Chapter 77
Rasill, the first prince of the Taran Kingdom, ascended to the throne following King Kanak.
With the nation plunged into grief, the diplomatic delegation had no choice but to turn back. Even if they had reached the Taran Kingdom, they wouldn’t have achieved what they wanted anyway. Deposing a prince was an entirely different matter from dethroning a king.
The first required only pointing to a lack of qualities fit for becoming king, but the second demanded questioning the qualities of an actual king. It was unlikely that the newly crowned one had already shown any problematic behavior.
In the end, having accomplished nothing, they returned to the Florence estate. When Mary asked why they were back so soon, they had no words and simply stroked her curly hair.
Kalian headed straight to the training grounds. Angela watched his retreating back for a moment before following him. Kalian, who had intended to practice his swordsmanship, widened his eyes in surprise upon seeing Angela close on his heels.
“Three footprints.”
With those words, Angela threw her arms around Kalian. He pressed his lips to her hair, then to her lips as well.
He should have said it was fine, that there would be a next time—but the next time would likely be true war. Not just handing over a single crown prince, but fighting and killing the hordes of enemies invading imperial soil.
There were things he had to do.
He needed to persuade the emperor to relocate people from the ceded lands most exposed to danger, to warn of the risks of war and give them a chance to choose.
Yet why had he come here? Why was he embracing Angela? Why was he kissing her?
As he thought it over, Kalian realized that the only thing he wanted to protect was right here.
On battlefields without Angela, Kalian had always fought imagining her at his back. It was swordplay to protect her. He fought to keep the ground beneath her feet whole and safe.
But with her here now, he didn’t want to go anywhere. It was only natural.
“Hn!”
Kalian bit down hard on her lip, drawing a faint moan from Angela. Soothing it carefully, he pleaded for just a little longer. Angela tightened her arms around his nape.
Taking that as permission, Kalian kissed her fiercely, as if devouring her. He passed his wildly raging breath to her and stole her soft one, making even that race.
Angela barely managed to rise onto her tiptoes to keep up with him. Delighted by her best efforts to follow, Kalian couldn’t bear to part from her. He wanted to stay fused like this forever.
* * *
“Shh, shh.”
Kalian soothed Angela as if to say it was all right. She glared at him, her body still trembling uncontrollably. The training grounds were already bathed in the slanting light of the setting sun.
How many hours had they spent kissing? Angela touched her lips, which felt swollen, and winced, pulling her hand away with an “Ow.”
“Beast.”
With that, Angela turned sharply on her heel. She hoped Kalian would understand it as her refusing to engage further.
But as she tried to leave the training grounds quickly, she had to stop after only a few steps. At the entrance, knights stood frozen, staring at the walls, neither entering nor exiting.
Some cleared their throats while gazing into empty space; others scratched at spotless pillars as if something were stuck there. The moment Angela saw them, she whipped around and kicked Kalian’s shin hard as he approached with arms outstretched.
Watching his waist bend sharply, Angela turned and strode out of the training grounds.
“Whew.”
A low whistle sounded from behind. It was meant for Kalian, but for some reason, the tips of Angela’s ears burned red.
“Ah, miss, miss? Where have you been?”
As she hurried down the corridor, Mary spotted her and approached with a bright, beaming smile. She didn’t know what had happened to make Angela’s group turn the carriage around and return early today, but just having Angela by her side filled her with unadulterated joy.
“Were you looking for me?”
Angela asked, feigning composure. Mary nodded vigorously, then opened her mouth with pure innocence.
“His Excellency disappeared with you and you weren’t coming back, so I kept searching. You haven’t even eaten! Let’s go get some food right away!”
Her ears reddening again, Angela let Mary tug her by the arm back to her room, pretending she couldn’t resist. A tempting meal was laid out on the table.
When Mary asked if Kalian shouldn’t join them, Angela cut her off with a firm “No” and quickly reached for the bread.
She cut it in half and gave Mary her favorite part; Mary’s lips curved up in delight, distracting her from everything else. So Angela let her guard down.
“But, miss.”
In the midst of the meal, Mary mumbled around a mouthful of bread. Angela looked over, wondering what it was, and Mary swallowed it down before asking.
“Why can’t we look for people when a man and a woman disappear alone together?”
“What…?”
Angela stared at Mary in utter bewilderment. Mary’s eyes gazed back at her, brimming with the pure innocence of the entire world. They held no knowledge at all.
“While I was looking for you, Hilda and Jo said that when a man and a woman vanish alone, there’s always a reason, so we shouldn’t search for them. What’s the reason?”
These maids, really!
* * *
It was only natural for the place left by the departed to be filled with sorrow. Tears were not to be spared before an eternal farewell. Everyone poured out their grief freely, revealing their love for the one who had gone.
Rasill was no different. Throughout the days-long funeral, he wept openly for his father. People worried that the new king might fall ill himself from it all.
Even so, insisting it was fine, Rasill kept vigil until he finally collapsed and was carried to his private chambers.
The physician summoned in haste confirmed that Rasill’s condition wasn’t gravely serious anywhere, but thought to himself that what greater illness was there than the heartbreak of losing a father?
Once everyone had left and he was alone, Rasill began to giggle.
Finally, it was all his, and the thought made him want to keep laughing even at the sight of the mourners—almost to the point of madness. His lips twitched ceaselessly.
Now, to depose him would be treason. To point a blade at him out of greed for the throne would be usurpation. Even his brothers wouldn’t find it easy to move against him.
Moreover, as king, the number of troops at his command was worlds apart from what it had been as crown prince. It would be strange if he didn’t feel good.
