Chapter 20

“Are you feeling conflicted because of the divorce? Well, I suppose I would be too—I’ve received quite a bit from Duke Ventus. Things will certainly get complicated if you go through with it.”

“From the Duke of Ventus? What exactly did you receive from him?”

Asla caught Gloria’s offhand remark midair and pressed for answers. Gloria’s eyebrow twitched as she hesitated, but sensing the tension in Asla’s voice, she gave in with a small sigh.

“After the Holy Kingdom officially fell, I stayed in the Temple of the Twelve for a while… but circumstances changed. I had to leave. It was Duke Ventus who helped me then.”

“He gave you this house, didn’t he? Why would he do that?!”

Asla raised her voice, unable to contain her outrage. Gloria, mildly offended, continued with a slightly annoyed expression.

“It’s not as if I accepted the Duke’s offer right away. I didn’t particularly approve of your marriage to him. But… the Duke kept sending people to check on me—every day.”

“…Ha.”

Asla was dumbfounded.

There it was—the reason Gloria could live so comfortably in this lavish home. Enoch had been financially supporting her all along.

‘Just how much?’

Asla found her eyes drifting around the parlor, taking in the luxury—the high-end furniture, the silk curtains. Her stomach twisted.

Why had Enoch done this behind her back, without even telling her?

If she hadn’t come to see Gloria herself, she would’ve never known.

Swallowed by a surge of emotions, Asla swayed where she sat, as though the ceiling above were spinning. Gloria quickly stood up in alarm.

Asla managed to brace herself against the armrest and avoid collapsing, but she trembled at a sensation she knew all too well.

‘The gods are calling me again.’

They were pulling her into another dream.

Just like before, it came after meeting someone new.

More specifically—someone tied deeply to Enoch.

With a hand to her forehead, Asla quietly made a request of Gloria.

“Mother. I took the early morning train—I’m exhausted. Could I rest for a bit? If there’s a guest room, may I use it?”

“Of course. You look quite pale.”

Asla was mildly surprised by how readily Gloria agreed. The same mother who once wouldn’t allow her a midday nap was now acting strangely accommodating.

Nodding wordlessly, Asla followed the maid Gloria summoned.

The moment she lay on the clean bed, her consciousness slipped into deep sleep—leaving no time for doubt or distraction.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“My goodness. At last, Her Highness the Princess’s beauty is shining through.”

“Truly. The Princess—no, the Duchess of Ventus—may be from a fallen royal family, but at least her looks are worth something.”

“A fallen royal? That’s rather harsh, my Lady. She was the Princess of the Holy Kingdom. I’m surprised such a devout young lady would speak like that.”

“She might have earned my pity and support—if only she’d remained the Princess of the Holy Kingdom to the end. But honestly… isn’t she just someone abandoned by God now? And yet she managed to snatch up the most eligible man in the Empire! It’s so infuriating.”

“In a way, perhaps she’s still blessed by the divine, hoho.”

“Oh, now you’re just being cruel.”

A clear blue sky came into view first. The scent of summer flowers and fresh grass filled the air, and then the sharp voices of women pierced through Asla’s ears.

She looked down at what she was wearing.

It was the Ventus family ceremonial uniform—deep navy, tailored for Enoch’s tall, well-built frame. The platinum medals and chains of the Duke’s house shimmered like sunlight on water.

This was the very outfit Enoch had worn at their wedding two years ago.

Asla had watched him that day, breathless at how stunning he looked.

‘It’s our wedding day.’

Asla realized exactly what dream this was.

The god had sent her back—again—to the past. But why this day? Why this painful, humiliating day?

Asla was inside Enoch’s body, reliving the moment he’d cast such a cold, indifferent gaze at her on their wedding day. Her skin crawled just remembering it.

She lifted her head to look at the women whispering and gossiping outside the glass conservatory.

They were talking about her—about the bride, nervously waiting inside for the ceremony to begin in the early summer sunshine.

So beautiful, it made Asla want to cry.

The glittering diamond tiara, the exquisite golden wedding gown… she remembered how anxious and tense she’d been, sitting alone inside that waiting room, completely exposed in front of a wall of glass.

Outside, the noblewomen of the Empire—women whose faces she recognized, though she could no longer recall their names—whispered cruelly.

Before her engagement, they had looked at her with admiration and reverence. But the moment she became Enoch’s betrothed, everything changed.

‘Why was Enoch standing there listening to all this?’

Asla let out a small sigh and looked around.

He was hidden behind a line of dense shrubs, out of view from her past self. She never saw him there.

Was he watching her out of pity? Silently standing guard over the fragile, tragic princess of a fallen kingdom?

Yet—he’d chosen this moment to stand there, listening to the ridicule and venom.

