Chapter 82

10 – The person known as Soleil Van Nortis in this lifetime – 2

 

Outwardly, ties were severed with Sicilia’s family—her death having been officially attributed to illness. It seemed the royal family’s wishes played a role in this; the move was likely intended to spare her parents—already devastated by the loss of their child—from being further entangled in political affairs. In any case, while there were undoubtedly complex circumstances involved, I remained unaware of the specific secret agreements reached between the two families.

However, if the gossip of the loose-lipped servants was to be believed, our family paid a substantial sum in compensation. In effect, we acknowledged at least some degree of culpability.

Yet, it would be incorrect to say that this was a bitter or painful ordeal for us.

The reason was simple: Mother was very fond of Sicilia. I suspected she was actually relieved to be able to offer a gesture of condolence, even if it took the form of a settlement payment.

I recalled how she doted on Sicilia and indulged her—treating her with even more affection than her own son. Mother was the sort of woman who would openly declare that she had truly wanted a daughter rather than a son. I lost count of how many dresses and pairs of shoes she bought for her.

Finding it a joy to select items for a young girl, she had eagerly summoned merchants.

Sicilia had accepted these gifts without hesitation; smiling with delight, she wore them and cherished them. To my mother, she must have truly felt like a daughter of her own.

Yet, Sicilia died in our home. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the depth of the wound inflicted upon my mother, who could only stand by helplessly, unable to do a thing.

She conveyed the magnitude of that pain to Sicilia’s parents through the sheer weight of the gold coins she gave them.

 

It was an event that casted a dark shadow over our household.

And yet—as if to sweep away the memory of that tragic incident—preparations for the meeting with the Mathis family were proceeding without a hitch.

 

Our fathers were already on friendly terms, and our mothers were acquaintances within social circles. Since we all knew one another, it was decided that—rather than a stiff, formal meeting indoors—we would enjoy a conversation over light refreshments in our garden.

Although the event centered on Lady Ilya and myself, it was ultimately an interaction between our families, so our parents' schedules naturally took precedence.

In any case, the preparations for such gatherings with other families were typically spearheaded by the women, so I simply had to wait for the day to arrive.

“Let's use this vase for that spot.”

Mother had the regular merchant bring a selection of vases so she could handpick the perfect ones. She chose tablecloths in subdued tones and floral arrangements that were elegant without being overly showy; the tea set featured intricate craftsmanship—neither drab nor ostentatious. She was meticulous about every detail, ensuring the atmosphere upheld the dignity of the Marquis’s house without appearing frivolous. Yet, there was a certain businesslike detachment to her manner. Watching her, I felt a sense of relief; I did not want her pouring her heart and soul into an occasion for anyone other than Sicilia.

 

And so, the day arrived.

“It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Ilya il Mathis,” the new fiancée said with a modest greeting; she was a girl of a completely different nature than Sicilia. Her downcast eyes were veiled by long lashes, making it impossible to even discern the color of her irises.

Her cheeks appeared pale because she was, quite literally, drained of color. It was painfully obvious just how nervous she was.

It was a curious reaction, given that the occasion was hardly a stiff or formal one—yet, considering the disparity in our noble ranks, perhaps it was only natural.

 

When this engagement was first decided, there were apparently those who voiced concerns about the vast disparity in our noble ranks, but my father dismissed such objections. Admittedly, if one factors in court rank, it could be considered a mismatch in status; however, looking strictly at peerage titles, a union between a marquess’s family and a count’s family was hardly unusual. In truth, there were few families of a suitable standing with children of my age, so considering the various circumstances, I was surely fortunate that things had progressed to this formal introduction.

“It is a pleasure to meet you; I am Soleil van Nortis.”

Her parents exuded a somewhat cool, detached air. Given how well they seemed to get along with my own parents, I surmised that they were individuals whose interests lay more in politics than in family life—people deeply committed to their loyalty to the royal house.

 

As I idly observed Ilya’s parents, my mother remarked, “What a lovely young lady she is.”

Calling her a “young lady” might be considered a rather presumptuous way of speaking; furthermore, the Marchioness—with her lips painted a vivid crimson and curved in a way that could almost be intimidating—was a figure of imposing presence. Yet, the young girl herself could not hide her delight, a blush rising to her cheeks. Seeing her lips soften ever so slightly, I realized once again just how different she was from Sicilia.

