marquis Duha and Deniha Duha are father and son?”
“!”
The Marquis’s eyes wavered. Ilyas simply stared quietly into the cell.
