Chapter 2
How could seeing another human being feel so precious? Ariel’s eyes trembled.
“If you want to live, then you must live, Ariel.”
The king’s cousin, the puppet marquis.
Time and again he had offered the king earnest counsel, only to be ignored because of Blake’s schemes. In the end, he withdrew from politics—yet now he lifted the disgraced Ariel into his arms.
Ariel fretted that the filth clinging to her might soil his spotless clothes, but Shumiern cupped the back of her small head as if to say it didn’t matter, drawing her into his embrace.
“W-why are you…”
“I know. That what you did… was not of your own will.”
Ariel lowered her brows, knowing exactly what his unfinished words meant. She felt ashamed for having dared to hold even a flicker of hope. Guilt tightened around her heart like a vise.
“Why do you trust me?”
Shumiern’s deep blue eyes looked straight into hers, but Ariel could not fathom what lay in their depths.
More than anything, when she met that upright gaze, her whole body tingled so much she could hardly think straight.
“Rather than trusting you…”
For a fleeting instant, Shumiern’s expression faltered. But he composed himself so quickly that Ariel missed that rare glimpse.
“…Does the reason matter?”
After a short silence, Shumiern asked her that.
Truthfully, she didn’t care about the reason.
The simple fact that someone had come for her made her feel as though she’d been pulled out of the mire.
And she thought she understood, vaguely.
Why he was trying to save her.
Because he was Shumiern.
That alone was reason enough. Shumiern was a man of pure heart and kindness.
So upright that he had served King Louis faithfully despite being belittled and sidelined, and so righteous that he had tried to rein in Blake’s tyranny with words alone.
A man who sometimes gave Ariel a small nod of greeting.
“Let’s go, Ariel. Rest for a while. I’ll wake you when we reach somewhere safe.”
It was a hand extended from the threshold of death.
The moment she heard those words, Ariel came to her senses. In his “safe place,” did that safety include him as well?
It was obvious as day that Blake wouldn’t let someone live who knew the full extent of his crimes.
People would surely come after them both.
Her infamy would splatter filth onto Shumiern’s shining life.
She didn’t want to commit a sin like that in her final moments.
Ariel released the grip she had on his lapel. Shumiern’s eyes flicked down to her twisted fingers.
“Put me down.”
“What are you saying?”
“I won’t go. I’ll accept my punishment.”
“Ariel.”
Ah—how good her own name sounded coming from his lips.
Ariel pushed against Shumiern’s solid chest. His brows furrowed.
And in that instant, Ariel realized—
You were the real one.
The one whose hand she should have taken, both now and in the past, was Shumiern.
“Just the fact that you came for me… I’m truly grateful, my lord. Truly.”
Her voice faded, words stumbling from her mouth. It was her final ember. Ariel’s limp hand fell with a thud.
“…”
Ariel was dead.
Having seen many depart by his own hand or in his own arms, Shumiern knew it instantly.
Ariel—once called Blake’s Black Rose—had died in his embrace.
Shumiern hesitated, his languid gaze resting on her closed eyes.
This wasn’t what he had wanted.
“Gratitude? You’ve got it all wrong, Ariel.”
He murmured more words after that, but Ariel could no longer hear.
Ariel died full of regret.
Dying in warm arms was, compared to nearly losing her head to the guillotine, a peaceful and comfortable end.
Only at the brink of death did she realize her true feelings. As her life flickered out, she prayed—fervently, desperately.
Please, grant me a chance.
If given the chance, she would set right what had gone wrong and live in atonement.
So please, God, just once…
“…I told you, you can’t oversleep. Wake up already! If you wake up late, I’ll be the one in trouble!”
Feeling her body being shaken, Ariel began to open her eyes—then froze.
She was dead… so how could she feel anything?
“Ariel! If you don’t get up, I’ll drag you out of bed, all right?”
That excited, raised voice was so familiar. And the warmth of the hands holding her…
“…!”
A strange realization jolted her mind awake.
I can feel warmth? But I’m dead? Ariel’s eyes flew open.
“Finally awake.”
A freckled girl’s eyes, crescented into smiles, filled her view. Ariel blinked and looked around. For the afterlife, everything seemed awfully vivid.
The dusty smell of books piled on the nightstand, the clear brown of the girl’s eyes right before her, the softness of the blanket—
“This… shouldn’t be. It’s raining?”
“What do you mean, shouldn’t be? This is your second-floor room, just like you said. And yes, it’s raining hard. Now get up, stop wandering around in dreamland!”
“Come on, up you go,” the woman said, slipping a hand under Ariel’s back to lift her.
She claimed it wasn’t a dream, but Ariel couldn’t believe it.
She flung the blanket aside and inspected herself closely. The ankle that had been shattered was intact, the legs that had been covered in wounds were white and smooth, and her fingernails showed pale half-moons.
She had died in Shumiern’s arms after cruel torture…
Ariel swallowed and drew in a slow breath. The warm air and the fragrance of flowers from a vase were both familiar.
There was no mistaking it—this was her room.
The room she had left three years before her death.
The one Count Bronte had given her, where she had lived for ten years since childhood.
Could it be…
“What day is it today?” she murmured.
“Still not awake, huh? It’s September 20th. The day of the reading.”
“…And the year?”
The woman, who had been opening the window, turned back.
Ariel was not the sort to sleep in. Normally she’d be up before anyone came to wake her, bed already made. For her to sleep late and then ask the date…
Was she sick?
The woman tilted her head but answered,
“It’s year 789 of the Sevans calendar.”
“…What?”
Year 789.
The year Ariel came of age.
I’m three years before my death.
It’s true… I…
“Ah!”
A shiver of realization coursed through her. All signs pointed to a single conclusion.
Hard to believe, but maybe—just maybe—she had returned to the past.
“Don’t just sit there gaping. Get in the bath before Count Bronte comes upstairs.”
Ariel finally took a proper look at the woman scolding her. A beloved face.
Old emotions, buried deep in her chest, surged up.
“You… Mila? Is it really you?”
Her voice trembled as she forced the words out.
Wearing a brown dress and an apron, Mila froze mid-bend while picking up a fallen cushion and looked at her.
“Yes, I’m Mila. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Mila narrowed her eyes, set the cushion on the sofa, and came over to feel Ariel’s forehead.
“No fever.”
She stepped back.
“If you’re too tired, shall I tell Count Bronte you can’t attend the reading today?”
Ariel stared blankly at her moving lips.
Those lively brown eyes, those rosy cheeks—
Mila was alive.
Mila was alive!
Ariel wanted to leap up and dance. More than her own return, the fact that Mila still lived filled her with joy.
She threw her arms around Mila.
“Oh my! What’s this? Did you have a scary dream? Or was it a dream where I died?”
Yes, Mila—you died.
Two years before my death, mugged in the street at night.
But now, that’s just a dream. A nightmare, like you said.
“Ew, creepy. You’re the muse of those writers, not mine. Could you let go?”
The more Mila squirmed in embarrassment, the tighter Ariel hugged her. Warmth surged into her chest like waves. Ariel kept stroking her back.
She couldn’t tell whose heartbeat she was hearing—hers or Mila’s—but she knew for certain both of them were alive.
“Oh? Rain—look, the rain’s coming in!”
Mila pushed her away and ran to the window.
“Ugh, a downpour in the wrong season. Ah! I left the laundry out.”
Ariel simply watched her fuss to close the window and mop up the rain.
That autumn when she turned twenty, in a torrential rain, the day Mila’s laundry was soaked, and the scheduled reading…
A flash of realization struck her.
