Chapter : 13
Just after finishing the banquet, Jay frowned the moment he stepped into his room. Ah, this is maddening.
What could possibly remain from eating with people who kill your appetite? Indigestion. There was no doubt that all the brothers who had dined together today were probably feeling bloated.
Since things had come to this, let’s all get indigestion. Everyone, just get indigestion.
Grumbling, he popped a handful of digestive medicine into his mouth—one he had brought in advance from the empire.
If they wanted to eat together, couldn’t I have been left out without anyone being upset? Even his father, the king, had called him over, yet as soon as they met, his face clearly showed displeasure. Jay didn’t understand why they even bothered to summon him to Onnevalle just to hurt each other’s feelings.
And why, of all days, today?
“Ah, this is maddening.”
Of all days—the day of his friend’s birthday.
On such a tragic and sorrowful day, was it fair for him to feel this irritated? Seeing his father’s reaction only made thoughts of his friend more vivid, leaving his heart in turmoil.
[Perhaps it is because he cherishes you the most.]
[What?]
[When a parent has more than one child, there is always one who is especially precious to them.]
After lamenting over his father, his friend had made that assumption.
Jay had scoffed at it at the time, but he had no idea how much that simple assumption had comforted him. His friend, Münze, that noble and brilliant duke, could never have known.
He poured some water into a silver cup and gulped it down. His throat was parched.
“Puh.”
Embarrassingly, he had been protected by Duke Roheol. Under her wings, he realized just how calming the word “protection” could be for a human heart.
At first, he thought it was shameful for a fully grown adult man to feel and admit such relief. Only later did the duke clarify matter-of-factly:
[Among the subjects of Roheol whom I must protect, there are elderly men older than you. Many other grown men are under my protection as well. Do you think they would be ashamed of it? What is there for you to be ashamed of?]
Because he was a prince.
Under normal circumstances, he should be the one protecting someone, just like her. That was his place, his position.
But he was a foreign royal. An innocent hostage, nothing more. And yet, he had heard that she constantly risked something to protect him so perfectly.
[In Onnevalle, you are merely a hostage sent from a minor country. All you have of value here is your life and your status as a prince. My only duty is to fulfill the mission given to me to the best of my ability. You don’t need to worry—just continue to live safely.]
It wasn’t beautifully phrased, that’s true.
Münze had said those harsh words plainly, yet Jay had found comfort in them.
“Why should I die…?”
He had lived, warmly protected behind a shield of steel.
A one-sided dependence, almost too much to call it friendship. She stood solidly like a pillar, and he had held onto her for support.
But as he surrendered himself to that cloudlike illusion, Münze had passed away. They said she had been killed by bandits, presumably robbers. Dead alongside the robbers.
One was an adult, the other a child; one passed away without even having the chance to repay the debt of gratitude. Under Duke Münze Roheol, he had always been fragile.
It was almost ironic that his source of support was a foreign duke, yet he had basked in the sunlight granted by Roheol. The peace of “firsts” she gave him was more immense than anyone could imagine. He had loved Münze more than anyone else could possibly understand.
Yet the person who seemed to love her even more took her place after her death. When he asked the new duke if Münze’s death seemed suspicious, the answer was absurd:
“Nothing suspicious. A prince of Ario has no right to leave baseless doubts about the former duke’s passing.”
It was hard not to think that the new duke had been a tiger cub hiding under Münze.
“Right, that bastard…”
Jay pulled out the small bundle of keys on his belt and opened the first drawer of his desk.
Clink.
His waist felt heavier. The paper inside was still creased. He held it up to the moonlight.
No matter what happens, I love you.
If it had ended there, it might have been better. He frowned and continued reading.
No matter what happens, I love you, William. I’m sorry for everything. Even if I die, I will make things right.
William—the name of the new Duke of Roheol who succeeded Münze.
He had found this after Münze’s death. At first, he tore open the envelope, wondering what it was, and found only this small note tucked inside a book. A short letter. The recipient was not him, but the new duke.
He delivered it to the intended recipient.
And that evening, Jay had picked it up from the trash bin in the corner of the library. The fact that it was crumpled felt miserable in itself.
No matter what happens, I love you, William.
Jay held onto the note and quietly cried that day.
This little bastard may have never truly loved you, yet you loved only this bastard.
