Chapter 16

Asla, rendered speechless, simply stared at Ian.

He took a step closer and whispered in a low voice, “I may be far inferior to you, but at the very least, I don’t want to let Princess Asla be handed over to you.”

“……”

“I can more or less guess what you and Emperor Rozenberg are discussing. But I will never let that marriage happen.”

Marriage? Already? 

Asla and Enoch’s engagement had been formally decided when she turned twenty.  

She had always believed that Enoch was informed at the same time—that it was a sudden arrangement forced on both of them.  

But to think Emperor Rozenberg and Enoch had already been discussing it back then…

Asla felt a sharp ache in her head.

When she didn’t respond, Ian spoke again, his tone resolute, as if making a solemn vow.  

“Someone like you—so steeped in the secular world—doesn’t belong anywhere near a princess who has lived purely and nobly under the laws of the Holy Kingdom. I’m sure Her Highness feels the same.”

“I… No—Princess Asla Sherita is neither pure nor noble.”

For the first time in this strange journey through the past, Asla spoke her own truth.

How dare he? What did they know? What could any of these priests possibly understand about her?

Asla Sherita was nothing more than a doll crafted by the Holy Kingdom—an ornament forced to embody their ideals.

Somehow, speaking those words in Enoch’s deep voice made it feel even more cathartic—like a release, a kind of healing.  

Tears threatened to well up in her eyes.

“What…?”

Ian’s face twisted in disbelief and scorn, but Asla didn’t care.  

She looked up, feeling as though the world around her was crumbling, as if time itself was disintegrating like droplets falling from a broken vessel.

“Ah.”

Then, the blue tide surged over her again.

There were still so many things she wanted to uncover.

But with regret in her heart, Asla closed her eyes—finally falling into real sleep.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

While Asla slept with her head resting on the table, Enoch stood in the narrow, rattling corridor of the train, his brows twisted into a fierce scowl.  

The paper in his hand was crushed into a crumpled mess.

Talet, watching Enoch teeter on the brink of an outburst, spoke carefully,  

“We captured the Lady’s personal maid and interrogated her, but she wouldn’t talk. It wasn’t until we applied torture that she finally confessed.”

“She’s insane,” Enoch growled.

“I don’t think this is the end of it. But there’s another problem. The former Duchess was furious that her favored maid was arrested and tortured.”

Enoch’s features, backlit by the sunlight, sharpened to an even harsher edge—his face caught between shadow and light.  

He looked nothing like the man he was around Asla.  

Now, he was a stranger—dangerous and cold.

“Her excuse was simply: ‘I was just envious that my Lady was going to the capital alone, so I did it as a joke.’”

Enoch scoffed as he read the maid’s written statement.

What kind of maid would pull such a cruel prank just because she was jealous of the Duchess?

Of course, she had backing.  

It was obvious who: Margo Ventus, his sister-in-law.

Unable to hold back his frustration, Enoch pressed his fist to his brow and shut his eyes.

He thought back to the morning he’d left the Ventus estate with Asla.

He remembered finding Asla with Margo—and realizing something was deeply wrong.  

Unlike Margo, who wore her usual breezy smile, Asla looked deathly pale, as if someone had wrung the life from her.

The Asla Sherita Enoch knew, was the kind of woman who endured everything in silence—not by nature, but because that’s how she was raised.  

A pitiable princess, molded by the rules of the Holy Kingdom.

For her to appear so shaken…

At first, he’d assumed it was mere bullying. But the moment he saw her face, something instinctively told him it was worse—far worse.  

Without even thinking, he’d glared at his sister-in-law with open hostility and fled the estate with Asla in tow.

He had been hurt, angry, even resentful toward Asla for continually demanding a divorce.  

But when he discovered the tar stain on the dress given by the new maid, May, his heart had nearly stopped.

Margo Ventus.

Enoch slowly opened his eyes.

Why—why would she go so far to torment his wife?

He’d thought the Ventus estate would be the safest place for Asla.  

Yet she’d suffered unspeakable abuse—abuse he couldn’t even bring himself to imagine.

If he could turn back time, he would have told her everything and had her live in his own house in the capital.  

It would’ve been difficult, yes. But not as cruel.

“Talet. Yesterday morning, Asla kept glancing at the breakfast my sister-in-law brought. Something’s off there too.”

“The food…? Is that why my Lady is so emaciated?”

“Could be.”

Enoch ran his hands roughly over his face, as if trying to claw away his guilt.

The doctor at Dainus City Hospital had said Asla was suffering from chronic malnutrition.

She’d always eaten little, having been raised in the Holy Kingdom to live a life of discipline and restraint.

From the very first time he saw her.

Back then, when he watched her secretly, she looked so frail—like she might collapse at the slightest spring breeze.

He’d hoped that once they were married and she took the name Ventus, she might at least eat freely.

But thanks to his sister-in-law’s twisted games, she’d become even more malnourished.  

It broke his heart.

No wonder she wanted a divorce.

But even so… he didn’t want to let her go.  

