Chapter 25

If this is the real end – 8

 

In a story, there is always a theme. If we compare this strange life to a story, I wonder what the theme would be? And what kind of lesson was included in it?

 

 

 

“Al, do you know this book?”

 

When I showed him a book I quietly pulled out from under my pillow, Al dexterously raised one of his eyebrows and tilted his head.

Maybe he thought it was a little unsatisfactory for a daughter of a noble family to read this neither thick nor thin book. However, its readability was probably one of the reasons it became popular even among members of high society, regardless of their rank.

As there weren’t many characters, the human relationships weren’t complicated. Only the love story between the princess of the neighboring country and a knight was developed.

 

“Of course, I know it, but…”

 

What about it? Al glanced at the book I was holding while making an overly serious expression that showed his doubts.

Because that book became a hot topic of conversation among nobles for a while, as the subordinate of an aristocrat, it wasn’t strange for him to know it.

We hadn’t talked about it, but he probably had at least heard the title.

 

“Is something wrong with this book?”

 

Al, who was standing too far away to reach the book, took one step forward and looked at the novel I presented.

He seemed to hesitate about whether or not it was alright for him to receive it. His right hand hung out in the air a short while before it returned to its original position without taking the book. 

 

“I wonder if you have ever read this book, Al?”

 

When I asked him, as expected he shook his head to answer negatively.

After I briefly told him the outline, he replied “Oh, it is that kind of story…” while nodding his head with an uninterested expression.

Marianne had also been like this, but it still became popular in high society and people who showed the same reaction as Al were few.

 

“And so, what is so special about this book?”

 

The princess of the neighboring country and a mere knight, those two main characters, who would normally never have been wedded to each other, transformed the story into a magnificent romance. It was a romantic tale whose contents were all over the place.

Although those two characters were confronted with a harsh destiny, in this country, there were many nobles who had never been wedded together due to the difference in social rank. If you picked them up one by one, you would surely find an even more dramatic story.

That’s why Al couldn’t find any interest in the content of this novel. Rather, he seemed to be suspicious of the book itself, doubting if there wasn’t any trick to it. His blue eyes were zealously staring at the front and back covers.

However, there was nothing special about that book. Nothing was different from the one you could usually purchase in a general bookstore. It was an item that could be obtained the next day after requesting it from our usual supplier.

Suffice to say, as a romance novel, its cover was very plain.

 

“… This book, you see, belongs to father.”

 

I tried to prevent my voice from trembling. But I didn’t think I did a good job at it.

The words tinged with an unsettledness surpassing what I had imagined, left a reverberation in the room that had fallen silent.

Even though I intended to pretend to be calm, suddenly, my fingers lost their strength. The book felt on the carpet with a thud, its pages were turned even while there was no wind.

As I was about to reflexively move to pick it up, with his gaze Al held me back and did it himself with natural movements. I remained lying on the bed, simply staring at the book that fit in his palm.

It was at that moment I noticed my own hands were shaking. I released the breath I had unintentionally held. My heart, which should have calmed down, was slightly pounding.

Was it really alright to continue like this and narrate the truth? Suddenly, I realized I was afraid and shut my mouth.

 

“It belongs to master?”

 

Al’s voice was tinged with doubt, probably because he knew that person wouldn’t give me something like that.

In those repeating lives of mine, in this lifetime that wasn’t that long, the things father gave me were few. If I thought about it, the necklace I received the year of my social debut was the only item I could declare having received from father.

As for other things… … such as the books needed for my education as a lady, the dress I wore when invited to another house, or the ornaments handed over through mother, in the first place, I didn’t think father had been involved with them.

Mother had delivered them personally, saying “your father gifted them to you,” but the truth was probably different. She probably pitied me who never received anything and said this.

And so, mother wouldn’t know what this romance novel was, and father wouldn’t give it to me.

Al also knew this. As my escort, he had noticed the unnaturalness of my swallow relation with father.

 

When I said in a low voice to the frowning Al, “I stole it,” he opened his eyes wide in an interesting reaction.

Since his expression was so different from his usual face, I burst into laugher unintentionally, a disgraceful chuckle rising from the depth of my throat.

 

“… Lady…”

 

Seeing me react like this, I guess he thought I was teasing him. With a hint of protest mixed in his voice, he peered into my eyes.

 

“… It is the truth, you know.”

 

I really stole it, I repeated it again, lifting myself properly from the bed this time.

Compared to earlier, I felt that most of my weariness had faded. Now that it was no longer the time to laugh and dodge the issue, Al silently swallowed his breath.

