Chapter 99
The riverbank was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the earlier commotion. Most had postponed washing up, opting instead to collapse onto their beds with their exhausted bodies. Even those who had lost their tents crawled into others, squeezing in to catch some sleep.
Aside from the Florence family’s knights, who had taken over guard duty from the Bilton family’s knights, it seemed only Angela and Kalian were still awake.
Ah, and with them, Dominic—plus Yvonne and Vigo, who had told them they’d stand watch so the pair could go get some fresh air.
Thanks to that, Angela, now able to quietly savor the air, approached the slowly flowing stream. The dawn moon hung above the water’s surface. It was the moon that had witnessed every twist and turn of their tumultuous night.
Yet it pretended to have seen nothing at all. The moon, rippling along with the waves, was utterly pure and innocent. The black ashes that had soared upward hadn’t reached even a hair’s breadth toward where that moon resided.
That crystal-clear beauty drew Angela in. Her toes instinctively stepped to the water’s edge. At the same moment, her body was yanked backward.
What pressed against her back was a solid chest, and its owner was, as always, Kalian. And as always, the arm wrapped around her shoulders conveyed an unrelenting worry directed at her.
“You must be careful.”
Kalian whispered, bowing his head as if to kiss her earlobe. Angela closed her eyes tightly, then opened them and gazed once more at the valley stream before her.
The spot where the soldiers had scooped water to extinguish the flames was a bit upstream, where the depth was greater. At Angela’s feet was a shallow flow that might barely submerge her knees.
Was he worried she might slip and fall into the water where the bottom was clearly visible? Or perhaps that she might deliberately submerge herself… Was that his concern?
Angela quietly nestled in Kalian’s embrace, staring at the moonlight floating on the surface, before parting her full lips. But she uttered nothing, locking her open mouth shut. Every word poised on the tip of her tongue was the self-mockery that Kalian despised.
Why am I so weak, so indecisive? Why can’t I connect what I know I can’t continue, or cut it off entirely? What expectations am I holding onto? Toward Dominic, toward him…
Angela swallowed down the complaints she wanted to spill out haphazardly, forcing them deep into her throat. Indescribable emotions piled up like a weight on her chest. Still, she consoled herself that it was just indigestion that would eventually pass, and resolved to endure.
“Cry.”
If only those words hadn’t burst the dam.
She thought it might be the sound of wind brushing through the trees. After all, Kalian wouldn’t urge her to shed tears.
“Please.”
But she couldn’t dismiss the following plea as mere wind.
Only then did Angela realize that her shoulders, held in Kalian’s arms, were trembling unnaturally. So that’s why. Understanding the reason for Kalian’s sudden entreaty, Angela hurriedly shook her head.
“I’m not crying.”
She added nonchalantly. Or so she believed.
“Angela.”
“……”
“Hm?”
With Kalian’s persistent urging, Angela noticed she hadn’t even managed to utter that single phrase properly. It seemed she’d poured out her anguish as if walking barefoot over a path of thorns. The grip of Kalian’s hands holding her tightened.
It must have been to keep her from shaking along with him. Kalian was her anchor, after all. No matter how burdensome, he wouldn’t cut the line and let her drift away.
“Not yet…”
With him there, she could muster the courage to face another storm.
Instead of sprinkling rain on her lush green eyes, Angela lifted her gaze straight ahead. She fixed her eyes not on the illusion that had bewitched her, but on the real moon floating in the sky above.
A moment later, Angela finished the sentence she’d cut off.
“Not yet.”
“Angela…”
“Shh. I know you want to see my crying face because it’s so endearing, but wait until I crumble to the point where I can’t hold back. Not now.”
Enduring was what Angela did best. Having shut down any rebuttal in one fell swoop, Angela slipped out of Kalian’s arms and extended her hand toward him.
“Let’s go back.”
Kalian stared at that hand before grasping it firmly. If Kalian was the anchor, Angela was the ship. Setting the direction was the ship’s role.
