Chapter 166: A Likely Suspect
Aracila, having tossed and turned through a sleepless night, pressed a hand to her forehead, her face pale and drawn. The lack of rest had sapped her appetite, leading her to skip breakfast—a rare occurrence. Damian, in a similarly weary state, was in the dressing room changing clothes. Aracila, having finished her morning preparations early, sat on the sofa, waiting for Audrey to arrive.
Since waking, the two had moved through their morning routines with an unspoken agreement to avoid each other’s gaze, their paths carefully diverging to minimize contact. The conversation they’d had in the bathroom the previous night had left them both unsettled, their hearts in turmoil.
Aracila, rubbing her temples firmly, glanced between the dressing room and the door. The bustling noises from within had quieted, yet Audrey still hadn’t returned. It had been quite a while since the maid had left to fetch hot tea, and her prolonged absence was starting to feel peculiar.
Why is she taking so long? Did she get lost? Aracila thought, though she knew the likelihood was slim. Still, as the minutes dragged on, her patience began to wear thin.
Unable to wait any longer, she rose to search for her maid. Just as she stood, the door burst open.
“Milady!” Audrey rushed in, her face ashen, her neatly tied hair now disheveled from her frantic sprint.
Aracila, half-standing, met her maid’s gaze with confusion. “Audrey, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Something terrible!” Audrey gasped, her voice shrill with panic.
“What’s so terrible?” Aracila pressed, her brow furrowing.
Audrey, looking as though she might faint, raised her voice to a fevered pitch. “Lord Oscar Vandemir was found dead last night! Murdered!”
Aracila’s eyes widened in shock. Lord Oscar Vandemir—Oscar? Dead? Murdered last night? Her head turned instinctively toward the dressing room where Damian was.
At that moment, Damian emerged, his face set in a grim mask. He, too, had overheard Audrey’s words.
“Audrey, calm down and tell us more,” he said, his voice steady but firm.
“Y-Yes, sir.” Audrey swallowed hard, taking a deep breath to compose herself before continuing.
According to what she’d heard, Oscar had been found just an hour ago, his body cold and lifeless. The first to discover him was a Vandemir family servant, who had gone to wake the young lord when he didn’t stir past his usual time. The servant had screamed upon finding the corpse, crawling out of the room in a panic to alert the duke and duchess. While Aracila and Damian had been preoccupied with dressing and bathing, the imperial palace had erupted into chaos.
“The imperial knights are guarding the room now,” Audrey continued. “The duchess fainted from grief, and the duke is meeting with His Majesty the Emperor.”
“Is it certain he was murdered?” Aracila asked, her voice tight.
“Yes. No weapon was found, but there were clear stab wounds on his body,” Audrey replied.
Aracila’s expression grew grave. Oscar’s sudden death felt unsettling, a creeping sense of foreboding rising within her. She turned to Damian, her voice heavy as she spoke. “Damian, don’t you think you should go? This is a family matter, after all.”
“…Yes, I suppose I should,” he replied after a pause.
“Shall I come with you?” she offered.
Damian shook his head slowly. He had no desire to bring Aracila to the scene of a death, and with the Vandemir family’s unpredictable reactions to his presence, he didn’t want her caught in any unnecessary conflict.
Of all times, after that fight with Oscar yesterday, he thought, a twinge of unease mirroring Aracila’s. The timing was too perfect, too ominous. But he kept his face impassive as he said, “Stay here, please. I’ll go alone.”
“Alright. But if you need me, just say so,” Aracila replied, her tone earnest.
“I will,” he said curtly, then opened the door and left.
Aracila sank back onto the sofa, trying to quell the churning in her stomach. Who could have had the audacity to commit murder in the imperial palace during the New Year’s festival? And why Oscar Vandemir, of all people—someone with whom they had a contentious relationship?
The thought gnawed at her, overshadowing any shock or pity she might have felt for his death with a deeper sense of unease. When a murder happens, they always look at grudges first. Is there anyone here who had a worse relationship with Oscar than us?
A sigh escaped her lips. The answer was no. Her face clouded with worry as she thought, In the future I glimpsed, Oscar was fated to die for treason. So why now?
