10 – The person known as Soleil Van Nortis in this lifetime – 3
Ilya and I gradually grew closer through
the private tea gatherings we held regularly. Neither of us was particularly
talkative; we spent more time in silence than in conversation. Yet, sharing the
same space held significance.
I understood that these gatherings were a
necessary part of preparing for the life we would share once married.
“These tea leaves came in from a
neighboring country; they haven't hit the market yet.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. So, it’s something special. I had
them prepared because I thought you’d like them, Ilya.”
“Thank you,” Ilya said with a bashful
smile, a faint trace of delight coloring her cheeks.
It was a subtle shift—the sort of tiny
change one might easily miss without a keen eye. People sometimes said I was
hard to read, but Ilya was no different.
Yet, it wasn't so much a lack of emotional
expression as it was a struggle to keep her inner self from being seen through.
In short, it certainly didn't mean she lacked feelings.
“The gardener mentioned planting some new
flowers, so let's go take a look later.”
Whenever I made this suggestion, she would smile
happily.
Sharing tea and a bit of conversation in
the Marquis’s garden, followed by a stroll around the grounds, had become our
usual routine. The garden was so vast that seeing it all took time; even over
the course of several days, it was difficult to take in every single corner.
That was why, whenever she visited the estate, we almost invariably walked
through the garden together.
“Ilya?”
We would start out walking side by side,
but Ilya seemed to love gazing at the plants; sometimes, she would simply stop
in one spot and stand motionless.
The earnest expression on her face was
charming. I found myself smiling as I imagined her spending her time the same
way back at the Count’s estate.
I kept a watchful eye on that small,
crouching figure—seeing the back and the crown of the head—and occasionally
spoke a word or two.
Afterward, the two of us went into the
archives and selected books that interested us from the vast collection. Ilya
usually chose botanical encyclopedias, looking up the names of the flowers she
had been gazing at just moments before.
I was sure the gardener could provide the
answers immediately if she asked, but she seemed to feel there was value in
discovering them for herself—a sentiment I shared.
Once we identified a flower, we discussed
whether it had any uses beyond mere decoration.
“How about brewing it together with that
medicinal herb you mentioned growing here?”
“That... might actually be a good idea.”
Exchanging ideas with her—so passionate
about her research—was a truly enjoyable experience, and I found myself hoping
we could continue talking like this in the future.
It was not that I harbored heart-wrenching
romantic feelings for my fiancée.
Having known the nature of love, I felt
certain that I would not come to harbor such romantic affection for Ilya in the
future, either.
And yet, I could clearly envision—without
even closing my eyes—a future where we walked side by side.
Having lost Sicilia to assassination and
fallen prey to paranoia, I needed someone I could trust.
And I was convinced that Ilya would be that
very person for me.
“Ilya?”
“Oh—my apologies, Lord Soleil!”
Ilya looked up, having been completely
engrossed in several open reference books.
Few people were aware of this side of
her—how, when she focused on something, she became so absorbed that she lost
all awareness of her surroundings.
As the years passed, Ilya had not only
mastered the poise expected of my fiancée but had also become adept at
concealing her true feelings. While her inscrutable expression stemmed partly
from her natural temperament, it was also the result of my mother’s tutelage.
She would soon begin her studies at the
academy, and at this rate, the day she was fully accepted as a member of the
Marquis’s family could not be far off.
There were still some families who tried to
interfere, claiming she was unfit to be my fiancée, but I could say with
certainty that such objections would soon cease.
“Please take a look, Lord Soleil. This
white flower blooming in the corner of the garden! It appears to be a very rare
plant.”
I casted my gaze down to the illustration Ilya
was pointing to. It certainly looked like a valuable flower. So, it was
blooming in our garden, wasn’t it?
There were no signs of it having been
cultivated, so the seeds must have drifted in from somewhere.
We had a visiting botanist, so I considered
that it might be best to show it to them later.
If we succeeded in propagating it, it could
lead to a new business venture. I should probably reach out to merchants who
trade with foreign nations as well. In matters like this, acting quickly was
undoubtedly best.
“Thank you, Ilya. For finding it.”
“Oh, no... it was just a coincidence.”
“...”
Lord Soleil?
I looked at her face again. I found myself
captivated by her pale green eyes, in which tiny golden flowers seemed to
bloom.