A confession from someone dead gripped his heart completely. His first peace. His first calm. His first protection.
From the warm world he had finally known, you were like a mother bird. Was there anything he could do for you, who might have died unjustly?
Recalling that cry and that desperate feeling, he whispered now, trembling:
“Duke Roheol.”
You.
“Münze.”
You, whom he wished had been his sister.
“You shouldn’t have gone like that. Understand?”
He had no desire for the throne, yet this place still kept him on guard.
Honestly, having hostility directed at him again only made him long for Münze more. A foolish will, trying to impose a burden on someone who no longer exists.
But even without that hostility, he missed her every day.
“I wish I could comfort you, even once.”
He muttered quietly.
Just as she had always comforted him, if only he could offer her comfort once. How wonderful that would be.
But it had already been two years since her death.
Two years since she was killed by a love-mad emperor and a power-mad sibling.
When Wiz saw him enter the bookstore, her eyes widened.
She was tying the front of Clark’s robe, as if preparing to go out.
“Are you a customer? But we’re not selling books…”
Elsier had grown accustomed to being forgotten or erased. It had happened every time over the past three months. Elsier didn’t have the habit of clearing her mind daily like Wiz did.
Jay said calmly:
“It’s me, Elsier. Head of the Silver Foxes. A letter.”
“Oh… yes…”
She murmured, nodding, meaning she barely remembered. Trying to force recall would only complicate things. Being denied existence repeatedly had begun to feel strange.
He gave up and got to the point.
“I’d like to read a book. If you were about to go out, I’ll come back later.”
“Oh, no need. Reading is a good thing. The chair is there, pick any book over there. Gloves are optional. Tea is in the kitchen if you want, alcohol if you want, glasses are in the kitchen. The restroom is that way.”
Wiz finished her directions in a flash and disappeared under the counter.
Hearing rustling, he assumed she was getting snacks and moved toward the densely packed bookshelves.
He selected a book and dragged a white Windsor chair leaning against the wall to the counter.
The seat was high enough to allow comfortable reading using the counter as a desk. A chair specially made for on-site reading. The counter, too, had space for legs underneath like a normal desk.
This felt more like a library than a bookstore.
He took a careful look around the store and sat down.
The cloth of Clark rubbed against his body, crinkling. The wrapper of a candy crinkled too. Now used to these sounds, he opened a book he had only heard rumors of, never seen or touched.
The first page was faded. A water stain had spread, white and prominent.
…Tears? He had seen a similar mark months ago.
He lifted his gaze to Wiz picking snacks under the counter before returning to the book.
After a few pages, she stood up, closing the pocket around her neck tightly. He asked plainly:
“Did something happen?”
“Pardon?”
A vivid response.
He reread the sentence he had just read to understand before moving on.
Then she replied:
“Alcohol.”
“Oh.”
The smell of alcohol he noticed when entering had only played a minor role. Eight bottles were on the counter. The alcohol was potent, enough to make most people lose their senses. If Wiz had drunk it alone, passing out wouldn’t be surprising.
Yet she did not appear drunk or sleepy—only tired. Exhausted, severely so.
Wiz, gazing at him across the counter, suddenly smiled.
“I’m sorry. Truly sorry.”
Her voice welled up—calm, clear, not trembling, spreading gently like a ripple.
He didn’t look up, yet Wiz, filling most of his vision, continued:
“I’m sorry to those who died, to those who didn’t, and to those who can’t say they lived or died.”
“……”
“And… I miss them…”
Her breath faltered. The sound of his page-turning faltered too.
Moments later, Wiz let out a broken, quivering laugh.
“Three years ago today, we all gathered and had a somewhat enjoyable time.”
“……”
“On my birthday, three years ago.”
Elsier drew a slow, deliberate breath.
Her cold, clear voice awakened his mind like a splash of cold water, dulled by the smell of alcohol and books. She laughed softly, almost like a sob, as if unaware of his agitation.
Was she pretending, or drunk? She had never spoken of herself first before.
He checked the small clock on the wall.
Today, her birthday, had barely five minutes left.
Was she planning to greet it alone and end it alone?
“Even though it’s a birth not worth celebrating.”
His brow twitched. Somehow, a question formed.
Were all her words truly drunken ramblings? Her voice was realistic, clear, and logical.
A silent breath stretched. The quiet returned.
(To be continued in the next chapter)
