Chapter 49
“Your Majesty. Would you care for some tea?”
“…No.”
It was the same answer he’d given for days.
Riyan clicked his tongue inwardly.
“If you don’t stay hydrated, Your Majesty’s face will suffer.”
“…”
“Her Majesty the Empress once said Your Majesty was handsome…”
“…Ha.”
Lescall, sprawled on the couch in the study with his arm covering his face, lowered his arm and glared at Riyan.
The sharpness in those golden eyes had grown even harsher these past few days, and though Riyan felt the weight of that stare, he held firm.
“Please at least drink something. If your skin gets rough, your looks will fade.”
Lescall abruptly sat up.
“Bring me anything.”
“A wise decision, Your Majesty.”
A few days without food or water wouldn’t truly make that face look gaunt. What bothered Riyan was seeing Lescall draped across the couch like a worn-out carpet.
Moments later, a servant arrived with warm tea, refreshments, and water.
“Please, Your Majesty.”
Lescall picked up a glass of water at random. Yet, as though he had no will to swallow, he simply held it in his hand.
“Your Majesty.”
“I thought… you would grow to love me. Eventually.”
“…Pardon?”
The bluntness of the remark startled Riyan.
Clink.
Lescall set down the glass and collapsed back onto the couch, once again draping his arm over his eyes before speaking.
“Was the reason the Empress always rejected me because of the young duke?”
“Uh… are you asking me about Her Majesty’s feelings?”
“Yes.”
Beneath the cover of his arm, his mouth seemed to twist.
“Because I can’t make sense of it, no matter how much I think.”
“Well, um… it’s just that Her Majesty and Lord Pielion were lovers before… and the marriage was unavoidable, and… perhaps she couldn’t let go of her feelings… Ah—my apologies. I truly don’t know.”
Feelings between people were far more complicated than swordsmanship. Riyan had always believed that all he needed to master was his blade.
“She doesn’t love him anymore.”
Lescall muttered the words like a stone dropped into silence.
“…Your Majesty?”
“I mean the Empress. She doesn’t love him anymore. Because she’s lost her memory.”
“Hmm… I’m not sure we can confirm the amnesia is real just yet—”
Crack.
Something broke. Lescall had torn the armrest off the couch as he sat up.
“Your Majesty, the chair is broken.”
“If the memory loss were fake, why would the Empress feel so different now?”
Riyan couldn’t deny that.
The Empress had changed—entirely. The cunning, venomous woman of before was gone without a trace.
“What if the last four years were a façade?”
“You mean she acted that way on purpose? Why?”
“She couldn’t refuse the marriage, so she may have chosen the next best option—to provoke Your Majesty’s disdain and force a divorce. Not that I’m saying that’s what truly happened, but it’s… possible… Mmph—”
As Riyan spoke his thoughts aloud, he belatedly clamped his mouth shut under the weight of those ever-sharpening golden eyes.
After some silence, Riyan ventured a comforting note.
“…However, since the memory loss, Her Majesty has never once summoned the young duke to the palace. He came on his own, once, but that was all.”
Since then, the young duke had kept silent.
It didn’t quite add up that someone would live a lie for four years for the sake of a passionate love.
“Did the Empress love him that much?”
“I truly cannot say, Your Majesty.”
“What kind of eyes did she look at him with? When I interrupted them, how did she look at me?”
“Uh, well…”
Now Riyan realized that Lescall wasn’t asking him.
“…Damn it. I can’t remember.”
“…”
“I can’t recall a single thing about how she acted these past four years.”
“Well, that’s because you didn’t pay attention, Your Majesty.”
“I know. I know exactly how I treated her.”
To him, the Empress had been nothing more than a painting on the wall. He knew what she looked like, but that was all.
He called her his mate, but felt nothing. The only time he’d sensed something was when he confirmed the mark. Even that vanished the moment she dressed and hid it away.
So he assumed that was what a mate was—someone who existed only in name.
Even while enduring the pain of the Blue Moon, he had never longed for her presence. The mark meant she was his mate, and as long as they consummated before his thirtieth birthday, everything would be fine. Nothing else mattered.
Even the existence of Pielion didn’t stir him. Pregnancy would have been a headache, but the Empress had assured him that would never happen.
“But now…”
He hadn’t known then—
—that there would come a day when he couldn’t swallow a single sip of water because he was trying to recall a single flicker of the look in her eyes when she saw the young duke.
“…Why didn’t I know?”
“Know what, Your Majesty?”
“What a mate truly is.”
Riyan’s expression softened with genuine pity.
“If only Your Majesty had known from the start.”
“Indeed.”
The quietness of Lescall’s reply only underscored the depth of his regret.
After a pause, Riyan offered another attempt at consolation.