Kalian would accompany her steps no matter where they led. And once Angela decided on a destination, he would drop anchor there. Ensuring his ship could remain steady, without a single tremor, for as long as possible.
* * *
The departure began two hours later than Kalian had promised, just as planned. The soldiers, rousing their stiff bodies, washed away the remnants of the inferno, then finished their breakfast with leftover meat soup and bread.
As the commander, Dominic took his place at the very front of the procession, unchanged from the day before. He appeared to have wiped away the chaos of the previous night completely. He was so composed that even those who had witnessed what happened to him might doubt their memories.
When Angela and Kalian returned from their walk, Dominic had just regained consciousness. He didn’t ask why he was there. Whether because he remembered or because he lacked the presence of mind to question it, he simply stared intently at Angela, who stood by Kalian’s side.
Angela didn’t avoid his gaze. Not even when Dominic approached and brought his hand to her cheek, nor when he couldn’t quite touch her and merely hovered along the line of her face—Angela met his eyes straight on, without turning her head first.
Until, in the end, Dominic left the tent without doing anything.
There was no reason to waver at the sight of the current Dominic. He was a fiction created by Grace. A moon plausibly projected onto the water’s surface. A fake meant to enchant Angela. The real one would reveal itself after Grace departed.
She could wait as long as it took until then. Compared to the lifetime Angela had spent desperately wanting to take just one more step toward a Dominic who drew lines to keep her at bay, this was but a fleeting moment.
* * *
It was around the time the march halted to prepare for the second night. Perfectly timed, the supply troops appeared, carrying replacements for the items lost in the fire.
“Angela!”
At the forefront stood Crown Prince Ian, who should have been comfortably traveling in a carriage with the rear guard. Angela, surprised by the unexpected figure rushing toward her while calling her name, asked with a puzzled expression.
“What are you doing here?”
But Ian acted as if he hadn’t heard any question, instead inspecting Angela from every angle. It was after he’d circled her nearly three full times that it happened.
“Ian, stop. You’re making me dizzy.”
No matter that he was the crown prince, Angela couldn’t hold back any longer and gave him a light scolding. Only then did Ian stand obediently before her, his face buried in worry.
“There was a fire, I heard. Are you okay?”
She wondered if it was really necessary to ask after scrutinizing her so thoroughly to confirm she was fine, but Angela nodded readily and replied.
“As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”
“Was there a lot of smoke? You didn’t inhale too much, did you?”
Even with the rapid-fire questions, she nodded, assuring him it was all right. Yet Ian’s inquiries didn’t let up. Is this okay? Is that okay? He poured out question marks to the point of annoyance.
“Ian. Everything else is fine, but my eardrums are the ones suffering the most because of you.”
In the end, Angela shut Ian’s mouth with a mercilessly direct remark. It was then that Kalian, having finished checking the supplies, approached the two of them.
“Hey, Count Florence.”
Ian, who hadn’t gotten to talk enough with Angela, waved a crooked greeting at Kalian, radiating clear displeasure.
“I greet Your Imperial Highness the Crown Prince.”
In contrast, Kalian greeted Ian with impeccable courtesy. And that was it. Kalian turned immediately toward Angela, as if his business was done.
It was an attitude that was rudely polite in a way hard to pinpoint exactly. Ian was the one who had given the skewed greeting, but he was also the one whose mood soured.
After that, Angela and Kalian began a conversation only the two of them could follow.
“Will you be joining the hunt today as well?”
“Of course. If not me, who else is going to take down that big one?”
“If I hear that something dangerous happened, I’ll relieve Sir Jamie from escorting Angela.”
“Are you saying you don’t trust me, or that you don’t trust Sir Jamie?”
“Trust and worry are separate matters. And since I can’t go with you, that’s why I’m saying this. Please be careful.”