‘What use is it to watch if you do nothing, Enoch Ventus?’

‘Even if it had only been sympathy you felt for me, I—my foolish, past self—would have clung to it gratefully.’

A single word of comfort before the ceremony would have meant the world.

‘You were already nearby… Why didn’t you step inside?’

While she was stewing in that bitterness, someone spoke to Enoch.

“Duke Ventus.”

A deep, composed voice, cool and formal.

It was Ian Hertha again.

So it was true—he had attended the wedding.

No longer the young boy she remembered, Ian’s green eyes gleamed like the fresh leaves of early summer, but the chill he radiated was like midwinter.

He stared directly at her—at the Enoch she was inhabiting—with open hatred.

‘That’s right… he said I was his first love, didn’t he?’

Asla gave a bitter smile, but it faded as her eyes narrowed.

Hidden behind Ian, obscured until now, another figure slowly stepped into view.

A wide-brimmed hat concealed much of her face, but Asla recognized her instantly.

Gloria Sherita.

Her mother.

The very woman she thought hadn’t even attended the wedding—was there all along.

‘Mother came to the wedding? Then why…’

Why hadn’t she known?

If not for the god intervening in her dreams and showing her the past, Asla might’ve lived her whole life in ignorance. How utterly foolish.

When her cold, aloof mother failed to show up at the ceremony, Asla had finally buried even the last shred of hope she had for Gloria. That disappointment, unspoken and unresolved, was perhaps why she remembered her wedding as the worst day of her life.

After the ceremony, her nanny had helped her change out of her dress, muttering that Gloria was simply “beyond help.” Asla had believed her. Her nanny had said her mother hadn’t come, and that was that.

The thought that Gloria might’ve secretly watched from afar had never even crossed her mind.

‘Lisette Grosset.’

The name surfaced like a whisper.

The nanny who’d been at her side since before she could remember, warm as sunlight, who had raised her like a second mother. They’d been heart-wrenchingly close, even after marriage tore them apart.

But…what if it was all a lie?

What if the gentle smiles were only a mask?

The letter that claimed she’d died in an accident—who really sent it?

Asla stood frozen, staring at Gloria in stunned silence. It was Ian who stepped in.

“Why do you look so surprised, Your Grace? Weren’t you informed that Her Majesty would be attending?”

Asla, still inside Enoch’s body, remained stiff and silent. Ian’s tone suggested this shouldn’t be a surprise—meaning Enoch had known.

“…When was the message sent?” she asked, trying to steady her thoughts.

Ian frowned slightly. “You didn’t receive it? A telegram was sent a week ago, and your secretary responded with confirmation.”

“…Whether it arrived or not doesn’t matter. We’ve met now.” Gloria interrupted, smoothing over the tension with her usual graceful detachment.

Asla shifted her gaze toward her mother—and her chest gave a painful throb.

Gloria was dressed in a pure white formal gown. Pinned to her right breast was a brooch—the royal heirloom passed down to each Queen of the Holy Kingdom.

It was reserved only for the most sacred occasions.

Now, with no one left to inherit it, it still gleamed on her chest, radiant and dignified.

Asla bowed her head and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, struggling to hold back the surge of emotion. Even in Enoch’s body, tears would be inappropriate.

“I came to witness the wedding,” Gloria said. “But I have no intention of meeting Princess Asla. Ian Hertha and I will simply observe and then leave.”

“…Ah.”

So she hadn’t come to bless the ceremony, after all.

The brooch, the dress—it wasn’t about Asla. It was all for show. That realization made her want to laugh.

‘Still hoping for something from her,’ she thought bitterly. ‘How pathetic.’

She caught herself slipping into cynicism again, reflexively lashing out at Gloria in her heart. It shocked her.

Because now… not everything made sense.

The Gloria Sherita in her memory had never cared for her daughter. Cold. Indifferent.

But here and now, standing before Enoch, Gloria Sherita had made the journey all the way from the capital to the far north—back before trains even existed.

She had come despite the hardship. Wearing a brooch she rarely displayed.

She had considered this wedding important.

‘So… is she cold, or kind?’

Which version is the truth?

Asla felt the ground shift beneath her feet. What she thought was solid earth now seemed like cracking ice.

Unstable. About to shatter.

She lowered her gaze to Enoch’s polished black shoes, then raised her eyes again to meet Gloria’s.

“I heard the madam disapproved of my marriage to Asla,” she said.

“…You are a cruel man,” Gloria replied after a beat. “You may have declared the kingdom’s end on behalf of the late king, but to call me ‘madam’ so coldly—how heartless.”

Her lips trembled as she bit them, pain flashing across her otherwise composed face.

Asla—still in Enoch’s point of view—felt herself recoil inside, stunned by a sudden wave of guilt.