 

My former fiancée, who possessed a strong sense of self-worth, was both beautiful and hardworking; consequently, she was highly regarded by others. One might say she was accustomed to being praised. She accepted compliments as a matter of course, gratefully making them her own. There was no need for false modesty.

After all, the praise was simply the truth. Sicilia would smile and say, “Thank you,” in response to any compliment. Such behavior might easily have been labeled arrogant, yet her distinguished lineage ensured she was forgiven for it all.

Perhaps she had possessed that haughty air from the very moment she was born.

 

“You should eat too, Soleil.”

 

Perhaps because I had been sitting in stony silence, seemingly lost in observation, I looked at the table when my mother prompted me—only to find a plate of pastries there. Unlike that day, there were no cookies arranged on it.

Suddenly, my gaze met that of Ilya, who was sitting across from me.

In that fleeting moment, I clearly made out her eyes: a pale green hue with golden floral patterns blooming within. It was a rare coloration. Catching the soft sunlight, the light in her eyes seemed to shimmer and shift whenever she moved her face.

I must have stared too intently; the girl tilted her head in bewilderment, murmuring, “Um...” I smiled back at her, then turned my gaze toward the pastry topped with stewed fruit. I had meant to signal that it was alright to eat, but it seemed my intention hadn't quite come across. So, to show her how it was done, I tore off a piece of the pastry and put it in my mouth.

Before long, Ilya was stuffing a sweet bun into her mouth, seemingly imitating my own actions. I found myself imagining—however impossible the scenario—whether I might have guided a younger sister in just this way.

It was immediately apparent that she was unaccustomed to a setting like this; she seemed bewildered by everything around her.

Even for someone born and raised in a Count’s household, it was only natural to feel intimidated by the sheer scale of a Marquis’s estate and mansion.

Amidst the adults animatedly discussing high society, she didn't even seem to know the right moment to lift her teacup.

 

I couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

Ilya likely never wanted this engagement in the first place; bewilderment and confusion clearly outweighed any sense of joy.

 

Yet, the match was proceeding rapidly, completely disregarding her feelings. Even though the decision had effectively been made, the adults maintained an air of uncertainty—acting as if nothing were truly settled—merely to gauge the other party's reaction.

They were, in truth, utterly self-serving.

 

“You are truly composed, Lord Soleil. You are a far cry from my own daughter.”

“Oh, not at all.”

“As for Ilya... well, she wouldn't embarrass us in public, but she still has plenty of room for improvement.”

 

There was no need to worry about adults who appeared to be enjoying the conversation while actually just killing time with empty chatter. Yet, despite this, Ilya kept glancing at her parents with a look that betrayed a hint of fear.

She had surely been given strict instructions regarding this tea party.

A marriage proposal involving a marquis’s family carried that much weight. It was only because Sicilia was an exception that things were different; in the presence of my parents, most people reacted just as Ilya and her parents did. They heaped praise upon the Marquis and his wife, extoled the virtues of the House, and strived to prove that they were obedient and posed no threat.

 

Yet, considering our family's social standing, perhaps that was only to be expected.

Just recently, my father had been summoned by His Majesty the King; the extent of the trust placed in him was truly beyond comprehension. As a Marquis, he currently oversaw a wide range of duties, with a primary focus on diplomacy—a role his own father, my grandfather, had also held. The House of Marquis Nortis was one of the few families that formed the very core of the nation. Furthermore, because the Marchioness frequently appeared in public alongside the Marquis, she inevitably became involved in politics as well.

I looked at Ilya’s uncertain expression and wondered: was she truly capable of such a task?

I had never felt a moment’s worry about Sicilia, who always exuded confidence. She had been preparing herself with the clear intention of eventually shouldering the full burden of the Marquis family’s social obligations. Moreover, she enjoyed the Queen’s protection; with the Royal Family backing her, there was simply no need to fret about the future.

 

My family lost a great deal along with Sicilia.

 

“Well then, we shall take our leave now. A meal and some wine have been prepared for you in your room.”

 

With that said by my father, the gathering broke up. After seeing the adults off as they returned to the mansion, I set out for a stroll in the garden with Ilya. Thanks to the gardener’s meticulous care, there were no overgrown weeds, making it easy to walk; the grass crunched pleasantly underfoot. It was a shame, really—when the roses were in season, the view was nothing short of spectacular.

I still hadn't made it to the gazebo. I wondered if I would ever be able to enjoy tea there again.

Though, for the moment, I didn't feel up to it.

