Chapter 06
‘What on earth is that…?’
Reinhardt, gripping the reins, twisted his body in a near-impossible motion to look behind him—
and his violet eyes opened wide in shock.
“…Claudel?”
Claudel—who should have escaped ahead of them—was standing far off on the walls of Valdemar’s castle.
She boldly pulled back the hood of her cloak,
revealing her silver hair fluttering like a banner in the wind.
As if she wanted to make herself visible on purpose.
Her intention was clear:
She had used herself as bait, deliberately drawing attention,
so Reinhardt could have a chance to escape safely.
And just like that, soldiers began swarming toward her like ants.
“No—if the Duchess is taken hostage…!”
A knight shouted in alarm.
At the same moment, Claudel turned and looked toward them—
as if she could sense their gaze from that far away.
Reinhardt stared at her, completely mesmerized,
forgetting even to blink.
The distance was staggering—
yet Reinhardt’s exceptional vision allowed him to track her every movement.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll never drag you down.’
That’s what her soft smile seemed to say.
Then—
she raised something that glinted silver in the sunlight.
“……”
It felt as if time had stopped.
Suddenly, a strong wave of déjà vu struck Reinhardt.
He remembered their wedding day—
when Claudel had been found, soaked in blood, in the bridal waiting room.
The bloodstained silver dagger rolling on the floor…
“No…”
A low, metallic groan rose from deep in Reinhardt’s throat.
And then—
Claudel plunged the dagger into her own throat without hesitation.
Her frail body floated downward, falling from the castle walls—
Like that single forget-me-not
Reinhardt had once handed her on that radiant summer day
as they strolled the garden together.
Reinhardt screamed:
“NO!!!”
His mind went completely blank.
He had to get to her—
somehow, no matter what.
That single thought overtook everything else.
“Please, Claudel!”
Reinhardt immediately yanked on the reins.
But—he couldn’t run to Claudel’s side.
“Your Grace!”
“Please don’t!”
The knights, panicking, rushed to block Reinhardt’s path.
“Let go! I said, let go!!”
Reinhardt thrashed wildly.
But the knights clung to him with all their strength.
“You mustn’t go!”
“If you do… you’ll die too, Your Grace!”
It was true.
Right now, the Duke’s estate was swarming with the King’s soldiers.
Claudel had stabbed herself in the throat with a dagger,
and then even fallen from the castle wall.
Realistically, her chances of surviving were… zero.
“Aa—AAAHHHH!!!”
A beast-like howl tore from Reinhardt’s throat.
Claudel was… so far away.
So unbearably far—
It felt like he’d never reach her again.
Thud!
Claudel’s body hit the ground hard.
Surprisingly… it didn’t even hurt.
More than pain, she felt relief.
A kind of peace.
‘His Grace… he must have escaped safely.’
That alone was enough.
Claudel blankly stared up at the sky.
Unlike the earth, which was stained with blood, screams, fire, and ash—
the sky remained a shade of blue so beautiful, it brought tears to her eyes.
The same shade as that forget-me-not Reinhardt had once handed her,
on that radiant summer day.
She had foolishly believed…
that summer would last forever.
If only she had known it would end—
she would have found the courage.
To look into his beautiful violet eyes—
and say it herself.
“Thank you… for everything, Reinhardt.”
Like that brilliant summer that would never return,
Claudel smiled softly, one last time.
Reinhardt might never hear those words.
That shining summer had already been trampled beneath soldiers’ boots,
erased without a trace…
But even so—
“I love you.”
I know that, to you, I may have been the worst misfortune.
But to me…
You were my greatest happiness.
1. Return
“This can’t be real.”
Claudel stared blankly at her reflection in the mirror.
A pure white wedding dress wrapped tightly around her slender frame.
A tiara made of pearls and diamonds glinted coldly above her neatly twisted silver hair.
A translucent wedding veil poured down over it like mist.
A bride’s veil—meant to be lifted only by her husband.
Which meant… she had not yet met her groom.
But still—
“Is this even possible?”
Her bright blue eyes trembled, filled with confusion.
“I… definitely died, didn’t I?”
The day Duke Valdemar’s estate had gone up in flames.
She could still feel the sensation of falling from the castle wall.
She remembered looking up at the blue-stained sky in the final breath of her life—
and feeling not sadness, but almost a sense of relief.
The only regret she had…
“I didn’t get to see… whether he survived.”
Reinhardt von Valdemar.
The only duke in the kingdom, a great ruler trusted by the North.
Because of his excellence, he was forced to marry the third husband of the disgraced royal mistress.
And yet…
He had been the first man to ever offer warmth to Claudel in her shattered life.
And suddenly—
It was as if cold water had been poured over her.
“Your Grace…”
She remembered seeing him safely leave the estate with the Valdemar knights.
But what happened after that, she didn’t know.
“Did Reinhardt survive in the end?”
“Did House Valdemar clear their name from the false charges of treason?”
“What happened to all the loyal retainers of the duchy?”
A flood of questions filled her mind.
Unable to take it anymore, Claudel shot up from her seat—
And just then:
“Young Lady.”
A cold voice called Claudel’s name.
In that moment, all expression vanished from Claudel’s face.
She slowly turned around.
“Grit.”
The maid who had served Claudel since she lived in the Dotrisch household—
But in truth, Grit was her father’s eyes and ears.
She had monitored Claudel thoroughly, reported every move to the Viscount, and—
“A report has been submitted to the palace! The House of Valdemar is suspected of rebellion!”
“It seems the Duchess recently dismissed one of her maids. That maid gave testimony!”
—And in the end, she had betrayed Claudel, stabbing her in the back at the worst possible moment.
“Here.”
Grit, wearing her usual blank expression, placed a small silver dagger into Claudel’s hand.
Through the thin lace gloves, the cold touch of metal pierced her skin.
It felt too real.
Taking a deep breath, Claudel asked:
“Grit. What’s today’s date?”
Grit looked annoyed, shooting her a sideways glare.
“Why ask something so random now…?”
“Just tell me.”
Claudel insisted.
Grit finally replied, uninterested.
“November 26th, 1826.”
Yes—
It was her wedding day.
Staggering slightly, Claudel walked to the window and threw open the thick winter curtains.
She looked out upon the snowy, white garden—
and in that instant…
“……”
She bit her lower lip hard, feeling as though she might burst into tears.
Winter arrived early in the North compared to the southern capital.
The trees had lost their leaves, the gazebo, the garden path she used to walk with Reinhardt…
Even the flower bed where he had once picked a forget-me-not for her—
All were buried under layers of white snow.
Even the scenery was exactly like the day of her wedding, five years ago.
“I really… have come back to five years ago.”
Unable to contain the emotion rising inside, Claudel clenched the silver dagger tightly in her hand.
“Then what happens now?”
“Am I destined to once again become the single blemish in your shining life?”
“Will I once more bring ruin… and watch House Valdemar burn because of me?”
At that moment, Grit called her again—this time, in a tense voice.
“Young Lady, there’s not much time.”
“What?”
“Ugh, seriously. Why are you suddenly acting so slow?”
Shaking her head in irritation, Grit motioned toward the dagger in Claudel’s hand.
“Don’t you remember what Viscount Dotrisch told you to do?”
Stab that traitor!!!