Chapter 10
Cotton did not step outside her room for quite some time. She even prevented Sheildi from visiting. It was simply because she did not wish to see anyone—and Rictan did not come either. Whether that was fortunate or unfortunate, she could not tell, but for now, it felt like a relief.
Cotton slowly pushed herself up from the bed. She had no idea how long she had been lying there; even lifting her upper body made her head spin with dizziness. Her throat felt parched as if it were burning, and moving at the sluggish pace of someone just risen from a sickbed, she poured herself water from the kettle. As she moistened her throat, her clouded mind gradually began to clear.
She lacked the strength to go as far as the bath, so she dampened a handkerchief and sat down on the sofa. Pressing it gently against her stinging eyes, the heavy, swollen feeling in her head eased ever so slightly.
She had cried endlessly—truly poured everything out without restraint. The sorrow, the misery, the despair were so overwhelming that she wished she could simply sink into the ground and die. But she could not.
“…I must still love you.”
Her cracked, hoarse voice faded faintly into the air. For the past year, Cotton had longed for Rictan. Whether it was to clear up the misunderstanding or simply to be acknowledged by him, at the end of it all lay love. Even with a wound this deep—one that bled invisibly without end—she still wanted to see her husband.
It felt as though all the moisture had already drained from her body, yet tears welled up once more. The handkerchief was soaked through, no longer of any use, so she raised her arm to wipe her eyes instead. But she hesitated.
[No matter how many times I tell you, you never fix that habit. At least it’s not lace fabric—but look, your skin’s already turned red again.]
When they had crossed from Cuswell to Asburn, Cotton had once suffered from seasickness and shed tears. Rictan had stopped her from rubbing her eyes with her arm, frowning in disapproval. No matter how hard she tried not to think of it, memories from before their marriage kept resurfacing. Back then, though his words were often blunt, there had always been a quiet gentleness in his actions.
But all of that must have been because she was Renedia Alfrert.
She had known it deep down, yet she had covered it with a veil of darkness all this time. She simply did not want to face the truth, choosing instead to hide what would inevitably be revealed. But now that it had been confirmed through Rictan’s own words, her chest ached.
[If you cannot remember, then there is no reason for you to remain here…]
Cotton had no answer.
After remaining shut away for days, Cotton finally decided she could not go on like this and stepped outside. It was not so much out of concern for her health, but rather the fear that staying secluded any longer might appear as a petty act of defiance and earn her even more of Rictan’s resentment.
Her world had collapsed, yet the outside world continued to function as if nothing had happened. If anything, it seemed to run even more smoothly without her.
So she walked. Not along the open paths where people might notice her, but toward the rear of the imperial palace. Passing the small garden, she went further back until a narrow trail, hidden by trees and brush, came into view. She had discovered it while tending to the garden.
Even the back of the palace saw occasional foot traffic, so Cotton ventured deeper still. She followed the path again and again until it grew faint and eventually disappeared altogether, yet she continued pushing through the undergrowth. Looking up, she could still see the towering peak of the palace, so she did not worry about losing her way. She simply wanted to hide, unable to bear the turmoil in her heart. The palace was always full of people—she wanted, even if just for a moment, to be alone.
As she moved deeper, Cotton suddenly came to a halt.
Slowly, she scanned her surroundings, doubting her own eyes. There was nothing but trees and grass in every direction, yet something felt eerily familiar. An unsettling sensation wrapped around her entire body. Her legs weakened, trembling violently, and unable to remain standing, she hurriedly leaned against the nearest tree.
She wanted to flee immediately, yet for some reason, it felt as though she must not run. With trembling eyes, she looked around. Goosebumps spread from head to toe. An unfamiliar emotion brushed against her skin and burrowed deep into her mind—something filthy, unpleasant.
Fear.
The trigger that restored her memories was not an object. Nor was it a recollection. It was a feeling. The overwhelming fear tore open a crack in the darkness that had sealed away her memories. Through that small opening, memories began to pour out uncontrollably. Like paint seeping into a blank canvas to form an image, the ten years she had completely forgotten gradually became vivid once more.
The moment she realized where she was, her breath stopped.