As I walked along, lost in thought, I spotted the patch where medicinal herbs were grown. Thinking it a good opportunity to show it to Ilya, I turned around—only to find that a considerable distance had opened up between us. Her long, voluminous skirt seemed to be making it difficult for her to walk.

I started to go back to her, but hesitated.

 

Sicilia’s words echoed in his mind: “For a woman, everything takes time.”

 

By nature, I was somewhat impatient, often tending to rush others—and that was certainly the case with Sicilia. Precisely because of her unique position as my fiancée, I had harbored a desire for her to see things from my perspective and to stand on equal footing with me. I had wanted her to walk at the same pace and with the same stride as me.

Though, it seems Sicilia was dissatisfied with that.

 

—Ah, I shouldn't.

I’m thinking about her again.

 

“I... I apologize.”

 

Ilya’s cheeks were flushed pink from finally catching up to me; she seemed a little out of breath. Yet, it was clear she had hurried just to reach me.

“We supply some of the medicinal herbs grown here to apothecaries.”

I went on to explain the specific properties of each leaf.

“It was my grandfather's wish to contribute to the advancement of medicine.”

“...Medicine?”

Ilya’s eyes widened, and she listened intently. She gazed steadily at my face—as if determined not to miss a single word—and asked questions on the spot whenever something wasn't clear.

It was a strange sensation.

I wondered how I looked reflected in Ilya’s sparkling eyes.

For the first time, I found myself curious about that.

 

Had there ever been anyone before who listened to me with such evident delight?

I slowed my pace, trying as best I could to match hers. Even so, a gap would open up now and then—and each time, my new fiancée would hurry to catch up, unwilling to let me get away.

 

I see.

It seems that even if I turned my back on her, she would follow me no matter what.

 

“Look, Soleil. It’s a white bird...!”

Although the Marquis’s garden was a familiar sight to me, walking through it with a different companion revealed new discoveries. Before I knew it, we had reached the pond located at the far end of the grounds. Several waterfowl were floating there, playing by splashing their wings against the water’s surface; the leaping droplets caught the sunlight, shimmering with a rainbow of colors.

I rarely ventured this far out. Seeing her point with a small finger—her cheeks softening into a smile as she excitedly exclaimed, “I’ve never seen such a big bird before”—eased the tightness deep within my chest.

As I drew in a breath, the clear breeze seemed to flow through me, reaching all the way to my fingertips.

 

For the first time since losing Sicilia...

I felt like I could breathe easily again.

 

“...Oh.”

 

My eyes were captivated by the majestic sight of birds taking flight. It seemed Ilya, standing beside me, was struck by the same view. Watching them fly off together in a friendly flock, I saw a reflection of our own future.

When Ilya’s fingertips unexpectedly brushed against mine, I gently interlaced them with hers and spoke.

 

“Let's walk this path together.”

 

That’s right.

We’ll stay close and get along, from here on out.

It was a childish vow, yet for me, it was a solemn promise.

If I stay by her side, I can protect her. To do that, our hearts must be truly connected. I have to stay close and keep her safe from harm.

 

This time—without fail.

 

I will protect her.

I swear I won’t let her die.

 

Chapter 81

Chapter 81

10 – The person known as Soleil Van Nortis in this lifetime – 2

 

“Everything that happens around you is your responsibility—the good and the bad alike. It all comes to pass simply because you are there.”

 

Long before I was even born, a fiancée had been chosen for me by my family.

Her name was Sicilia. She had pale, golden hair—almost white—and always wore a gentle, smiling expression. She was a precocious, talkative girl who truly listened to what I had to say. Come to think of it, I believe she was my first love.

I remember being overjoyed when my father told me, “In the future, you will marry Sicilia and uphold the Marquis house.”

I had looked forward to the life we ​​would share, filled with hope and expectation.

And yet... the ideals I held in my heart and the dreams I had envisioned were destined to vanish like a fleeting mist.

 

It happened when I was six years old.

It took place during one of the regular tea parties I shared with Sicilia.

 

 

*

 

 

It was my father who had the gazebo built in a corner of the marquis family's expansive garden. My mother loved gazing at the roses there, so he decided that if she was going to spend time in that spot, she might as well do so in comfort under a roof; he had craftsmen come in to construct it.

Although it was essentially a private retreat for my mother, it was decided that the tea party with Sicilia would take place in this gazebo.

We usually met indoors, but we chose to follow the suggestion that, for a change of pace, it would be nice to enjoy tea under the open sky. Naturally, it was my mother who had proposed the idea.

