Chapter 18

Chapter 18

In a trembling world, he sat quietly on the sofa, propping his chin on one hand as his thoughts drifted.

The Duke. A man who put on a performance of pure devotion

Dion Hertese had even staged his own weight loss from not eating, perfectly playing the part of a tragic fiancé who had lost his betrothed. Public opinion in both the imperial capital and among the nobility quickly swung in his favor. The fact that his face was more than passable only accelerated the tide of sympathy.

The Duke’s pitiful act was systematic to the core.

And Actarachion Jerdin was no exception to his performance. The Duke had appeared before the Prince’s quarters and as if offering a small favor, he stretched out his hand with practiced shamelessness, slyly feigning the exhaustion of a grieving fiancé.

Not as “Margrave,” but “High Priest,” he addressed him, then cautiously broached the subject of his betrothed.

“I’ve been told there’s a high chance she’s under the temple’s protection.”

Ah, so that’s how you want to play it.

“Her name is Sian Heartperion. Her hair shines silver, and her eyes are as red as ripe rubies. Her body is frail… I worry she may have collapsed somewhere.”

I know. I see her almost every day. Frail is an understatement.

Instead of replying, Actarachion gave a weary smile, as though trying to hide his own grief.

“If you happen to see her, would you please tell me? As a Duke, I’m prepared to give everything I can.”

As the Emperor’s favored Duke, there was a faint edge to his words. The implied threat that he would mobilize wealth, land, power, or military might if necessary.

Actarachion responded with a dry laugh.

Still, the Duke’s best option was persuasion rather than intimidation. Actarachion wasn’t merely a High Priest; he was also the border Margrave. No matter how powerful Dion Hertese was, he couldn’t afford to openly threaten him.

So he chose cajolery. Not quite asking him to take sides, but hinting at a generous reward. No doubt he had already narrowed down Sian Heartperion’s location.

“Whatever you desire, I will repay it. I’ll give you everything I can. If I could only hear a word of Sian’s whereabouts… I would ask for nothing more.”

Sian.

The Duke spoke with desperate fervor, even letting tears gather in his eyes. It was pathetic.

The moisture glistening in his green irises carried not sorrow, but a damp sort of obsession.

Unfortunately for him, nothing he offered was tempting. In front of the Prince’s chamber where the boy was supposedly so ill he could not rise, Actarachion lit a cigarette.

Even the Duke, a consummate actor, looked genuinely shocked at the audacity. The carefully maintained mask of grief cracked with his now widened eyes.

Actarachion took a long drag, watching the Duke’s expression falter.

“The Prince is still young and unwell…”

“I was already growing tired of that excuse. They keep summoning me over it.”

He exhaled a cloud of smoke right there at the sickroom door, the same one where the Prince was allegedly wasting away. Seeing the Duke’s stricken face, he almost laughed aloud.

Unwell? The Prince wasn’t even in the Empire. That chamber beyond the door was an empty room. Who did they think they were fooling with this charade, using the Prince as a pretext while conspiring with the Emperor to strip priests from the temple?

Actarachion had long since known of their plan to leave the temple hollow and slip their own people in. He was also aware of their efforts to recruit among the priests summoned to the capital.

Their tricks were so transparent it was hard to keep pretending to be fooled by the endless stand-ins for the Prince. To continually cast perception spells on priests and high priests alike, making them play along with the Emperor and Duke’s schemes. It was just a matter of time.

The Duke stroked his chin, letting his gaze travel slowly from Actarachion’s head to his feet. When his eyes rose back up, he spoke.

“High Priest, do you know where Sian is?”

“Do you?”

“Pardon?”

“I can tell you care deeply, but don’t keep referring to the Princess by name. There are many others with similar names among the faithful.”

“…Is there someone named Sian in the temple as well?”

Actarachion offered no direct answer, only a sly smile.

“It seems you have multiple fiancees, Duke. Could you be more precise in your wording so I understand whom you mean?”

“High Priest!”

The Duke’s jaw trembled as if stung by an insult.

Natural, isn’t he, in his performance.

Actarachion smiled, letting his gaze sweep the Duke from head to toe in mirror image, peeling back the mask to glimpse the loathsome truth beneath.

His trembling fingers curled tightly into fists, every twitch sublimated into his act with remarkable skill.

“Do you long for Princess Heartperion so much?”

“Don’t phrase it like that.”

“What would you do if the Princess were to marry another man?”

“Enough, High Priest!”

The Duke shouted, shaking violently before clamping a hand over his mouth and breathing heavily. All of it was just part of the show.

And yet…

“I was too harsh. I only meant to ask how it would be if the Princess had someone else she loved.”

“…”

“You seem so desperate that it pains me as well. But I can’t help wondering if she feels the same for you.”

Snake-like eyes bore into swamp-like ones. The Duke faltered, hit squarely in his weakness.

“What could you possibly know to provoke me with such words?”

Actarachion let his lips part slowly, then simply smiled in silence, cigarette between his fingers.

He only watched. Just to make the Duke squirm, waiting for a slip.