Once caught in their gaze, there was no
escaping.
But I was content with that.
After all, we were destined to spend our
lives together.
And yet...
...A few years after entering the academy,
Ilya began to change.
She began to openly display hostility and
act threateningly toward any female student who came near me.
True to her upbringing as a noblewoman, she
never resorted to shouting, yet she would sometimes utter cutting remarks that
made one instinctively frown. Even when I tried to gently admonish her, the
attitude she showed me remained strangely distant.
It might be the heavy burden of marrying
the heir to a marquisate, I suddenly realized.
I recalled how, when we first met, Ilya had
been unable to hide her bewilderment and fear—that look of anxious uncertainty.
If she was troubled, I wanted to hear about
it. Yet, even as I felt that way, I frequently heard reports that she was
diligently honing her skills, never once neglecting the preparations required
to enter the marquis family.
I found myself bewildered by this apparent
contradiction in her nature.
Whenever I saw Ilya around the academy, she
was always hurrying along with several textbooks clutched to her chest. She
wore such a tense expression that I hesitated even to call out to her.
I did try lying in wait for her in the
corridor once, but she gave me the cold shoulder.
“I suppose she realized just how precarious
her position is once she entered the academy, didn't she?”
I tilted my head, prompted by a remark from
my friend Edward.
“It’s hard to tell if you’re sharp or
dense, Soleil,” he said with a wry smile, before revealing just how much malice
Ilya had been exposed to since entering the academy.
“For better or worse, you’re a high-ranking
noble. The people around you likely did a good job of keeping it under
wraps—myself included.”
“Ed...”
“After all, we couldn't exactly let *you*
see Lady Ilya being trampled on.”
“Trampled on?” A flash of unpleasant
emotion seeped into my voice.
“Metaphorically speaking, of course.”
If that’s the case, I needed to keep a
closer watch on her and her surroundings. As I exhaled, regretting that I
hadn't realized this sooner, he offered a word of advice: “It’s better not to
interfere.”
“It’s an obstacle she needs to overcome on
her own,” he added.
He went on to say that if she were the sort
to be crushed by something like this, she shouldn't be entering a Marquis's
household in the first place.
“Trials like this will come again and again
in the future—in places where you aren't present, in situations beyond your
reach. When that happens, she will have to fight alone.”
I was momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer
gentlemanly sincerity in my friend's gaze. Yet, I found myself compelled to
agree with his reasoning.
My thoughts turned to my own mother; she
was the very embodiment of the future Ilya.
Whenever my father was away, my mother took
the helm and exercised her authority. While such a role is expected of the
nobility, the weight of responsibility borne by a Marquis's house—entrusted
with a share of the nation's governance—was incomparable to that of lesser
families.
If I were to look ten years down the line,
I realized that simply shielding Ilya without question would hardly be the most
beneficial course of action.
After all, the very position my mother held
in our household was one that Ilya would eventually step into herself.
I had accepted the situation at first,
but...
As time went by, her haughty attitude began
to grate on me. That said, I knew she wasn't truly an arrogant person. The
steely toughness she displayed—as if clad in armor—was purely for self-defense,
never intended to harm others. Her aggressive retorts were merely
counterattacks against the vicious, cutting insults hurled at her first.
I believed I fully understood that the
persona she projected within the academy wasn't her true self.
“...Stay away from Lord Soleil!”
Even so, I found myself increasingly
witnessing confrontations involving Ilya.
Edward had told me to leave it be, but
there was a limit to how long I could simply turn a blind eye. At the same
time, given my position as a member of a marquis's family, I couldn't simply
condemn everyone who clashed with her right off the bat.
If justice was not wielded rightly, it was
no different from evil.
“Doing that won't do you any good.”
In the end, I found myself having to offer
a stern rebuke to one of my own—to Ilya.
My heart tightened at the sight of her
clear disappointment as she gazed at me, her breath catching in surprise. I
wanted to offer her kind words. I wanted to tell her that I took no one else's
side but hers, and that she had done nothing wrong. But I could not afford to
do that.
After all, we already bore the
responsibilities that come with holding a noble title.
If we could not solidify our standing
within the microcosm of the Academy, we would never survive the high-society
world that awaited us after graduation—a realm teeming with monsters in human
guise.