While her refined features gave her a stern air, she possessed a flexible mindset and a cheerful side.

 

“It has been a long time, Lord Soleil.”

 

Sicilia offered a bow that was the very picture of propriety, so I followed suit.

With maids and attendants looking on, we sat facing each other and began by sharing news of our recent lives.

My fiancée told me in great detail about her lessons, explaining how difficult things were now that she had just begun her training as a lady. Though the information was of no practical use to me, her lovely voice was a delight to the ears, and a smile naturally escaped me.

I felt as though I could listen to her speak forever.

The thought made my expression soften once more.

Before long, I reached for a cookie from the plate set on the table. I remembered how much Sicilia loved these particular treats.

She never simply bit into them—deeming such a thing unrefined—but instead would gently place one between her lips to eat. Her large, expressive eyes would reveal the irrepressible joy she felt the moment the crisp cookie touched her mouth. I loved watching her face when she did that.

So, I yielded my share and told her to go ahead and eat it.

At first, she hesitated, but knowing just how stubborn I can be, she eventually reached out.

Even then, she asked, “Are you sure?” so I urged her to eat.

Being the heir to a marquis’s house means people often show me a deference that isn't really necessary—something I find a bit of a nuisance.

“I absolutely love this.”

Her rosy cheeks looked round and adorable. Seeing her smile made me happy, too.

After all, life in a marquis's household was bound by so many rules that, at times, it felt suffocating just to breathe.

“Then, if you'll excuse me...” she said, and I watched her fingertips as she parted her lips slightly. Perhaps her nails were rounded because she played the piano; I had heard her progress was so remarkable that even her teacher was astounded.

“It smells wonderful.”

I had been watching her closely—waiting for the day I might hear her play—observing every detail: the way a rounded edge of the cookie broke off, the way Sicilia chewed it, and the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

And then...

Her large eyes widened even further, and the veins in her neck stood out.

“?”

Making a strange sound, she arched her upper body back. Her chin tilted upward, and she let out a soft groan.

At that moment, I thought she was choking on her food.

I realized otherwise only when an escort knight—who had been standing several meters away—rushed into the gazebo and scooped me up.

 

The steward knocked over the chair Sicilia had been sitting in. In that instant, she spilled a pool of red liquid onto the ground.

It was then that I realized she had vomited blood.

 

Sicilia—I tried to call her name, but no voice came out.

As I was shifted in my knight’s arms, his shoulder blocked my view. Yet, the world spilling out from beyond that barrier still forced its way into my sight.

Her hair fanned out across the ground as she writhed in agony; her small, trembling fingers clawed at the earth—digging in as if clinging to life itself—while her legs thrashed wildly.

She was trying to convey something, but the people around us kept their distance, afraid to approach.

“It’s poison! It might be spreading through her blood.”

 

I have to help her. Someone... save her...

 

“You must not look, Soleil.”

I didn't know who had spoken.

“Someone! Call a physician!” That shout from the steward was the last thing I heard before my consciousness faded away.

 

I call out to her in the pitch black darkness.

 

Sicilia.

Don't die.

 

“----Lady Sicilia has passed away.”

 

My mother said this to me when I woke up in my bed. Judging by the red color at the corners of her eyes, it was obvious that she had been crying a while ago. Even so, my mother never showed any weakness.

The sound of my heart was so loud that I wanted to cover my ears, but my body didn't move at all. Even though I was lying down, I could feel the blood draining somewhere.

 

“Everything that happens around you is your responsibility.”

 

A cold voice rained down upon me.

It was true. After all, back then... I was the one who urged her. Even though I was supposed to eat it first, I told her she could go ahead.

“Good things and bad alike—everything happens simply because you are there.”

That is both the responsibility and the destiny of the Marquis family's heir. That is why you must never let your guard down.

 

Even in the face of tragedy, she sought to turn the situation to her advantage, demonstrating what it meant to be the heir to the Marquis house.

“Yes,” I nod, my voice devoid of emotion, sounding as if it belonged to someone else.

 

It’s my fault.

It was my fault.

 

Sicilia’s small hand grasping the cookie—that image kept flashing back to me.

As did the way her lips had curved into a happy smile.

In all likelihood, I was the one whose life was being targeted. After all, there was only a single plate of sweets on the table, and given the order of precedence, I naturally should have been the first to partake.

In other words, she died in my stead.

 

“Then, Mother... Sicilia died because of me, didn't she?”