The man pressed his trembling fingers hard into his thigh, forcing the twitching under control.

Actarachion pushed further upon seeing it.

“Princess Heartperion’s looks are… eye-catching, aren’t they?”

“I’d rather you refrain from commenting on a lady’s appearance, even indirectly. Especially Sian’s… I don’t want to hear it.”

“Is that so?”

Actarachion gave a short laugh at the Duke’s stubborn insistence on calling her Sian.

He knows there’s nothing to gain from antagonizing me. So why?

It was a weakness the Duke himself had yet to recognize.

Possessiveness toward Sian Heartperion. His obsession with power, prestige, and influence had latched onto her as well.

Handled carefully, this small seed could even grow into something resembling love.

Living with a pretty fool and former saint candidate must have made thoughts of Sian grow larger.

The Duke must have been bored. Bored of a mistress who was innocent and cute, but knew nothing, could do nothing, and was clueless and uncommunicative. So bored he inevitably thought of someone else.

Planned approaches, calculated gestures to match her mood, and yet… in a short time, he had decided to make the Princess his fiancée.

Ironically, Dion Hertese and Sian Heartperion shared traits. The way they spoke as if they would give anything to achieve their goals, their drive, their aristocratic pride.

And—

“Habit.”

Roused from his reflections, Actarachion murmured the word.

Sian. Dion. Both of them had the nasty habit of addressing each other by name, without respect or affection.

If they’re still doing that, perhaps they could get along again after all.

If he were to dismiss the spies placed in the palace, send away the mistress, and offer a proper apology, could the relationship that was torn apart by hatred be restored?

After all, Sian Heartperion didn’t hate him enough to kill him.

Suddenly, the sky and grassland split with a long vertical fissure. It crossed an earlier scar, forming an X. The rift shrieked with a painful noise.

“To kill him… that’s too far. Just break the engagement, and never see him again.”

“Kind. So very… kind.”

Leaning back against the sofa with a mocking smile, Actarachion closed his eyes. The world rumbled.

When he opened them again, the clear blue sky had been torn wide open, exposing empty darkness.

The makeshift dimension, unable to withstand the surging holy power, collapsed. Cracks widened, ripping apart the scenery like paper until nothing remained.

Fragments fluttered down like scraps of trash, and at last, completely, 

The world crumbled.

* * *

It was noon.

Sian sat in Actarachion Jerdin’s office.

As he’d told her around two in the morning, they were to continue their unfinished conversation in the daytime. Not that she’d come on her own; he had sent someone to fetch her.

Yet now, here she was, waiting alone in his empty office. Another ten minutes, and she’d have been sitting for a full hour.

Who does he think he is?

Well… he was her superior, technically.

Sian sighed, slumping into the sofa. Sleeping in had already ruined her plant to attempt morning prayer, and his summons had interrupted her volunteer duties halfway through. Not that she was eager to do either since it was all for show anyway.

Her thoughts wandered until the door opened behind her. Turning, she saw Actarachion enter.

For once, he wore an elegant wine-red suit, attire better suited for an evening gala.

Resting her chin on the sofa back, Sian observed him.

His ash-gray hair had been neatly arranged and swept back, revealing his fair forehead and straight brows. It suited him. Too well, in fact. What a waste for only her to see.

“Is there a banquet tonight?”

He leaned against the closed door, meeting her gaze.

“Do you want to go to one?”

The question caught her off guard.

Sian blinked, then answered slowly.

“I only said that because you’re dressed up more than usual.”

Spoken aloud, her words sounded sharper than intended, like she was mocking his choice to dress so finely. Not entirely untrue, but worried he’d take it wrongly, she quickly added:

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just different from your usual look.”

“I wasn’t asking for clarification. I asked if you wanted to go to the banquet.”

“Why? Are you planning to take me?”

She tossed the words back without much thought. Banter and nitpicking were his specialties; she expected the usual teasing.

She hadn’t expected him to extend his hand like a gentleman offering to escort a lady.

“…What are you doing?”

Her eyes flicked from his hand to his face.

“If you’d like to go to a banquet, I’ll take you.”

“What? All of a sudden… No, that’s not necessary.”

“You haven’t been to one in over a year, thanks to the Duke.”

That much was true. She’d been confined, hunted, trapped. Other than her engagement party, she hadn’t seen a proper banquet in ages.

If someone asked whether she liked banquets, she would answer yes.

Glittering chandeliers, guests dressed in splendor. The mingling of perfume with deep red wine, the sparkle of champagne. Even the little cakes, the cherries, and the whipped cream smudging her fingers. She loved it all.

Almost without realizing, Sian rose from the sofa. This isn’t why I came here, she reminded herself, but the thought slipped away. What she felt instead was the certainty that he’d done his homework on her.

“What kind of banquet is it? Somewhere I’d be welcome?”

“It’s being held on the far side of the continent. Even if you go under an alias, almost no one will recognize you. And if they do, I’ll take care of it.”

“So there’s no risk of anyone exposing me as the Princess of Sedin?”

“None.”

At last, Sian placed her hand atop his.