Now that everything was finally in place—he’d finally gotten to the point where he could see her often, live with her.

“As soon as we arrive in the capital, send a telegram. Give that maid a hundred luans on the spot, and offer her protection for her family, plus a secure, well-paid job—if she tells us the full truth.”

“Understood, Master.”

Enoch let out a heavy sigh and began straightening his hair and clothes.

Talet, watching him, spoke.  

“There’s still several hours left on the journey. You should get some rest.”

“I can’t. Can’t you tell I’m on the brink of being divorced?”

“…Yes, I can. That’s exactly why I said it. Isn’t it already too late?”

As Talet spoke cautiously, Enoch raised his brows sharply, as if offended.

“I have to appeal to her. I’m going to make my final move before Asla throws me away.”

He felt a rare moment of gratitude for his good looks.  

Knowing that Asla had a weakness for appearance, he was determined to make the most of it.

So this is what it feels like to clutch at straws.

He’d never paid much attention to how much his appearance drew people’s eyes since childhood—  

But now, for the first time, he was truly thankful.

Talet gave him a bewildered look, seeing how serious Enoch was, then spoke carefully,  

“That’s why I’ve been advising you all along to tell my Lady the truth—and be honest about your feelings.”

“Shut it, Talet. I already regret it deeply enough.”

“…Best of luck, Master.”

Reading the danger in Enoch’s glare, Talet gave a deep bow and quickly retreated to second class.

Watching his aide flee, Enoch slowly walked down the corridor.

He reached the door to the first-class compartment—made of white oak, finely crafted and clearly expensive—and gently opened it.

Inside, his wife was fast asleep, her face soft and childlike as she lay slumped over the table.

A pale, slender hand still held a pencil loosely between her fingers.

In the sketchbook she had left unfinished were puffy clouds and trees stretching toward the sky.

The scene was peaceful and beautiful—so different from the life she had endured—that Enoch felt a sharp ache in his chest.

An odd sense of emotion stirred in him, and he felt as if he might cry.

Without making a sound, he carefully sat in the seat across from her.

What kind of dream is she having?  

He tried not to breathe too loudly.

And for hours, he simply sat there—silently watching Asla sleep.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Asla woke up and quietly ate the simple meal prepared on the train.  

Afterward, she sat in silence for a long while, absentminded.

Enoch called a train attendant to clear the dishes, then offered, “Why don’t you get a bit more sleep?”

“I’m fine.”

Asla gave him a faint smile before turning her gaze back to the window.

The train sped forward, passing through unfamiliar lands she didn’t recognize.  

It would be nearly dawn by the time they arrived in the capital—a half-day journey, they’d said.

Asla stared out at the wide plain glowing crimson in the light of the setting sun, then spoke slowly.  

“Enoch.”

Seated across from her, Enoch widened his eyes at the weight in her voice.

Asla turned her head and met his gaze.  

“Sorry for asking these out-of-the-blue questions all the time.”

“Ask me anything. I’m in crisis mode right now, so I’ll probably confess to anything you want to know.”

“So you’re saying I have the upper hand right now?”

Asla couldn’t believe it.  

Why would this man, Enoch Ventus, have any reason to cling to someone like me?

Surely not… like Ian Hertha said in the dream—  

Could it really be that Enoch loved her?

She shook her head as if to deny it and changed the subject with another question.  

“Is Emperor Rosenberg blackmailing you? Telling you that if we divorce, you’ll be barred from even stepping into Parliament?”

“I expected some strange questions when you said they’d be out of the blue, but this—Asla, what are you even talking about?”

Enoch frowned darkly, looking completely dumbfounded.

But Asla kept her eyes on him, dead serious.

Then, sensing something had changed in her since she woke up, Enoch narrowed his eyes.

“…What do you know?”

“Not much. Just that… when you were twenty-one—so, two years before we got married—the Emperor had already begun pressuring you to marry me.”

“That was a classified matter. Only the Emperor and I knew about it. How… how do you know that?”

Startled for real, Enoch suddenly stood up.

The rumbling of the train echoed for a long time between them.

He thought for a moment, piecing things together, then twisted his lips and muttered, “Ian Hertha. That guy earlier… he told you?”

Asla hesitated only briefly before giving a small nod.

After all, it was Ian Hertha who had spoken to her—while she was in Enoch’s body in that dream.  

Judging from Enoch’s reaction, this wasn’t just some random dream. It was definitely a vision of the real past.

She tried to keep her usual calm expression, but under the table, her hands trembled so much she had to clench her fists.

Enoch bit his lip hard, then slumped back into his seat, as if giving up.

“…It’s true. But the truth is different from whatever half-baked assumptions Ian Hertha made. You didn’t know, but… the Emperor and I began discussing it together from the start.”

“Discussing? Not threatening?”

“Threatening?”

Enoch let out a breathy, incredulous laugh at her choice of word.

Then, with the confident smile of someone who knew exactly what power he held, he told her clearly, “I’d call it an agreement. The Emperor can’t threaten me, Asla. Not when my wealth has grown so vast that even His Majesty treads carefully around it.”