Panic surged over her.
Her face turned deathly pale in an instant. Then, suddenly, a face surfaced in her mind. Eyes appeared, followed by sharp brows, the bridge of a nose, and the contours of a face. The memories she had shared with him were so vivid it felt sinful that she had ever forgotten them—as if they had happened just moments ago.
Like air rushing back into a sealed space, her halted breathing finally resumed. The fear receded, and strength returned to her legs.
“My…!”
The expression on Cotton’s face, which had seemed as though death itself was approaching, slowly filled with indescribable joy. Tears of happiness poured out like a waterfall, beyond her control. The fear tied to this place scattered like sand, leaving behind a single truth that filled her with life.
“I… was Renedia.”
Renedia Alfrert, the only bloodline of the Alfrert couple, received boundless love from her parents. Yet that did not mean she was raised gently.
They loved her enough to give her everything, and for that very reason, they wished for her to grow into the person they envisioned. From a young age—when she should have been playing with dolls—Renedia was subjected to strict education.
She was thoroughly trained in etiquette and academics befitting a ducal household, and as a candidate for empress, she was not allowed to display her emotions or utter complaints. When she was happy, she showed nothing. When she was angry, she restrained herself. When she was sad, she suppressed it. And if she failed, she was disciplined under the guise of love. As time passed, the childish whims natural to a child faded, and even her expressions disappeared.
The day the Alfrert couple first brought Renedia to the imperial palace, they were praised for raising such a model noble child. Pleased, they allowed their daughter to look around the palace on her own.
With nothing in particular to do, Renedia wandered about, partly to gather information. Then she heard something. As she listened closely, she realized it was the sound of crying. She followed the sound and, upon opening the back gate of the palace, found a boy about her age crouched before a tree, hugging his knees.
Most people working in the palace were well-dressed, as were its guests. But the boy looked thin, as though he had not been properly fed, and his clothes were worn and tattered.
“Sniff… hic… waaah… Mom…”
He was crying. The boy, smaller than average, twisted his mouth and eyes as he sobbed loudly. It was a sight never seen among nobles, who concealed their emotions and expressions. Moved without realizing it, Renedia stepped before him and greeted him with perfect etiquette.
“Hello. It’s nice to meet you.”
It was her first meeting with Rictan.
“Rictan…!”
Without even thinking to wipe her tears, Renedia hurried back the way she had come. The memories of Renedia and Cotton had merged all at once, leaving her mind in chaos, but one thing was certain:
Rictan and she loved each other.
They had been lovers—fiancés. Even though she had effectively parted from him after losing her memories, they had fallen in love once more and ended up married. It felt like fate.
She missed her husband—Rictan—more than anything. So much had happened, but surely he would rejoice upon seeing that her memories had returned. Like before… no, even more deeply than before, they would become close again.
Arriving at the palace, Renedia immediately went to find him. He was usually in his office, but it was empty. He was not in his bedroom, nor in the study. Growing anxious, she stopped a passing servant and asked,
“Excuse me. Where is His Majesty?”
“H-He has a visitor and should be in the audience chamber.”
The servant answered, flustered. Normally, he might have avoided her, unwilling to get involved, but for some reason, he found it difficult to refuse. Her eyes, though still moist, curved gently with an elegant kindness.
“Thank you.”
Renedia hurried toward the audience chamber. Her heart pounded wildly, as though it were a ball bouncing against the floor. Overwhelming joy surged within her, and tears would not stop flowing.
At last, she stood just a few steps away.
The door was slightly open, as though tea had just been served. A servant stepped out carrying an empty tray, set it aside, and began to close the door slowly. At that moment, Renedia approached and caught the handle before it could shut.
“I’ll take it from here.”
The servant released his grip, looking bewildered. Thinking he had yielded out of courtesy, she offered a soft smile and turned her head. It would be rude to interrupt a guest, but this was far too important—she intended to ask for understanding.
However, she froze in place, unable to move.
“If you have already become Emperor as you desired, then please—let my daughter go!”
A furious voice burst through the narrow gap in the door, echoing down the corridor.
‘Father…?’
There was no mistaking it.
It was her father—Raven Alfrert.
