Chapter 75

 9 – Marianne’s Truth – 14

 

Before I could even object to the ruling that had been handed down without my knowledge, Ilya was transferred from her place of detention to an unknown location.

The morning after hearing the news from Evan, I went to check the special edition notices posted in the streets, but learned nothing beyond the fact that Ilya’s sentence had been finalized. I returned to the estate and tried to pry further information from my husband, only to be told that he knew no details. I could not tell whether he was truly in the dark or if he was hiding something.

He had promised to look into it properly, after all.

 

As my anxiety mounted, unable to sit still, I headed once more to my family home.

“You have no idea where she is?”

Without giving any advance notice, I had slipped in during a rare gap in my father's schedule—he was, as always, buried in work. He had been at his desk, arranging papers and jotting something down; though he widened his eyes in surprise at my sudden appearance, he quickly shook his head and let out a sigh.

Perhaps he was exasperated by his daughter’s refusal to give up. I knew he would never truly wash his hands of me, yet I still felt a lump form in my throat. After all, even as we stood there, she might be suffering some terrible ordeal.

The uncertainty of her whereabouts only fueled my dread.

 

“Won't Lady Ilya's innocence be proven?”

“That's right. Even if evidence of her innocence were to surface now, she wouldn't be cleared of the charge. The sentence is final; the King himself has ratified it. There will be no reduction in the penalty.”

“That means...?”

“It means the death sentence will not be overturned.”

 

The voice was chilling—enough to make one's spine freeze. It was strange that his breath didn't even cloud in the cold air.

 

“Why? That makes no sense...! What is the Marquis's family doing?”

 

If the House of Nortis took action, everything should work out. They would surely secure the King's backing. Then, a pardon would be granted, and Ilya would certainly be released—cleared of all charges and set free.

 

“It seems the Marquis's house isn't going to step in.”

“What?”

“They’ve likely decided to cast Lady Ilya aside.”

“……!”

“A scandal of this magnitude... it’s spiraled out of control, past the point of no return. I hear the Marquis's family intends to feign complete ignorance.”

 

Ilya had surely resorted to questionable methods for the sake of the Marquis's house at times. For a family said to handle the royal household's dirty work, maintaining absolute purity would have been impossible. And yet—was she to bear the blame all alone?

 

“What about Lord Soleil...?”

“...He...”

 

Shadows fell across the eyes of her father, who had fallen silent.

 

“I do not know what passed between the two of them. But... I doubt they will ever find their way back to one another.”

 

In other words, Soleil had no intention of helping Ilya.

I had vaguely suspected as much, but facing the reality of it left me breathless. It felt as though something had seized my heart in a crushing grip. If Soleil did not reach out to Ilya, who else was there to save her?

As dizziness made me sway, a maid waiting nearby instantly steadied me. My father, who had risen in alarm, came to my side and rubbed my back. I felt absolute certainty in the unwavering loyalty of that large hand.

I wondered how Ilya was feeling right now.

 

“Marianne. As I said the other day, this matter is closed. You have your own life to lead, don't you?”

Though taken aback by his gentle, concerned gaze, when asked if I intended to put my family in danger, I could only answer that I did not.

“Go back to the estate at once and be by your daughter's side.” Dismissed by that calm yet firm voice, I was ushered out of the room.

Having gained no encouraging news from my family home, I returned to my own house feeling reluctant to leave, as if held back by an invisible tether.

 

When I went to see Evan—who, for a rare change, was handling administrative tasks in his office rather than heading out—he voiced sentiments much like my father’s. He suggested I take our daughter to the park, and I simply could not refuse. I must cherish time with my family; that is my vocation. Loving my husband and children is the sole purpose to which I should dedicate my life.

And yet.

 

If things go on like this...

If things go on like this, I will lose Ilya.

 

She was neither a friend nor family—perhaps not even an acquaintance anymore. Yet, the thought of when her sentence might be carried out kept me from sleeping at night.

During the day, even though I could hear my young daughter wandering the mansion in search of me, my mind was elsewhere.

Normally, simply holding that small body in my arms would have been enough to make me feel whole.

But I was so consumed with worry about Ilya that I couldn't bring myself to do anything.

 

That was when...

...a visitor arrived at our home.

 

It was the middle of the night when two men knocked at our gate without warning. Naturally, given the hour, both my husband and I were fast asleep, so it was a manservant who first encountered them. That said, he evidently had no intention of admitting them into the house, considering how outrageous the visit was. When they refused to back down despite his threats to summon the guards, a standoff ensued; eventually, however, the information they provided led him to conclude that he needed to verify the matter with Evan.

 

It was the butler, holding a lamp, who knocked on the bedroom door. His face, illuminated by the small flame, looked grim, and his necktie was askew.

It was the dead of night. To disturb the master and mistress while they slept implied a dire emergency.

“What is it?” my husband asked in a hushed tone, sitting up halfway with undisguised wariness; I, too, had been roused, though I had still been half-lost in a dream.

Yet, when I heard Evan’s voice—distinctly different from his usual tone—echoing through the silence with the question, “...What?”, the fog in my mind instantly cleared.