 Stealing one’s own father’s possessions was not something that should be done. Other families aside, in our house, it wasn’t permitted. To say nothing of the fact the offender wasn’t Silvia but me. If father were to learn of it, he would condemn me without allowing me any room to explain myself.

No, maybe the word “condemn” was a bit too much. However, I would be abused with cold-hearted words like, “I don’t remember raising such a daughter,” and I would likely be locked up in my room. He would give me an inconspicuous punishment so that it wouldn’t become known by outsiders.

But if Silvia had been the offender, there was no doubt he would have laughed and forgiven her, saying something like, “this helpless child, what will I do with you?” And it would stop at him gently rebuking her, “keep your pranks to a moderate level.”

Did he trust that child this much, or did he just simply suspect I was a harmful existence for this house? Although I imagined various possibilities such as this one, in the end, I knew nothing.

 

“Lady, can I hear your reasons for doing this?”      

 

Not daring to approach the topic of me stealing things, Al looked at the book.

He was pondering strongly with his head tilted to the side, probably because no matter where he looked, there was no trace of the mechanism he had expected to find.

Did he think of the possibility of hollowing out the contents to hide something precious inside? But very few people would use such a classic method.

“There is no trick to it you know,” when I repeated this once again with a smile, Al moved his line of sight to observe me instead. He seemed to be wanting an answer to his question.

 

“… Reasons, a reason you ask…”

 

However, I didn’t have an answer when asked “why?” It could be said I had found this book by mere coincidence, or that I was led to discover it by something.

I felt that I had been driven by some circumstances and guided by a great force, and as a result, “I couldn’t help but find it.”

Probably no one knew the answer. If someone did know, then it would only be the being called God.

 

“I am sorry Al. I cannot tell you. So, I would be happy if you did not ask me.”

 

As I shook my head in refusal, he narrowed his eyes which were like the color of a deep sea. This gesture was like trying to ascertain something far away.

 

“… No, it is also I who was too intrusive.”

 

I smiled wryly seeing my escort with his head lowered in a slightly depressed state.

Perhaps he was truly perceiving that he “had been too intrusive.” The one in the wrong wasn’t Al, but I couldn’t tell him everything here and now.

 For that reason, I laughed and glossed over the issue, “It is fine, I am also sorry.”

As usual, Al answered, “There is no need for my lady to apologize” with his gaze still lowered.

He himself was surely quite sick of repeating this sentence, yet each time I apologized, he kept saying those same words.

He hasn’t changed since long ago. From long, long before, without any change, he has tried to be my escort knight.

           

The first time I found this book was in one of my past lives; it truly happened by chance then.

I, who had already been married to Soleil, was visiting my parents’ house to ask father’s advice about territory management.

However, in spite of having made an appointment in advance, father was absent. When I asked the steward, he unapologetically explained that in order to help the feeble Silvia to recuperate, he, mother and Silvia had headed for a villa in the suburbs.

After being asked if father didn’t know I was coming today, the steward laughed with an embarrassed expression that was saying he thought father knew. He lowered his head and added in a forced way that they had seemed to be in a hurry.

In other words, I think he wanted to explain there had been no time to contact me.

I had to desperately gulp down the lump of heat that had welled up in the depth of my throat at that moment. Then, I conducted myself as if I was a broad-minded and very tolerant person and said, “If it is for Silvia’s sake, then it cannot be helped.”

I persuaded myself that I was no longer the young daughter of a noble. I warned myself that this was part of politics, part of my work.

If it wasn’t an interaction between family members, then I won’t be hurt that much.

I should think that a work agreement had been revoked. Therefore, it wasn’t that difficult to fabricate a smile.

The steward, who thought I would surely fly into a rage, smiled and commented, “My lady has also become a magnanimous person.” I didn’t know if it was sarcasm or his true opinion, but I had enough composure to at least thank him.

That was how much experience I had acquired. I wasn’t the me from the time I knew nothing. I understood well what must be done in order to protect myself.

I asserted myself forcibly and thought that despite the fact I could have predicted father’s conduct, I had been negligent in confirming it.

           

After the steward left, I remained alone in the corridor, deep in thoughts as I heaved a sigh.

Why did things always turn this way?

In this corridor devoid of windows, there was nothing else but some flower vases, some wall-decorations and a gloomy silence. Even if you concentrated your sight on it, my shadow was almost invisible.

The scenery wouldn’t change even if it wasn’t here. I gazed at the ceiling, thinking my life might be like this too.

