Chapter 83

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.

Chapter 82

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 83

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