 

There was no reply. There was only her gaze, fixed steadily upon my face. She seemed to be biting her lip, as if holding something back—though I did not know what it was she was suppressing.

“Sicilia died because I was there, didn't she?”

And from that day on...

I was plagued by nightmares. Whether asleep or awake, thoughts of her constantly crossed my mind.

 

So, I strove to distract myself by focusing on using my mind as much as possible. I read countless volumes from the Marquis family's library—working through them one by one, from start to finish. Of course, there were many characters I could not read and words I could not understand, yet the books served their purpose more than well enough to keep my mind off things.

 

From before dawn until well past midnight—I did nothing but hold my pen.

 

“Young Master, please take a moment to rest.”

The steward spoke with a tone of concern.

It was perfect timing. He had promised that if I expressed a desire to learn swordsmanship, he would arrange it with a knight—even if he found the request puzzling.

True to his word, he brought a familiar knight to see me a few days later.

There was still plenty of time before I was due to enter the academy; I would use this interim period for training. If I pushed both my mind and body to the limit, the resulting exhaustion would finally allow me to sleep.

 

Without doing that, I simply couldn't sleep.

 

I wonder what the last conversation I had with Sicilia was about.

She loved paintings and enjoyed looking at the art displayed in the Marquis’s estate. I remember how happily she spoke of viewing every single painting in my family’s collection once we were married. When I told her that—since some pieces weren't on public display—it would take quite a bit of time to see them all, she simply replied that we had all the time in the world.

That is what she said.

 

“It will be enough if I can see them all before I die.”

 

Several paintings adorned the reception room where she and I used to share tea, yet she passed away without ever truly pausing to admire them.

The painting my mother cherished above all others was a portrait of a young girl, painstakingly rendered by a renowned artist. The girl stood with a multitude of shoes arrayed at her feet, unable to decide which pair to wear—a depiction, I believe, of how an excess of choices can leave one unable to choose anything at all.

Come to think of it, she reminded me of Sicilia.

Sicilia had so many passions; every time we met, her interests had shifted to something new. That was precisely why I loved listening to her talk.

 

It was a year later that an end finally came to those days spent merely whiling away the time, lost in such thoughts.

 

“……A fiancée?”

“That’s right.”

 

My father’s study. The master of the house—with whom I had exchanged words only a handful of times—brought up the subject while attending to his work.

The steward standing behind him handed him a document—I could not tell what it was. Father glanced over it—or perhaps he didn't really look at it at all—and set it aside at the edge of his desk. Then, he was handed another paper. This time, it appeared he intended to sign it; he dipped the nib of his fountain pen into the ink.

 

“Sicilia has only just passed away.”

 

I knew that speaking up would be futile, yet I could not simply offer no resistance. Even though the final decision did not rest with me—as was the case with this matter—that did not mean I lacked an opinion of my own. To submit meekly would be no different from the behavior of a mere servant; one could hardly call such a person an heir.

If I remained silent, a new fiancée would be chosen for me in the blink of an eye. That, at least, was something I wanted to avoid.

 

“We cannot simply leave the position of your fiancée vacant indefinitely. You understand that, don't you?”

 

I gazed at my father’s neatly groomed black hair; he didn't spare me even a fleeting glance. Since he was looking down at his work, I couldn’t read his expression at all. Instead, I felt the steward’s gaze pricking at me like needles.

“Yes,” I replied, all the while searching for a way out—not a physical escape route, but a way to navigate this conversation to a conclusion.

 

“There were several candidates, but it looks like it will be the Mathis family.”

“The Mathis family?” The name sounds unfamiliar.

“It is Lady Ilya. A meeting is scheduled soon.”

“...Huh?”          

 

It was so sudden that I was left dumbfounded, unable to utter a word. It was far too soon. A formal introduction meant that this engagement was already a settled matter. “F-Father...” I had meant to ask for a moment, but instead, I was urged to leave with the words, “That is all.” When I remained rooted to the spot, the command came again, sharper this time: “Leave.”

 

It felt as though my feet were nailed to the intricately patterned carpet. I could not move a muscle; my mind was spinning in a chaotic whirl. Faced with such absolute authority, I could not summon a single word of objection.

“Young Master...” Eventually, I left the room, supported by the butler.

 

I was gasping for breath.

It was suffocating.

 

“Young Master, please pull yourself together.”

 

The steward went out of his way to kneel so that our eyes would meet. In a quiet voice, he told me that while he sympathized regarding Lady Sicilia, our house had no time left to spare.