 

“What has happened regarding Lady Ilya?”

My voice rang out with a clarity that struck even me as strange.

Any trace of drowsiness had vanished instantly. I had certainly just heard the steward and my husband speak her name.

 

“……A visitor. They wish to see you, Marianne.”

“……Who is it……?”

 

Surely it couldn't be Ilya. Even as that thought crossed my mind, I sat up, roused by the frantic pounding of my heart.

 

“Her escort knight... or rather, her *former* knight, perhaps?”

My husband tilted his head, remaining composed despite the obvious emergency.

As I tumbled out of bed and tried to leave the room, a maid—who had followed the steward—hurriedly stopped me. She insisted I change my clothes first; suppressing my impatience, I nodded in agreement.

After all, I could hardly appear in public in my nightclothes.

 

After tidying my appearance, I headed to the entrance hall with my husband. The long corridor felt twice as long as usual. Upon finally reaching the end, I found two men clad in black robes; their imposing physiques made it clear they were no ordinary citizens.

They were tall and broad-shouldered. With their hoods pulled low to conceal their faces, they looked like bandits at first glance. I instinctively braced myself and stopped well short of where they stood; Evan stepped forward, shielding me from view.

Noticing us, the two men removed their hoods and immediately dropped to one knee.

“We apologize for the late hour.”

Their voices were raspy, with certain sounds dropping out as if their speech were being stifled.

It wasn't merely the natural quality of their voices; the impression that they were parched and dehydrated was likely accurate. Their mouths were surely dry.

Observing them more closely over Evan’s shoulder, I saw that both their feet and the robes draped over their shoulders were caked in sand—telling signs of where they had come from.

 

“Lady Marianne.”

 

Hearing my name, I looked at his face. It was wrapped in bandages, obscuring his right eye. The corner of his mouth was split—the result of some unknown incident—and blood was seeping from the loose end of the bandage.

His blue eyes, fixed intently upon me, seemed to waver as if trying to convey something.

 

...I knew him.

I knew that man.

 

That’s right. He was the knight who had been guarding Ilya when I met her in town. There was no mistake; for some reason, I was certain. Even with his golden hair having lost its luster and his cheeks grown gaunt, the sight of him stirred a sense of familiarity within me.

As he drew closer, a droplet—presumably blood—fell from his chin, forming a small pool on the marble floor.

What on earth had happened?

 

“Something serious must be afoot for you to come at an hour like this.”

Evan’s voice—at once gentle and stern—challenged them to consider the propriety of their actions. Yet, they did not falter.

“Please... I beg of you, please help us. You are our only hope, Lady Marianne.”

Any lingering drowsiness had long since vanished; the sheer desperation in their voices seemed to sharpen my senses.

“What is the meaning of this?”

My husband held me back as I tried to step forward, telling me to stay behind him for my own safety.

 

“There is no one else I can trust.”

The voice was trembling. “Or rather, I no longer know who to believe; I came here fully aware that I was being impolite.”

Another drop of liquid spilled from the cheek of the person, who was looking down. This time, it wasn't red.

I couldn't quite tell from where I stood whether it was sweat or a tear.

 

“I understand this concerns Lady Ilya. But in that case, I cannot cooperate. I cannot put my wife in danger.”

My husband answered before I could even open my mouth.

“Lord Evan!” I interjected, unable to hold back.

“You stay silent. I am the master of this house; the final decision rests with me.”

Evan looked at me, his eyes narrowing. Even though I was the one directly addressed, I had no say in a situation like this. I knew that full well. After all, the very fact that they have come here—given their obvious connection to Ilya—is enough to plunge our household into a crisis.

 

If the House of Nortis has abandoned Ilya, it is not inconceivable that His Majesty the King’s will lies behind it.

After all, a marquess’s house would never act against His Majesty’s wishes.

We did not invite them into the inner rooms out of caution against any unforeseen eventuality, but we kept them in the entrance hall so that we could offer an excuse later—claiming that we did not welcome them as guests, but rather that they had forced their way in.

 

But...

 

“Lord Evan, please. I beg you—let me just hear them out. I only want to know how Lady Ilya is doing... Please!"

I clung to his arm, pleading desperately. As I repeated my entreaties, the master of the house finally let out a heavy sigh.

“You know I can't say no to you, don't you?” he murmured, before agreeing to at least listen to what they had to say and having them explain the situation right there.

 

And this is what I learned.

The man was indeed Ilya’s sworn knight—Alfred by name—though he had reportedly renounced his family name.

“It appears Lady Ilya is currently being held in the cells reserved for commoner prisoners. She was moved between several different cells, so it took some time to track her down.”

“...The commoners’ cells?! But... why? That simply cannot be!”

My body trembled violently.

 

In our country, the vast majority of nobles who commit crimes escape punishment; such is the nature of the privileged class.

Even so, if the offense is grave enough, they may indeed be arrested and sentenced—as is the case here.