In that foreseen future, Oscar had inherited the dukedom, succumbed to greed, and, cornered by his own schemes, taken his own life. But the Oscar of now had neither the power nor the influence to orchestrate such a downfall. He lacked the means to plot treason, even if he’d wanted to.
So why, and by whom, had he been killed?
On the final day of the New Year’s festival, the eldest son of the Vandemir family was found dead.
The news spread swiftly through the palace, carried by hushed whispers among the imperial staff. A murder during a national celebration was unthinkable, and the eastern wing of the palace descended into a state of disarray.
While the knight commander, tasked with securing the area around the Vandemir family’s chambers, reported to the emperor, another figure emerged, drawn by the rumors.
“What in the world is this? Lord Oscar Vandemir, murdered?” Prince Frederick exclaimed, his face etched with shock as he hurried toward the scene.
The knights guarding the room immediately bowed, but Frederick paid them no mind, striding past without hesitation. Despite the knight commander’s orders to keep everyone out, none dared to stop the crown prince.
Accompanied by three of his personal knights, Frederick entered the room and approached Oscar’s body. The young lord lay sprawled in the center of the room, a pool of dark blood congealing around him. The killer had stabbed him multiple times, leaving no doubt as to the brutality of the act.
Frederick stood over the body, his expression heavy with solemn pity. “Lord Vandemir, I don’t know who took your life so cruelly, but I swear I’ll uncover the culprit and see justice done.”
He turned to the Vandemir family’s servants, who stood guarding their master’s body, and commanded, “Cover his body with something.”
“Y-Yes, Your Highness,” the servants stammered, hastily pulling a sheet from the bed to drape over Oscar.
Frederick, hands clasped behind his back, surveyed the room with a measured gaze. “Is the room exactly as it was when you found him?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Highness,” one of the servants replied. “The duke ordered us to touch nothing and to stand guard over the young lord.”
“Besides the duke, who else has been in this room?” Frederick inquired.
“The duchess, her maids, the servant who first found the young lord, and us,” came the response.
Frederick nodded, a curious expression flickering across his face. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them. “That’s enough. I have work to do—investigating his death. You may leave.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the servants said, retreating.
Frederick turned to his knights, his voice resolute. “There must be some clue to the killer’s identity here. Search every inch of this room.”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
The knights scattered, inspecting the floor and every corner of the room. Frederick moved leisurely, his steps unhurried. He entered the dressing room, his eyes scanning the space. Despite the short four-day trip, Oscar had brought an astonishing number of clothes—likely more than most noblewomen would pack.
He said it was somewhere in here…
Frederick rummaged through the pockets of the garments, searching for something specific. His hands found only a few gold coins, buttons, and bits of lint. Frowning, he surveyed the room again, his gaze landing on a partially open travel bag beside the wardrobe. A corner of paper peeked out from its mouth.
Without hesitation, he pulled it out. Reading the contents, a faint, satisfied smile curved Frederick’s lips. He’d found what he was looking for; there was no need to linger.
Just then, a commotion erupted outside. Tucking the paper into his coat, Frederick stepped out of the dressing room.
“You’re saying I can’t even see my dead brother as his family?”
“We’re sorry, but it’s not possible. We’re investigating Lord Oscar Vandemir’s murder…”
Frederick’s eyes narrowed as he spotted Damian arguing with the knights at the door. Approaching with an air of indifference, he spoke in a low voice. “What’s the commotion?”
“Your Highness, it’s… Lord Vandemir insists on entering to see his brother’s body.”
“Step aside.”
The knights parted, and Damian and Frederick stood face-to-face. After a brief silence, Frederick spoke first.
“I heard the Knight Commander restricted access, yet you’ve managed to get this far.”
“And Your Highness seems to be wandering this room quite freely,” Damian replied.
“Well, I’m not quite like you, am I?”
The cryptic nuance in Frederick’s tone made Damian’s eyebrow twitch. It didn’t seem to refer merely to the difference in rank between a crown prince and a knight.
“Are you saying Your Highness has more authority than family?”
“Not exactly, but… well, I suppose the truth will come to light in time, won’t it?”
Frederick flashed an unsettling smile, patting Damian’s shoulder lightly. Damian, his brow furrowed, peered past him into the room, taking in every detail: Oscar’s body covered with a white sheet, the room surprisingly tidy.