He revealed that this matter reflected the will of the King himself. Faced with this truth, I found myself with nowhere left to turn; I realized that no escape route had ever been prepared for me.

 

Sicilia hailed from a noble lineage of the highest order—and for good reason. Her mother was a distant relative of the Queen. The two women had been close since childhood, and the Queen had evidently doted on Sicilia as well. The union between Sicilia and myself had been arranged to strengthen the ties between the Marquisate and the Royal Family—or rather, to bind the Marquisate firmly to the Crown—and to solidify Sicilia’s own standing.

Yet, in an unthinkable turn of events, she was murdered by someone within my own household.

The poison had likely been intended for me, but it was Sicilia who ultimately lost her life.

In short, this was a blunder on the part of the Marquis’s house. The Queen was plunged into deep sorrow, and it is said that His Majesty the King made no secret of his fury.

That my father was spared from having to personally shoulder the blame was due entirely to his past achievements as Marquis. His standing as a member of the Council of Elders also worked in his favor.

However...

That did not mean there were no repercussions.

It seemed that others were held accountable for this incident—people whose fates were decided without my knowledge. Several servants of our household were made to bear the blame.

The head chef, the cooks, the maid who prepared the sweets and tea, the housemaids, the footmen present at the scene, and the guards.

Every single one of them was executed.

 

I hadn't realized.

I had noticed that there were certain maids and attendants I hadn't seen lately, of course. The Marquis's estate was vast, and the servants were always bustling about; consequently, the same faces weren't always around me—though that didn't apply to the senior staff. Only a few were assigned to look after me, a child; the rest were occupied with duties for the estate and my parents.

So, it hadn't struck me as odd not to see them for a few days.

 

“If a fiancée is not secured for Lord Soleil, bloodshed will inevitably follow as others vie for that position. My master is deeply concerned about this. Should these blunders continue, he will be forced to take responsibility.”

“...”

“The head of the Mathis family and my master have long been close associates, so there will be no issues whatsoever.”

“No issues?”

“Yes.”

“I have heard that Lady Ilya is a highly intelligent young lady. So, please set your mind at ease.”

“At ease?”

“Yes.”

 

No problem? ————— For whom?

Peace of mind? ————— For whom?

 

Sicilia died because of me. Why, then, was I not required to take responsibility?

Wasn't I the one who should have borne the guilt?

 

Chapter 80                                                    Chapter 82

  

 

Chapter 80

9 – Marianne’s Truth – 19

 

“...Lady Marianne? What is the matter? You seem lost in thought. Even you, it seems, are finally showing signs of fatigue?”

 

As I clutched a cushion that had been slipping from my grasp and let my thoughts drift to the distant past, a voice called out across from me. It seemed he has already grown bored of gazing at the outside world through the small window.

“We’ll be arriving at the inn soon, so please stay awake.”

He added, “After all, if Lord Evan were to find out I touched Lady Marianne—even if it was unavoidable—my life would be forfeit.”

It seemed he still had the energy for banter.

Despite having sustained life-threatening injuries just the other day, he looked remarkably well—perhaps owing to a difference in underlying physical resilience.

“I won't sleep. I want to stay awake.”

Night was fast approaching.

The setting sun, which had been blazing with such intensity as if to declare this its final moment, has slipped out of sight. Yet, the sky visible in the brief interlude before total darkness falls—a magnificent blend of ultramarine, pitch-black, and orange—was a breathtaking sight. It felt like a fresh experience, too, as it was not something I usually took the time to gaze at so intently.

 

“Still, I really am tired. I’m not a knight, you know. My stamina is nothing more than average.”

“…That’s true, isn’t it? It’s easy to get the wrong idea. After all, Lady Marianne, you possess a beauty that rivals an angel’s, and you are kind enough to extend a helping hand to a mere knight. It makes one feel as though you aren't quite like ordinary people.”

“Hehe, that’s a funny way of putting it. Just a moment ago, you said you never would have imagined I’d help anyone.”

“I said it was *unexpected*.”

“It amounts to the same thing. Besides, I’m not kind to just anyone. I’m only kind when it serves my own interests.”

It had always been that way.

 

“It is you, Lady Marianne, who speaks in such a peculiar way. Even if you acted for your own sake, the result was that you saved lives. You ought to take more pride in yourself.”

“My, my. You are surprisingly kind, aren't you?”

“'Surprisingly'?”