Yet, even then, the prison where a noble is confined is separate from that of common criminals. Even if the sentence is execution, they spend their remaining days in well-appointed quarters and may speak with a member of the clergy if they so desire. Their privileges as nobles remain guaranteed until the very end, even as condemned prisoners. That is simply how things are.

This is especially true for Ilya; as a member of a marquess's family, she should absolutely never be subjected to the same treatment as those from the lower strata of society.

Or perhaps... has she already been cast out of the family?

 

“I, too, was held in the dungeon.”

 

Those words made me understand the reason for his injuries. This was likely the aftermath of torture.

So, Alfred was the knight accused of being Ilya’s accomplice?

Yet, he had been released and was standing here now. That meant there might be a chance for Ilya, too. Just as a ray of hope seemed to break through, the man—still kneeling—looked up at Evan and me, then slowly shook his head.

I could not fathom the meaning behind that gesture.

 

“—————It was I who helped him escape.”

 

The other man, who had remained silent with his head bowed until just moments ago, lifted his face and spoke quietly. His resonant voice carried an air of dignity. Perhaps the weight behind his words stemmed from the fact that he held a position of responsibility; he was a knight renowned enough for even me to know his name.

He was a man who commanded a platoon—someone I had seen striding proudly on horseback during patrols. He likely intended to introduce himself to me, as he had started to open his mouth, but Evan stopped him.

 

“You aren't a character in this story. You are a nameless man—Alfred's shadow. There is no need to give your name.”

It was precisely out of respect for his position that Evan said this.

Unlike Alfred, he had presumably not abandoned his noble house. For a knight of his rank—a platoon commander—to aid in a prison break would have dire consequences; it was the sort of event that might even warrant a special news bulletin. Yet, there had been no such stir, meaning, in short, that no one knew about it—not yet.

“Still, it would be inconvenient to go without a name, so you may call yourself Franz.”

The man nodded at Evan’s suggestion.

 

“So? Why have you come to see Marianne?”

According to Alfred, he clearly remembered the time Ilya and I met in the city and had judged me to be trustworthy. I couldn't fathom what exactly had led him to that conclusion; it had been a chance encounter lasting only a few hours.

When I suggested that I might actually be a villainess intent on bringing Ilya to ruin, Alfred declared with a confident, unwavering gaze, “I already know that you are not such a person.”

“Isn't that rather rash, considering we've only met once?”

While I appreciated his trust, it struck me as somewhat shortsighted given the uncertainty of who was friend and who was foe.

Yet, he would not budge.

 

“Why? Why do you trust me?”

 

Though he hesitated slightly, Alfred spoke haltingly of a fact that was hard to believe.

According to him—having watched over Ilya for many years—she had lived in solitude since childhood.

There were her parents, whose demeanor bordered on cold-heartedness, and her younger sister, upon whom they lavished all their affection.

Then there was her fiancé, who offered no response no matter how much love she poured into the relationship; Alfred squeezed his remaining eye shut, implying that the anguish of such a situation was beyond words.

There were, it seemed, hardly any people who showed her genuine kindness.

 

Even from the brief account I heard, the pain is enough to wring my heart.

To me, Ilya was a diligent, hardworking woman with a razor-sharp mind; the way she devotedly loved another was truly worthy of respect. That is precisely why I believed that everyone would surely love her in return.

And yet, why was the world she actually lived in filled with such agonizing pain?

 

The sisters I thought were close did not actually share such a bond, and the fiancé I believed cherished her did not truly care for her either. I had assumed she was respected by those around her as a member of the Nortis family, yet that, too, turned out to be an illusion.

It is doubtful she ever had anyone truly close to her; with anyone she interacted with, she felt a certain distance.

 

Had I been dreaming all this time? Was the protagonist of that fairy tale nothing more than a dream?

Where, I wonder, was the real her?

 

“......Lady Marianne.”

“Y-Yes?”

“......That day, Lady Marianne... aside from the treats intended for Lady Sylvia, you also wrapped some up for Lady Ilya, didn't you?”

“Y-Yes, I did.”

“Lady Ilya would gaze at the sweets you gave her for the longest time. She couldn't bring herself to touch them—fearing that eating them meant losing them—so she just looked at them day after day. She seemed so happy. It was only when she was told the sweets would go bad if left any longer that she finally took a bite. And then... savoring the taste and the joy of it all...”

 

She was smiling. It was an expression I had rarely ever seen on her.

 

“Afterward, she carefully—so very carefully—put away the bag that had held the sweets, now empty.”

 

Alfred’s voice sounded distorted, warped. He sounded in such pain. I felt as though he were on the verge of tears, yet he held them back; it was I who found myself unable to breathe, choked by sobs.

 

It wasn’t wrapped in any special way for a gift. I had prepared Ilya’s portion simply because I was already getting something for Sylvia. I thought that if I was giving one to Sylvia, it would make me happy if Ilya ate one too. It was a gesture born of my own self-satisfaction. Nothing special. It wasn't anything grand, and yet...

 

“Receiving a gift given with such heartfelt sincerity... was surely the first time for her.”

 

It felt as though my heart were being torn apart.

Why did I always give up?

 

 Chapter 74