In the pitch-black darkness where not even a faint silhouette could be seen, Cotton squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel her breathing and heartbeat quickening as her hands flailed in the void. Quickly—quickly.
Soon, her fingers caught hold of something. Realizing it was her husband’s arm, Cotton let out a small sigh of relief. Aside from closing her eyes herself, she had always been afraid of the dark. The moment her surroundings dimmed, fear would rush in without warning. She didn’t know why. But whenever Rictan took her, he always turned off all the lights. She didn’t know the reason for that, either.
She was afraid that if she asked him to turn the lights on, he might use it as an excuse to drive her away. So Cotton tightly shut her eyes and clung to his warmth as if it were the only light she had.
When Cotton cast aside her shame and pride and came to Rictan, asking him to hold her, it wasn’t simply to conceive a child. Of course, she would be happy if she bore his child—but more than anything, she desperately needed her husband’s love, Rictan’s love. Even if it wasn’t truly love, even if it was only the hollow, miserable warmth she could feel in these brief encounters.
Their union ended as soon as its sole purpose—to conceive a child—was fulfilled. As if her hard-won courage meant nothing, Rictan rose without hesitation. Though she couldn’t see him, she felt the heavy presence of him moving away, and Cotton hurriedly grabbed onto him.
“Rictan…”
But as always, he pushed her away. The warmth beside her faded. No matter how desperately she called for him, he never reached back. As though his business was done, he didn’t even bother to speak before leaving.
She had always known he was like this, so why did it feel especially painful and empty today?
“…Is it because of your former fiancée?”
The words slipped out unconsciously. Startled, she quickly shut her mouth, but she could feel the movement in front of her halt.
“What?”
A moment later, the lights flicked on. Perhaps he had never even undressed—Rictan’s shirt was only wrinkled where she had clutched it. Something in her words had struck a nerve; his eyes widened as he glared at her, as if questioning whether he had heard correctly.
It might have been disbelief at her sudden remark, or anger at her absurd suspicion. But why did his expression only make her more certain? She didn’t want to continue, yet the truth that had already escaped her lips forced its way out again, trembling with sorrow.
“Is it because you can’t forget your former fiancée… that you don’t love me anymore?”
The only reason Cotton had become entangled with Rictan in the first place was because of that former fiancée. When he first saw her, he claimed she was his missing fiancée. Cotton had insisted it was a mistake—that she was not that person—but he had said:
[You are Renedia Alfrt. I’ll help you recover your memories.]
And so, Cotton crossed the sea with Rictan and came to Asvern. She tried countless methods to regain her memories, but nothing ever surfaced. Even after their marriage, nothing changed, and her relationship with her husband grew more distant than that of strangers.
Days passed in anxious confusion, and eventually, a single thought took root in her mind.
What if… I’m not Renedia Alfrt?
Memories—something Cotton longed to recover more than anything, yet feared more than anything as well.
Rictan’s fist slammed down on the desk with a loud bang. Even then, his anger didn’t subside; he swung his arm again and again, only stopping when blood began to stain his knuckles.
“Ha.”
Breathing heavily, Rictan lowered his head and let out a hollow laugh. Not loving her anymore—because he couldn’t forget his former fiancée? Repeating the words in his mind, the corner of his lips twisted in disbelief.
[Then what? The one who kept denying it—are you going to pretend to be Renedia now?]
So he had mocked her. The one who had torn his heart apart time and time again under the excuse of lost memories was now trying to rip open the wound once more—so he paid her back in kind. The expression on her face, frozen in shock, slowly crumbled.
It should have felt satisfying. It should have felt refreshing.
But instead, it only left a filthy, unpleasant feeling behind. Even after leaving Renedia alone in the bedroom and slamming the door behind him, her pale, lifeless face wouldn’t leave his mind.
He should have been the one to feel betrayed. So why did she look like the one who had been abandoned?
“…Damn it.”
Rictan’s face twisted. He tried to compose himself, but when it didn’t work, he gave up and roughly dragged a hand over his face. This was why he didn’t want to face her—why he couldn’t stand the sight of her. Just looking at her forced the past he had buried to rise back up over the horizon.
He opened a drawer and stared intently at a letter placed in one corner. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked it up and pulled out the contents from the already opened envelope.