Ian’s mood, already feeling excluded, sank even lower. He hoped someone would call Kalian away. But instead, it was his own name that was called.
“Your Highness Ian.”
Ian turned at the call and barely managed to keep his face from stiffening. An somewhat uncomfortable figure stood there. It was Count Matterson.
He was the type who, given any chance, tried to foist his daughter onto Ian. Desperate might be the right word for it.
Ian smiled kindly at the young ladies of any house, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to smile at this man’s daughter.
Yet Lady Matterson, his daughter, was just as severe as her father. She interpreted Ian’s avoidance in her own peculiar way.
Ian had once heard her proclaim with his own ears that the fact he acted that way only toward her must mean he was shy around her.
Ever since, he’d desperately avoided getting entangled with that father-daughter pair, but now he’d run into them in a place with no excuse to escape.
“Ah, Count Matterson. Do you have something to say to me?”
Ian asked, hiding his inner thoughts as best he could. Instead of answering right away, Count Matterson glanced around and replied softly.
“This way, for a moment.”
It meant they should go somewhere they could talk quietly. Ian reluctantly took the steps he didn’t want to, fearing the count would drag him aside and ask with an expectant face what he thought of his daughter.
However, the words Count Matterson uttered completely sidestepped Ian’s expectations.
“Duke Bilton is suspicious.”
Ian almost wished it had been about Lady Matterson instead. Duke Bilton? Ian’s expression turned utterly serious.
“Since the fire broke out yesterday, Duke Bilton hasn’t been seen at all. According to Count Florence, he seemed startled by the fire, so he let him rest in his own tent.”
Hah, Count Matterson snorted in disbelief before continuing.
“As if Duke Bilton is the type to be startled by a mere fire.”
On the battlefield, Duke Bilton was an overwhelming presence just by existing. The enemy commanders’ heads he’d severed alone would tower higher than the pillar of flame from last night. For someone like him to need rest because he was startled by a fire?
At the time he’d heard it, Ian had thought there was no reason for Count Florence to cover for him since their relationship wasn’t amicable, so he’d withdrawn without complaint. But no matter how he thought about it, Count Florence’s words didn’t add up.
And today, as Count Matterson had been watching Duke Bilton closely, something had caught his eye.
“Earlier, I saw blood mixed with pus between Duke Bilton’s gloves and collar. What else could that be but traces of a burn?”
That was clear evidence he’d been very close to where the fire occurred. It would be a perfect opportunity to pin something on Duke Bilton, yet Count Florence was hiding it for some reason—Ian couldn’t fathom why, but it was certain. Every instinct Count Matterson had was screaming that Duke Bilton was the arsonist from last night.
“Duke Bilton definitely started the fire.”
After hearing all of Count Matterson’s speculations, Ian felt a moment of confusion. And understandably so—the report he’d received via messenger bird indicated the fire had started at Angela’s tent.
If Duke Bilton was the arsonist, that meant he’d set fire to his own daughter’s tent……. Could it be…….
Ian’s head tilted in thought.
“I’ve never seen Duke Bilton exchange a single word with his daughter throughout the march.”
Count Matterson added this as if he understood Ian’s concern.
“That girl of his has been stuck to Count Florence’s side the whole time.”
He was urging Ian not to think in terms of father-daughter relations. At the words that Angela had been clinging closely to Kalian’s side, Ian nearly lost his reason for a moment, but he suppressed the rising anger and voiced the information that had come to mind.
“Duke Bilton set fire to his daughter Angela’s tent. And Count Florence knows but is turning a blind eye. Is that what you’re saying?”
Count Matterson agreed with a ‘Exactly.’ His nod was emphatic.
Ian, who had rushed over to check on Angela’s safety, now finally swept back his disheveled hair to tidy it. In doing so, he organized his thoughts as well.
If it were for Angela, Kalian would even pretend to die—why would he do this?
There was only one way to find the answer. The person in question wasn’t far away, so he could just ask directly.