Hoping that a black bird might be lurking there, my line of sight glided over the luxurious candelabrums lined up at regular intervals. 

           

And then, nearly unconsciously, I clutched the door knob of father’s study.

           

It was an unexpected action for my usual self, but for some unknown reason, I felt I had to do this. In fact, the door which should have been locked opened very easily.

Until that moment, I had thought that thick door would have been heavy, yet I remembered it felt light as a feather.

I understood that if me trespassing in the study without father’s permission was discovered, the problem wouldn’t be settled with a simple apology.

But as if another ego had sprouted by itself, my feet developed a will on their own and moved arbitrarily. Rather than feeling I was creeping in, it felt like I “simply entered inside” and I didn’t feel any guilt.

That shrewd father of mine, there was no way he would forget to lock his study. Therefore, regarding the fact it wasn’t locked, it would make sense for it to only be an accidental incident.

Perhaps I felt that the one to blame wasn’t me but the servants.

           

It was at that time I got hold of that novel.

           

In the top right corner of the bookshelf taller than a person.

The book was put away in such a place as if to forget its very existence unless you intended to fetch it voluntarily. In other words, it was in a place where it wouldn’t be seen unless you prepared something like a stepladder.

I didn’t even know why I had noticed such a place. But, as if I felt something was there, I pulled the chair for the guests which was placed in a corner and climbed on it.

Since he had gone to the villa, father wouldn’t appear suddenly. I had already lost the feeling of tension. 

           

… … Why did father have a romance novel?

           

That was the first impression I had of it. He wasn’t a person interested in others’ love stories, much less in a work of fiction. It would probably never even catch his attention.

That was the kind of person my father was. Even I myself, as my maximal priority was to fight against my hapless fate, while I knew that book was popular in high society, I never thought of reading it.

Because I had heard that it was the usual love story between people of different social castes, you could find it everywhere. That’s why, I felt a sense of discomfort with the fact such a book was in father’s study, and while pondering about it, with a tilted head, I turned the pages.

Not even knowing that an important secret was hidden there.

 

“Al, can you open the book at its last page?”

 

Not telling anything, I suddenly asked the confused Al, who was touching the spine of the book with his long fingers, to turn the pages.

He was making a perplexed expression but still followed my order without showing any reluctance in particular. Since it was just a matter of opening the book, it didn’t take any time at all. Then, after a moment of silence…

 

“… … Lady Silvia …?” He squeezed out the name of my little sister.     

 

When I found this book in father’s study, I confirmed its content without delay and heaved a sigh when I saw it was undoubtedly the same as the story I knew. I didn’t know if it was a sigh of relief or discouragement.

Anyway, the weight on my shoulders was removed as there was nothing recorded about the happenings controlling my life. Then, at that time, I found that thing.

 

“Is it a sketch? No, it’s a portrait… isn’t it?”

 

I quietly nodded at Al’s question. That’s right.

That was what was drawn on the white sheet, on the very last page of this novel.

A picture drawn with a messy pen that looked like a scribble. Yet, this image was also accompanied by a pathetic feeling of it being an ephemeral and fleeting dream.

Like Al, I had also thought it was a painting of Silvia. Feeling a bit afraid at how jealous I was of that adored child, I had closed that book.

Even if our mothers were different, the fact that both Silvia and I were father’s daughters wouldn’t change. … … It was how things should have been.

And yet, these really small details showed off the difference in the affection we received, making my heart creak. My fingers which were tracing the book’s back cover were slightly trembling, and from the bottom of my heart, I felt pity for the parents of my first life who had abandoned me.

Pretending to be calm again after having taken a few deep breaths, when I tried to put the book back to its original place … what was the sudden feeling of discomfort I sensed?

I didn’t know what, but I felt that “something” was wrong.

 

“That, you see, Al… this person is not Silvia.”

 

If you open the book once again and look closely from cover to cover, you will derive the answer in due course.

The date, era and father’s name were engraved there.

All the paintings father drew had his signature and the date, it seemed to be a habit of his and it proved it all.

It proved that what was written down here, had been made long, long before Silvia was born.

 

“She isn’t Lady Silvia…? No, but… her face… looks a lot like hers.”

 

The woman on that piece of paper had almost the same face as Silvia. Because she wasn’t drawn in color, it couldn’t be proved it was a different person.

Humans with delicate silver hair like those of Silvia were very rare in this country. If that woman in the drawing had blond hair, just by seeing her, people would have understood she was a different person.

But that woman who was drawn with only dark ink was simply smiling cheerfully like she was gazing at something outside a window.