 

Inside the rattling carriage, I found myself thinking of someone I shall likely never see again.

—Upon hearing the news of her death, I had briefly despaired, wondering if I had failed to make it in time once more.

But he had sent the signal, just as promised.

 

Had I, this time, truly done everything within my power?

 

 

*

 

 

It must have been when I was seven.

At a tea party hosted by another family—an event to which my mother and I had been invited—the hostess said to me:

 

“I hear you are quite skilled at the piano, Lady Marianne. We happen to have a fine instrument here; I would love for you to play for everyone.”

 

Whether she truly appreciated my ability or harbored a touch of malice, I could not say.

She was an old acquaintance of my mother, and the guests were all people we knew; yet, as they were all aristocrats of the same generation, there was surely an underlying intent to test whose child was the most accomplished and whose future held the most promise.

 

As it happened, I was the one chosen to provide the entertainment.

 

The performance I delivered was not disastrous, yet it certainly didn't merit praise.

Anyone listening would surely have thought the same. And with good reason—after all, I did not enjoy playing the piano.

I practiced only the bare minimum to keep my fingers from getting stiff, and I never studied music with any real enthusiasm. I hadn't pored over the sheet music, nor did I play with heart, seeking to capture the composer's intent.

 

—And yet, everyone praised me.

 

It moved people to the point where some were even brought to tears.

There was thunderous applause—a whirlwind of praise. The adults surrounding me unanimously heaped accolades upon me, declaring that I rivaled even professional musicians.

 

“And you are so beautiful, too! I look forward to seeing what the future holds for you!”

 

Clapping their hands theatrically, they remarked that a young woman of such intelligence would surely have suitors lining up to marry her.

Could anyone imagine how I felt, standing there frozen in sheer dread?

After all, I already had a fiancé named Evan. When the engagement was first arranged, I had thrown a tantrum, hating the idea of ​​marrying a stranger; yet, as we met regularly, I gradually came to love him.

I was particularly fond of his gentle tone and the all-encompassing warmth of his gaze.

I loved Evan dearly now. And yet, could a clumsy performance like that actually trigger the appearance of other potential suitors?

Sensing trouble ahead, I let out a quiet breath, careful not to betray my unease. I accepted the adults' praise with gratitude while simultaneously letting it wash over me; they would likely forget what they had said by tomorrow anyway.

 

What irresponsible adults.

I hoped my mother, standing beside me with a gentle smile, didn't take their words to heart.

 

Just then, the next piano performance began.

It was a familiar face—a girl named Ilya il Mathis.

Few people were actually listening to her play. The adults, engrossed in conversation, kept right on chatting, while the children who had accompanied their parents were captivated by the food being served.

Yet, she showed absolutely no interest in any of them.

Amidst the ceaseless din, she introduced herself briefly—"My name is Ilya"—gazing straight ahead with her back perfectly straight, and then proceeded to play a piece lasting about fifteen minutes, entirely without sheet music.

 

It was a well-known old piece—one that even adults would find so difficult they might give up in frustration.

Small fingers, a slender frame; there were keys that a child naturally couldn't reach, even though an adult would have no trouble spanning them. The dynamics, too, lacked precision; a child simply could not strike the keys with the same power as an adult.

And yet, the performance was such that I found myself wondering just how much time must have been poured into practicing it.

I was deeply moved—touched to the very core—and could not suppress the goosebumps rising on my skin.

 

And so, I immediately broke into thunderous applause. Perhaps because my doing such a thing was so unexpected, the entire venue fell silent.

It made me marvel at how the eldest daughter of a count’s family inevitably draws attention, no matter what she does.

My mother, standing beside me, stared in astonishment and tried to stop her daughter’s impulsive behavior—but I did not stop.

After all, it was simply magnificent. To have heard this performance from start to finish, without missing a single note—it was nothing short of a stroke of good fortune. I felt almost sorry for those who hadn't heard it.

 

Ilya, standing before the piano and bowing with graceful poise, looked toward me as I continued to applaud.

Our gazes met—it felt almost as if they had struck each other with a sharp *snap* in the air. It seemed to mark both a beginning and an end.

For some reason, the image of her smiling—shyly, yet with evident delight—burned itself into my memory.

If I ever had the chance to speak with her later, I would ask how she played the piano so masterfully. I wondered how many hours a day she practiced; it certainly couldn't be an ordinary amount.

 

“To think Marianne would show interest in anyone other than Evan... Wonders never cease.”