“Still… perhaps it’s too soon to say your bond is broken beyond repair. It took Your Majesty four years—perhaps Her Majesty simply needs more time as well.”
Just then—
Step. Thud.
Distinct footsteps, unlike those of the twin knights, heralded Deccan’s arrival.
“Ah… may I enter?”
The heavy air in the room had made him hesitate.
“Come in. What have you learned?”
“There have been secret exchanges between House Pielion and the Grand Temple. We are still investigating the contents.”
Even as he spoke, Deccan cast cautious glances at Lescall’s unusually harsh expression.
Guessing the reason, Riyan mouthed silently: Rumors.
“Is this about the trial?”
“Yes. Since Her Majesty agreed to stand trial, it seems the duke has taken action. And one more thing—after those letters were exchanged, traces of sorcery were found around the duke’s estate.”
“…Sorcery?”
“Given the timing, it’s hard to believe it’s unrelated to the trial.”
Riyan frowned deeply.
“What on earth are they scheming? The trial is one thing, but why call in a sorcerer…? No magic can sway a judgment in a hall crawling with priests. Unless they mean to forge a new mark? …Wait, hold on—”
It had been a throwaway remark, but it suddenly felt like a thread of truth.
Deccan nodded.
“That’s exactly the assumption I’ve made. According to the indictment, the mark has been fading for four years. If true, that’s a grave issue for House Pielion. A month ago, they may have brought in a sorcerer to fix it.”
“What…? Oh…!”
Riyan let out a short cry. It all fit together now.
“If the sorcerer from Trinidad tried to restore the vanished mark, and the side effect was Her Majesty’s memory loss… Damn, the pieces are fitting together.”
Deccan continued calmly.
“It’s only a theory, but the sorcery likely failed. The First Lady-in-Waiting, Marchioness Pashad, could not have missed this—and she may have leaked it to the temple.”
“So that’s how the priests learned the mark was gone. But then what about the imperial seamstress? If the indictment was their goal, Marchioness Pashad alone would’ve sufficed as a witness.”
“The marchioness has gone silent. After an accident on her way to the temple, and then a private meeting with Her Majesty the next day, she shut herself away and hasn’t left her house. She likely broke ties with the temple.”
“Hmm… or Her Majesty persuaded her into silence. Either way, same result.”
“Which means they needed a new witness to press charges.”
Lescall cut in.
“So they manipulated the imperial seamstress to confirm the mark? That makes sense… but it doesn’t. If they could manipulate the seamstress, it would’ve been easier to control the marchioness again.”
“Agreed. So I added one more assumption.”
“Go on.”
“That power—the one to control minds—is neither magic nor sorcery. Nor is it divine.”
“And?”
“It must have limitations. For instance, perhaps it can only be used within the temple.”
“What?”
Riyan stomped his foot unconsciously.
“So they couldn’t use the marchioness because she wouldn’t leave her house?”
“Exactly. Which is why I tracked the seamstress’s movements. Before she entered the palace for the last time, there’s a gap the night before that I couldn’t account for.”
“You’re saying she went to the temple during that time?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Riyan slapped Deccan’s shoulder with enthusiasm.
“Damn, you’ve been working hard after all! You’ve been so quiet I thought you were slacking.”
Deccan scratched his neck sheepishly.
“I did my best as always. This case was simply… complicated.”
“Yeah, yeah, fine. So the sorcerer reappearing at the Pielion estate now must mean they’re still trying to… Wait, hold on—”
Riyan turned sharply to Lescall.
“Doesn’t this seem strange, Your Majesty?”
“It does.”
Deccan’s theory was impressive—a fragile chain of evidence woven into something close to truth.
But one piece of the puzzle still didn’t fit.
“If the sorcery failed… then why did Your Majesty start seeing Her Majesty as your true mate after the memory loss?”
The timing was uncanny.
A sorcery meant to restore the mark. Success or failure uncertain—but the Empress lost her memories.
And right after that, Lescall’s dormant instincts awakened.
It couldn’t be dismissed as mere coincidence. Her amnesia was clearly the turning point that changed everything between them.
“The sorcery must have failed. The temple wouldn’t have dared issue an indictment otherwise, and the fact that House Pielion summoned another sorcerer supports that the mark is still gone.”
“Agreed. But then why—if the Empress’s mark vanished—did she become my true mate? I can’t make sense of it.”
After a long pause, Deccan shook his head slowly.
“I cannot answer that either.”
Riyan glanced at Lescall.
“What does Your Majesty think?”
Lescall’s brows were drawn tight, his eyes shut in a way Riyan had never seen before—like a man thinking fiercely, desperately.
At last, Lescall lifted his lids and fixed his gaze on Deccan.
“Tell me this… could sorcery… change a person?”