{…As it is an isolated island village, their wariness toward outsiders is severe, and we could not investigate any further. However, what we did manage to learn is…}
The envelope bore the mark of urgent dispatch. Rictan had sent someone to investigate the island where Renedia had been found, and this was the report.
The document went on at length about the state of the island village of Cuswell and the reasons for withdrawal, but Rictan’s gaze was fixed on a single line in the middle. He had read it over and over again, yet it remained unchanged.
{A woman named ‘Cotton’ appears to have lived in Cuswell, forming a household with a man…}
Before he could even finish reading, the report crumpled in his grip. He stood there, frozen. After a moment, he reached into his coat with his other hand and pulled something out.
A piece of paper, folded many times. As he unfolded the worn, weathered sheet, the outlines of two figures appeared.
It was a younger Rictan and Renedia. His cheeks still held traces of baby fat, making him look youthful. Rictan stood stiffly, as if unaccustomed to being drawn, while Renedia stood beside him, suppressing a smile as she looked forward. With their arms linked and bodies close together, even within the drawing, they seemed to radiate happiness.
Rictan’s expression shifted as he stared down at the portrait. At one moment, fury flared in his eyes; the next, his nose and lips twisted as though he were holding back something surging within him.
The memories he had once cherished deeply had long since turned into a bitter blade.
“I brought some cookies you used to like. Please try them.”
With a gentle voice, a neatly arranged plate of cookies was set on the table. Lost in thought, Cotton snapped back to reality and forced a smile.
“Thank you.”
At her response, the middle-aged woman smiled warmly and urged her to eat more. Yet there was something sorrowful in the curve of her eyes as she looked at Cotton.
Pretending to shift her attention, Cotton reached for the basket and avoided her gaze. Ignoring the phrase “used to like,” she took a bite. The cookie had a perfect balance of sweetness and a refreshing fruit flavor. Though she had never seen it before, it suited her taste remarkably well.
“How is it?”
“…It’s very delicious.”
At that, the corners of the woman’s wrinkled eyes grew moist. Realizing it herself, she turned slightly and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“You’ve grown thinner since we last saw you.”
The middle-aged man, who had been gently comforting his wife, spoke with concern. Cotton shook her head.
“I just haven’t had much of an appetite lately. But thanks to this, I think it’s coming back a little.”
“Your Majesty the Empress—no, Renedia… it’s good to see your face again after so long.”
Renedia. Only these two—Rictan and Renedia’s parents—called Cotton by that name. After becoming Empress and growing distant from Rictan, she had hardly heard it anymore. At the familiar yet foreign name, she nodded with difficulty.
When she had been trying earnestly to recover her memories, Cotton had met frequently with the Alfrt couple. But there was no progress, and their hopeful gazes gradually became a burden. In the end, even after marriage, she rejected all their requests for audience and distanced herself from them.
And yet now, after nearly a year, it was Cotton who had reached out first to meet them.
As Cotton unconsciously extended her hand, Raven—Renedia’s father—pushed the basket of cookies closer to her. Taking one, she looked at the couple seated before her. She knew it was rude to stare, but her eyes kept drifting to the man’s hair.
Lowering her gaze, Cotton touched her own hair. There was no need to compare closely—they were the same shade of ash-gray. Finding reassurance in that small connection, she let out a faint, self-mocking smile.
[Is it because you can’t forget your former fiancée… that you don’t love me anymore?]
[Then what? The one who kept denying it—are you going to pretend to be Renedia now?]
She had wanted to hear him deny it. She would have preferred any other reason. But Rictan had admitted it with his own words.
After their marriage, he never showed his emotions. When she approached him, he avoided her; when she spoke, he ignored her. To him, she was invisible—like she didn’t exist at all.
Even a stone on the roadside would at least be kicked aside, the servants would whisper—but he treated her as something even less than that.
And yet, for the first time in a year, he had shown anger the day before yesterday. He had answered her, met her eyes, and even turned back to look at her—
All because she had mentioned his former fiancée.
Faced with a truth no one could deny, Cotton’s chest ached. Alone in the bedroom, she had asked herself over and over again, feeling the answer pierce her mercilessly. Her husband still loved Renedia Alfrt. He had never forgotten her.
Since the day she met Rictan, Cotton had held onto a single, unchanging wish.
She wanted to be Renedia.