No signs of a major struggle. There’s a wine bottle on its side… Was he drinking when he was attacked? Too drunk to resist?
His gaze fell on the unlatched balcony window, deepening the crease in his brow. A few leaves were scattered inside and out, suggesting the balcony as the likely entry point.
Noticing Damian’s scrutiny, Frederick extended an arm, obstructing his view. “Go back, Lord Vandemir. We’ll uncover the truth behind your brother’s unjust death.”
“How can I leave my family’s affairs to others?”
“Weren’t you and your brother at odds? I heard you were arguing at the banquet just last night.”
Damian’s lips trembled slightly. Frederick tilted his chin up, looking down at him. “Causing a scene here won’t do you any favors. Go wait elsewhere.”
“…”
“That’s an order from your crown prince.”
With those words, Damian had no choice but to comply. He left the room, practically ushered out.
Instead of retreating, he went outside to search for traces of an intruder. But no footprints were found anywhere. Either they’d been meticulously erased, or…
The intruder came from within the building, through the balcony.
Someone could have crossed from a neighboring room’s balcony without leaving external tracks. Damian looked up, his golden eyes darkening. Oscar’s window came into view, and two rooms over, his own.
A crow perched on a branch let out a sharp cry, flapping its wings. A leaf fluttered down before Damian’s eyes, shed from one of the trees artificially planted to keep the imperial grounds vibrant even in winter.
Pressing a hand to his chest, where a dull ache settled, Damian felt a sense of foreboding.
Meanwhile, Aracila paced their room restlessly, still grappling with the mystery of Oscar’s sudden death. As she wrestled with unanswered questions, Damian returned, his expression grim.
“Damian, you’re back! Did you learn anything about Lord Oscar’s death?”
She hurried toward him, but he shook his head, closing the door firmly before striding to the balcony. His face hardened further when he saw the unlocked door.
“How long has this balcony door been open?”
“Huh? I’m not sure,” Aracila replied. “Rudy, do you know?”
“Uh… I locked it the evening before last, but I don’t know when it was opened,” Rudy answered, visibly flustered.
Damian flung the balcony door wide. A branch from an evergreen tree stretched toward the balcony, leaves scattered across the floor.
Aracila stared at Damian, who stood frozen like a statue, confusion creasing her brow. “Damian, what’s wrong?”
“When I was bathing this morning, what were you doing?”
“I was in the dressing room, getting ready.”
“If someone had slipped in through the balcony or the room, would you have noticed?”
“Hmm… No, I’m not that sensitive to sounds or movements.”
As a mage, Aracila excelled in offensive magic, not heightened senses like Damian’s. Without protective spells or precautions, she wouldn’t have noticed an intruder in her unguarded state.
Damian’s expression grew darker. With no external signs of intrusion and identical leaves on both balconies, the implication was clear—and damning.
Gripping the door handle until his knuckles whitened, he spoke in a low, heavy voice. “My lady, it seems I…”
Bang!
The door burst open, cutting him off. Both turned to see heavily armed imperial knights storming in, surrounding them as if blocking an escape. The intrusion was shocking.
“Lord Damian Vandemir, you must come with us,” the lead knight declared solemnly.
Aracila’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp with indignation. “What’s the meaning of this? Barging into our room without permission—and why are you taking Damian?”
“Do not interfere, my lady. We’re here to arrest Lord Damian Vandemir as the prime suspect in Lord Oscar Vandemir’s murder.”
Aracila’s eyes widened. She’d expected suspicion to fall on him, but not this swiftly—not within half a day. Speechless, she stood frozen as the knight continued, his tone unyielding.
“His Majesty has ordered it. If you do not cooperate, we will take him by force.”
Her blue eyes trembled faintly. She looked up at Damian, lost, and he met her gaze, slowly shaking his head. She understood immediately, biting her lip.
“Let’s go, my lord,” the knight said.
The knights seized Damian’s arms, and he didn’t resist. Aracila didn’t try to stop them, either. She stood rooted to the spot, watching as the knights led Damian away.
For the first time in her life, darkness seemed to swallow her vision whole.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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