He was in the midst of giggling when a knock sounded—knock knock—requesting entry, ruining his fine mood. Rasill let out an irritated sigh, ran a hand through his hair, and feigned just having regained his senses as he permitted the visitor from outside.
“Long time no see.”
The one who entered was Anette. The useless younger sister who hadn’t managed to plant even a single drop of Taran Kingdom blood in Phaelon: Anette.
“You’re here at last.”
Rasill stepped down from the bed and opened his arms toward Anette. She approached him cautiously, embraced him, and then pulled back.
“What happened?”
Anette’s face was filled more with questions than tears. The tears had dried up during the journey from Phaelon to the Taran Kingdom under Tristan’s guidance.
He had been perfectly healthy right up until Anette’s arrival in Phaelon. Of course, at his age, he could collapse suddenly, but the physician had clearly diagnosed a full recovery—not mere hopeful words, but a high likelihood.
Yet to pass away so abruptly like this. And right when the group aiming to depose Rasill had set out for the Taran Kingdom? There were more than one or two suspicious circumstances.
“Who could have known he’d go so suddenly?”
But there was no clear evidence anywhere. Just looking at Rasill’s expression as he stood before her, it held more regret than Anette’s own.
Was all of it an act?
Anette felt confused. She probably wasn’t the only one. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to her other siblings yet, still reeling from it all, but they must have been suspecting Rasill too.
But with only suspicions, there was nothing they could do.
“Did you pay your respects to Father?”
Rasill asked with the face of a gentle older brother, and Anette shook her head. She had seen him briefly, but that hardly counted as proper farewell.
“Come on, let’s go pay our respects.”
Rasill kindly wrapped his arm around Anette’s. Even though his hand was warm, it sent chills racing across her skin.
‘If push comes to shove, we can just stuff some other bastard’s child in as a pillow and insist it’s Phaelon blood—that’ll settle it.’
Those were the words Rasill had spoken before King Kanak the day before Anette left for Phaelon.
She had gone to bid her father farewell before the long journey and turned right back around. Her father’s furious voice as she retreated had been some small comfort.
Would she have thought of the man who spouted such filth to his own sister as anything resembling a father? Everything about Rasill was suspect to Anette.
* * *
That dawn.
“Can’t you do something about that damn furnace for once?”
Today too, Rasill irritably pointed it out the moment he entered Grace’s room, sweat already beading on his skin from the roaring fire.
But Grace wasn’t even pretending to listen. If anything, her own face was prickled with irritation, as if something had happened on her end.
“What is it? What happened?”
Wondering what could have gone wrong after she’d made him king, he asked, and Grace shot to her feet, tossing a log into the fireplace as she vented her frustration.
“It seems my dear daughter has learned how to lock her mind away. She couldn’t stop the intrusions even with an angel standing guard, but now she’s sealed it all shut.”
It meant he could no longer enter Angela’s dreams.
“Has she become that much happier in the meantime?”
That also implied he couldn’t retrieve the remaining half of the power with what he had.
He didn’t need it right now, but there might come a time when he’d have to wield the full force. Besides, it was intolerable for a power like Grace’s to remain in enemy hands. If Grace couldn’t claim it, then that power rightfully ought to vanish from the world.
Rasill mulled it over and said calmly,
“Then keep the fire stoked until she comes out. If she doesn’t want to suffocate, she’ll have to emerge.”
As he spoke, Rasill thought of Anette. As Phaelon’s empress, she must have some familiarity with her daughter too. If happiness was the issue, then making her miserable would solve it.
At the same time, Grace considered using Dominic once more. Deep down, she wanted to target Yvonne instead. Especially since Angela was particularly vulnerable to her.
With Yvonne alone, tormenting Angela to her very bones would be child’s play. Angela, who had wailed and sobbed at a single pointing finger from Yvonne.
But lately, even slipping into Yvonne’s dreams had grown difficult. It was as if everyone had slapped a padlock on their minds.
“How’s my sister?”
As Rasill tossed out the question amid his thoughts, Grace clicked her tongue. As if she had just one or two sisters.
Noticing Grace’s displeasure, Rasill corrected himself.
“I mean Anette. Phaelon’s empress.”
Only then did a satisfied glint appear in Grace’s eyes. She seemed pleased both by the clear answer and by the subject itself.
“If her mind is too strong, that’s a problem.”
Like Kalian, that beast of a man, for instance.
Angela’s consciousness was often brimming with him. She spilled out her tender feelings in wretched streams. So when Grace tried to exploit it by invading her dreams, she ended up feeling trapped somewhere herself instead.
People always had some vulnerability when they slept, but that bastard had fortified his dreams like an impregnable fortress.
She’d started having this eerie premonition that her own consciousness might get locked in his world, unable to escape. After sensing that unpleasant feeling, she hadn’t attempted to approach Kalian’s realm even twice.
“Ha ha.”
At that moment, Rasill smirked, one corner of his mouth twitching as if mocking Grace.
“Grace, have you forgotten what day it is today?”
“…”
“It’s Father’s funeral. What could create more mental cracks than that? And besides, that child has to leave for a foreign land once the rites are done. Oh, my poor sister.”
Grace let out a hollow laugh at Rasill’s mock-piteous tone, then reclined languidly on the sofa as she replied.
“Fine, show me her face before she leaves.”
“Of course.”
Rasill chuckled and approached Grace, subtly kneading her shoulders. A coldness he could never quite get used to burrowed into his fingertips. No wonder she kept the fireplace blazing like that, with body heat like hers.
