Chapter 7
2. The Funeral and the Heirs
There was still some time left before the guests invited to the memorial service would arrive.
While the three of them stepped away to speak with the priests about the service, Isolette moved ahead into the prepared inner room. At the very front stood the coffin.
Decorated with pure white flowers, the coffin gleamed brilliantly in the light pouring in from the front. Isolette took a step forward. Inside lay someone she could never forget.
It was a white coffin, as if to compensate for a life of hardship. Who could say if the deceased truly wanted a funeral like this? She had once been a princess of a kingdom, not of the empire.
Though she had made the best choice possible under her circumstances, who could say whether it had ever been her true wish?
If she had been free to choose her own path, where would she have wished to die?
Isolette knew the question was pointless. After all, she’d renounced her royal status, sought asylum, and married the Duke—there was no other place she could’ve died but here.
Her name was engraved delicately on the top of the coffin. Isolette gently whispered it aloud.
“Kirke.”
Saying it felt like committing a crime—fear crept in as her chest tightened. Even standing before the coffin, it still didn’t feel real. Perhaps because she didn’t want to believe that this was truly her final rest.
A selfish hope, born from the desire for her to live just a little longer, so she could remain a place of belonging for Isolette.
The door, which had been shut tight, creaked open. Turning around, she saw Leila gesturing for her to come out. Her voice wasn’t loud, but the acoustics of the space carried it clearly to where Isolette stood.
“I want to introduce you to Linton!”
Even when someone dies, time moves on, and life continues.
Isolette stepped away, unsure whether she should smile or cry.
Something felt wrong, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“See him? The one talking to Julian over there.”
A man with a gentle impression. His soft brown curls added warmth to his image. Leila leaned toward Isolette, whispering into her ear.
“He was really nervous coming here. If he makes a few mistakes, don’t pay it any mind.”
Attending the funeral of one’s fiancée’s family must’ve carried tremendous pressure. Given he had come this far, their engagement was essentially official.
Leila approached the two men. Noticing her presence, Julian and Linton turned around.
They shared a light embrace. Linton’s eyes looked tired—perhaps he hadn’t rested properly since returning from the Mage Tower.
Leila turned back and smiled at Isolette. A genuinely happy smile.
“This is Linton Skylar, my fiancé. He’s a researcher at the Mage Tower.”
“Linton. Pleased to meet you.”
He bowed his head slightly in greeting. There was a certain intensity to his gaze.
“And this is my entire childhood—Isolette.”
“Isolette Harper.”
“…Yes.”
His reply came out oddly stiff. From how affectionately he embraced Leila, Isolette had assumed he was a warm person. Of course, he had no reason to be warm toward her, and she wasn’t angry.
Just one more person who probably didn’t like her. After the funeral, they would likely never cross paths again.
She tried to soothe the hollowness in her chest with that thought—until she heard chuckling beside her. Leila.
“Linton’s seen every one of your performances.”
Isolette turned her head in surprise.
That stony face? Really?
“I-I really liked your Goose… Wait, I mean—not the goose, your role as the goose girl…”
“I was the Goose-Herd Girl.”
The fact that he remembered one of her earliest roles suggested Leila was telling the truth.
It felt a bit embarrassing. It had been a long time since she’d stood on stage, and while fans often complimented her, such raw sincerity always disarmed her.
“The closest seat I ever got was during that one. Good seats are usually reserved for nobles, so until I got established at the tower, I could only afford ones in the back. But! Even from afar, I could see it. When you act, it’s like there are stars swirling around you…”
“Linton, are you breathing?”
Leila laughed as Linton rambled with a stiff face. She seemed genuinely delighted. It made sense—being surrounded by what you love does that.
“If you’d like, you and Leila are welcome to visit next time. I could show you backstage.”
Usually, she would offer tickets as a sign of gratitude, but since he was Leila’s fiancé and they’d have better seats anyway, this was the next best gesture.
“No, I couldn’t possibly… I mean, if it’s not too much trouble—I’d love to. Absolutely.”
“My goodness. I should’ve gotten you seats ages ago.”
Leila pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to Linton, who was now wiping away sweat as he nodded repeatedly.
“Sorry. He’s a bit… pure, from being buried in research all the time.”