 

“This is... Silvia’s real… mother.”

 

A date anterior to Silvia’s birth. A face that was similar to hers. The fact that father drew it.

From all these, it wasn’t that hard to deduce the answer.

 

“… Lady Silvia’s mother?”

 

The question was, why was it drawn in this book?

The “me” of that life who discovered this book took it out of father’s study and brought it back to the estate I was living with Soleil.

Then, I hid it inside the dresser in my room. It was after this that I began to act in order to sweep away the doubts that had arisen in my heart.

           

I had to meet the author, to meet them, and talk with them.

           

It wasn’t like I was threatened by someone, yet I still had the sensation I was practically being coerced.

For me, who already had become “the next marquis’ wife” and possessed several connections, I had a few means of tracking down the author, who was living somewhere in this country, so I didn’t think setting up a meeting would be difficult.

Then some time passed, and it happened as expected. It fell on the palm of my hand, like a raindrop falling from a cloudy sky.

The end, which was exactly like I had imagined, was lying in wait.

 

“She is a beautiful person, isn’t she? She looked almost the same as Silvia…”

“This person…”

 

Al heaved a sigh of admiration and astonishment, his gaze fixed on the portrait of the woman.

His blue eyes clearly displayed his curiosity. I couldn’t see any other emotion apart from this one. It made me feel relieved.

If Soleil had been the one looking at that picture, surely, he would have searched for Silvia’s features in that woman drawn in ink. Then, those thin iced eyes of his would slightly loosen and he would smile broadly while his fingers would gently trace the lines of the portrait. Tenderly, as if they were touching Silvia.

Because I could imagine this scene quite clearly, something was wrong with me too.

Or else, had I seen this scene somewhere in one of my lost lives?

 

“But still, it’s mysterious, isn’t it?”

 

Al removed his line of sight from Silvia’s mother and looked at me with a bitter smile.

Then he tilted his head and said,

 

“It’s natural that Lady Silvia’s mother had existed… no, of course it’s natural, but…”

 

It’s somewhat hard to believe, said Al without any ill will nor deeper meaning.

He was simply stating a fact. There were some who were convinced that Silvia, with her weak constitution and whose existence itself was fleeting and ephemeral, wasn’t a real person. They wouldn’t be surprised if they were told she was born from a flower seed.

It certainly felt strange and mysterious that a woman who gave birth to such a Silvia existed.

The first time the “past me” was confronted with this fact, I had also thought the same thing as Al. For that reason, I secretly tried to imagine the person that no one knew about. T

he hair color of the person who was Silvia’s mother. Her eyes, her voice. I wonder if she spoke with that tone, if she made such gestures, with what kind of expression did she embrace Silvia…

… Silvia’s weak constitution, did it come from her blood lineage?

There were many, many things I wanted to ask and to know.

But I won’t get those answers. Because I will never meet Silvia’s mother.

           

On the other hand, there was something I understood without having to do any research.

This book was “father’s book,” but this didn’t indicate who its owner was.

Exactly as stated, I meant this in the literal sense.

           

Inside the book, a certain knight was drawn. A man belonging to a middle-ranked noble family, who fell in love with the princess of the neighboring country… her escort knight.

That was exactly… …

           

My father.

           

When I reached that truth, rather than feeling a shock run through my body, it felt more like both a sudden realization and a feeling of resignation.

Ah, I see. I simply understood.

For our society, it was only a common, morganatic (cross-class) love. But for the people involved, it was the greatest romance of the century.

It was such a dramatic story that it became a book. Although it was presented as a “work of fiction” for the rest of the world, the characters weren’t completely fictional.

However, my mother wasn’t the princess of a neighboring country. It was something I was sure of as her real daughter. And if she wasn’t, it meant the protagonist of this book wasn’t mother.

           

But it was also true that my mother wasn’t born in this country.

 

“… Lady?”

 

As I was completely immersed in my thoughts, Al called out to me with hesitation.

I continued to think while looking at his face. If I wanted to tell him everything, then I had to do it now.

However, by doing so there was a possibility the road ahead would divert greatly.

           

“Alfred is so pitiable. Because he had you as his master, he died.”

           

The words I heard in one of my lives emerged in my mind.

While I hesitated over what I should say, at the moment I slowly opened my mouth…

           

… … Knock, knock.

           

Someone knocked at the door of my room.

 

 Chapter 24                                                     Chapter 26

Nocta’s thought:

Tadadada! And destiny crushes yet another big event for Ilya and Al. But who could that possibly be?