“I... I apologize.”
Her trembling voice echoed through the
spacious corridor. Realizing she had drawn everyone's attention by raising her
voice, Ilya lowered her head, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I noticed
her fingertips trembling, yet I could not bring myself to take her hand.
The girl confronting Ilya hailed from a
family at the very bottom of the mid-ranking nobility; however, her maternal
grandfather ran a thriving business—an enterprise that was set to serve as the
gateway for our nation’s trade with foreign powers. That was precisely why the
granddaughter, emboldened by this status, had seen fit to approach me.
In short, I could not afford to take a hard
line with her. At least, not for the time being.
I had intended to explain the situation to
Ilya later. Yet, caught up in my studies as the heir to the Marquis’s house and
the rigorous training required to become a knight, I lost the chance to speak
with her. Or rather, I simply forgot.
There was also a certain arrogance on my
part—the assumption that Ilya would understand, no matter how I behaved.
I believed that because we had spent so
much time together since childhood—to the point of surfeit—she would surely
comprehend.
It was always long after the fact that I
realized my own shortcomings and folly.
Only when the situation had become
irreversible did I truly grasp the sins I committed in the past.
And yet...
Ilya continued to fulfill her duties as my
fiancée just as she always had. Whenever we met at tea gatherings, she
conducted herself with her usual modesty, exchanging only a few words. The only
difference from our childhood was that we no longer strolled through the
garden. We simply sat across from one another, drinking tea and sharing updates
on our lives, merely to pass the time.
I wondered when things became so
perfunctory, yet I could not pinpoint a specific moment that triggered the
change. Perhaps it was the downside of having been together for so long. We
often found ourselves at a loss for words.
I wondered when it was that I found her
fast asleep on the bench in the corner of the garden.
I rested her small head on my lap and ran
my fingers through her silvery-gray hair. Seeing the innocent look on Ilya’s
face as she opened her eyes—seemingly dazzled by the light—stirred a poignant,
nostalgic ache within me.
It seemed the psychological distance
between us had grown wide enough for me to look back on those memories with a
sense of wistful longing.
Before long, a maid would appear to take
her to my mother, where she would learn her duties directly from the
Marchioness. It was much the same when I visited the Count’s estate; just as
she was summoned by my mother, I would confer with her father.
The Count was well-versed in politics, much
like my own father, so simply listening to him was an education in itself.
And so, we lived out our ordinary days,
rushing headlong toward adulthood.
Then came a certain day.
It was during a visit to the Count’s estate
that I was introduced to her—Ilya’s—younger sister.
I had known the Mathis family had a second
child, but because she had a different mother and was said to be in frail
health, the introduction had been repeatedly postponed.
As I was chatting with Ilya in the Count’s
garden—as was our custom—I saw Sylvia walking toward our table.
The hem of her skirt fluttering gently in
the breeze. Soft, silver-spun hair. A face beaming with a cheerful smile.
I felt as though time itself had come to a
standstill.
Or perhaps... perhaps the time that had
been frozen was finally beginning to move again.
My heart pounded with a heavy, thudding
rhythm, racing so violently it felt as though it might burst from my chest.
Sunlight shone through the dress clinging to her slender frame, lending her an
ethereal, dreamlike quality—as if she had descended straight from the heavens.
For a moment, I thought I saw wings.
An angel? If so...
Yes.
She was... Sicilia.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, big brother.”
I could hear the ringing in my ears,
synchronized with my pounding heart. My body temperature had undoubtedly risen;
my palms were hot, and sweat beaded on my forehead.
It had been over a decade since Sicilia
faded away. She was so young back then, and I never got to see her grow up.
Yet, the figure standing before me now was exactly how I imagined she would
look had she lived and aged.
“Lord Soleil?”
I heard Ilya calling out from a distance. I
wondered how I looked to her right now. I hoped she didn't notice how shaken I was.
“Isn’t it still a bit too soon to call me ‘big brother’ though?” I replied to
Sylvia mechanically, even though my mind was occupied with something else
entirely.
Because it’s just too...
It’s just too similar.
The phrase “the spitting image” had never
felt more apt.
The resemblance was simply *too* strong.
Something this absurd...
It was impossible.