 

As we walked down the long corridor after leaving the room where the tea party had been held, Mother spoke.

“Is that so? Is that how you see me, Mother?”

When I asked this, she gave a vague reply—"Well, let's see”—that left it unclear whether she was agreeing or disagreeing.

I tilted my head, just as Mother did. As we looked at each other,

 

“The performance today was quite good.”

 

Suddenly, I heard a voice coming from the staircase at the far end of the hallway. It was a voice that—despite praising the performance—lacked any real emotion. Intrigued, and ignoring my mother’s attempt to stop me, I quietly leaned out toward the landing to see who was speaking. Standing there was a woman—someone I didn't know personally, but who was almost certainly Ilya’s mother.

 

“If you are ever given an opportunity like this again, you must master the technique so thoroughly that no one can find a single fault.”

“Yes.”

“You must cultivate an expressive ability that wins the admiration of everyone.”

“Yes.”

“Always look ahead; never hang your head. Keep a smile on your face, and carry yourself with dignity, no matter what anyone says.”

“Yes.

 

Their interaction was far too matter-of-fact. They seemed more like a teacher and student than a mother and daughter. She really ought to praise her more. I started to say as much, but a tap on the shoulder stopped me before I could begin. It was my mother, of course.

“No,” she cautioned in a low voice, practically dragging me away by the arm.

 

We moved away quietly, careful not to make a sound.

 

“Marianne. Your sense of justice is a virtue, but it isn't wise to meddle too deeply in things.”

“...But, Mother.”

“True, the way she spoke was certainly striking. But surely Madame Mathis has her own reasons. She might actually want to praise her lavishly—that is certainly what *I* would do. But when one's daughter is the fiancée of Lord Soleil, there is likely no room for compromise.”

“...I don't quite understand.”

“Perhaps it is too soon for you to grasp it. But you will understand in time. Besides...”

“Besides?”

“Did you see her face?”

“Her... Lady Ilya's?”

“Yes.”

 

Did she look sad?” I shook my head at the question. At the very least, she didn't wear the sort of insecure expression a small child might have after being scolded. If anything, I think she looked somewhat proud. It was the same with Ilya’s mother; even though her words were harsh, she, too, had seemed elated.

“She was happy, wasn’t she?”

“...Happy?”

“Yes. Because you clapped.”

“...Clapped...”

 

I didn't quite understand this either, so I pondered it as we walked. So what if I had clapped?

“When you started clapping, Marianne, the people nearby sort of followed suit. It was a scattered response, perhaps, but the influence you exerted was significant. You need to realize this: a title of nobility carries that much sway over others.”

“...”

“But you must not let it make you arrogant. That influence stems from neither your own personal power nor that of my husband or myself. You must remember that it is simply authority bestowed upon the House.”

“Yes.”

“You can learn these things gradually as time goes on.”

 

A dazzling beauty of high society, smiling softly. She was so breathtakingly lovely. I wanted to be just like her.

 

“I’d like to become friends with Lady Ilya.”

“I see.”

“Yes.”

“Let’s consult your father about it.”

“Yes!”

 

—————It was long after that when I finally became Ilya’s friend.

And it was even later still when I remembered everything.

 

It took time, certainly.

But at last, I had become a part of Ilya’s life.

 

 

*

 

 

“By the way, Lady Marianne. May I ask you something I’ve been wondering about?”

 

I was swaying with the motion of the carriage, drifting into a doze, when I was spoken to again.

It seemed he was trying to keep me from falling asleep.

“...What is it?”

“What would you call the feelings you harbor for Lady Ilya?”

“The name... of those feelings?”

Even though I didn't want to sleep, my mind felt hazy and unclear, as if shrouded in mist.

“Yes. Well, I’m not sure if I should say this, but... isn't that obsession of yours actually love?”

“Huh? Love?”

I let out a rather foolish-sounding voice.

“Yes.”

As I reply to my escort knight—who nodded deeply—with, “Don't be ridiculous; I'm head over heels for Evan,” a thought suddenly crossed my mind while my head cleared as if the fog were lifting.

Surely, that couldn't be the case.

But if what he said is true—if this bond of friendship were actually something that could be called “love”...

 

  

Then... I fell in love with someone I could never be with.

 

 Chapter 79                                          Chapter 81

Nocta's thoughts:

Ans that's how Marianne's arc ends. The author has already started to write the next arc, which is called "The person known as Soleil van Nortis in this lifetime."