That’s probably why Leila chose him. Even if Isolette didn’t know for sure, she could guess—this man must’ve given Leila everything he could, in his own way. She nodded in understanding, and Julian added with a tone of mild reproach:
“Good thing you arrived before the other guests, Linton. If gossipmongers had seen this, you might’ve ended up as some Mage Tower researcher using Leila for clout.”
There was a slight edge to his voice. Isolette turned toward him, startled.
Julian tilted his head as if unaware of what he had just said. But Isolette had felt it—he had been upset.
It was as if he didn’t like how much Linton admired her, even if she was just his fiancée’s old friend. That could be one interpretation.
Yet if Julian truly believed Linton to be that kind of man, he wouldn’t have approved of the engagement in the first place.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.”
Linton shook his head plainly. Leila looped her arm through his and looked at Julian, almost like she was defending her fiancé.
“He’d never do that. And if he did, I wouldn’t let it slide.”
“L-Leila…”
“Relax. It was a joke, Linton. Don’t take it so seriously.”
She brushed it off with a cheerful voice, but Isolette glanced at Julian out of the corner of her eye.
Yes. Just a moment ago, he’d been angry.
Sensing her gaze, Julian turned to look at her. His face now bore the gentle smile of a docile creature—so disarmingly soft it made her uneasy.
“Why are you staring?”
“It’s nothing.”
But when I’m in front of you, it always feels like…
During the memorial service, Isolette sat at the very back. Most of the guests were recognizable figures—ones she’d seen in newspapers, at stage doors, or after-parties.
It seemed even with her face veiled, a few had recognized her.
Otherwise, there was no reason why only she and Daniel would be seated at the very end of this long row. Maybe it wasn’t so surprising—these people of high society weren’t interested in associating with someone who held no noble title.
This wasn’t a ball. They had no desire to share more than fleeting amusements with someone like her.
She had taken the last row knowing this might happen. She wasn’t upset—but if she regretted anything, it was that she still wanted to be up there. Close.
Even if she knew that the distance didn’t equate to grief.
‘It’s all too ceremonial.’
Daniel, Julian’s aide, stared up at the cardinal reading the eulogy.
Of all times, the only cardinal left in the capital was one with a fondness for earthly pleasures. Naturally, there had been pointless tension during the preparations for the funeral.
Daniel glanced over the front-row attendees with cool detachment. For a funeral, they certainly looked more like they were attending a fashion show centered on the color black.
Their intentions were so transparent it left him speechless.
He remembered what his father had told him before he entered the Duke’s service:
“You will witness every shade of human desire.”
And now, here they were. All of them grasping at something.
The problem lay in this: they weren’t royalty—but they were just close enough. The Duke’s House stood highest under the Imperial family, and it gave people the illusion that, with a bit of luck, they too could reach it.
And so, though they attended the Duchess’s funeral, Daniel suspected there was only one true mourner in the room.
He glanced sideways.
Isolette Harper—her appearance bore the distinct traits of the late Duchess’s homeland. Through her black mourning veil, her fragile blond hair shimmered faintly. Her bowed head, clasped hands—her knuckles had turned pale with how tightly she gripped them in prayer.
Daniel quietly pulled a handkerchief from his coat. If his master caught him doing this, there would be hell to pay.
But what could he do? Leaving someone silently crying beside him was out of the question.
He passed it over, and Isolette wiped away her tears beneath the veil. Judging by her grief, she seemed more suited to be in the front row than anyone else here.
Julian and Leila weren’t blood relatives either, so it wouldn’t have caused any scandal.
Daniel turned his gaze back to the white coffin. Had there been anyone else in the Empire who had lived a life like the Duchess?
A runaway princess who escaped civil war in her homeland, disguised as a maid… later marrying a widowed duke raising two children. Truly, a stormy fate.
The final moment of the memorial came with the choir’s hymn. One by one, they filed in from the side aisles and began to sing.
The piece, written by a devout composer who had lost a loved one, carried a yearning for eternal peace.
A fragile petal who tried to live in the light remains here.
Though it wept, it did not break in the storm. And so, guard its way home beyond the skies.
A soft whisper reached Daniel’s ear.
“Please…”
It was a kind of desperate sincerity Daniel hadn’t witnessed in a very long time.
