Chapter 168: Is That All You Have to Say?
The news that Damian Vandemir had been imprisoned for the suspected murder of his half-brother spread like wildfire across the empire. The internal power struggle within the Vandemir ducal family was thrust into the spotlight, accompanied by a deluge of vile, unverified rumors that swirled through the capital.
Aracila stood by the window, gazing down at the horde of reporters camped outside the estate. With a sharp tug, she drew the curtains shut. Since returning home after the New Year’s festival, she hadn’t stepped foot outside. The scrutiny on her, now the wife of a man branded a murderer overnight, was overwhelming. To save Damian, she needed to act discreetly, so she chose to seclude herself. Yet, the relentless swarm of people clamoring to probe her feelings was unbearable.
While she felt as though her lifeblood was draining with each passing day, they treated the tragedy as mere entertainment. At least the Magic Tower had shown genuine concern, granting her an extended leave to rest during this ordeal—a small mercy she clung to.
“Milady, are you alright?” Audrey asked cautiously, her voice soft as she studied Aracila’s icy expression.
Aracila let out a low sigh and nodded. “I’m fine, Audrey. Times like these call for a clear head.”
“You can do this, milady. I’ll be right here with you!” Audrey said, her tone earnest and encouraging.
“Thank you. That means a lot,” Aracila replied, a faint smile breaking through her stoic facade. She picked up the stack of newspapers on the table and tossed them into the fireplace. They were nothing but trash, filled with sensationalist drivel. Headlines screamed: The Tragedy of House Vandemir: A Brother’s Hatred! Knight Damian Vandemir: A Bloodthirsty Killer? Unveiling Damian Vandemir’s Violent Nature. Each one was more outrageous than the last.
Raking a hand roughly through her hair, Aracila strode to her desk and rummaged through the basket where she kept her letters. Aside from condolence notes from Polana and Iris, it was empty.
“Audrey, there haven’t been any other letters for me, have there?” she asked, her voice tinged with hope.
“No, milady, not yet,” Audrey replied.
“I see,” Aracila murmured, her blue eyes clouding with disappointment. None of those she’d reached out to for help had responded.
Of course, it wasn’t an easy matter to get involved in. It was, after all, a feud within a single noble family, and unless you were part of the imperial household, meddling could be precarious. That’s why she’d primarily contacted those connected to the palace.
Aracila bit her lower lip, rubbing her tired eyes as she sank into thought. Is there anyone you suspect of framing Damian? Marquis Hugo had asked that question when he brought her home.
Her first thought was the Vandemir family itself. But surely they wouldn’t be mad enough to kill their beloved eldest son. The duchess was half-mad with grief, barely coherent, and the duke was pounding on the palace gates daily, demanding Damian’s execution.
Beyond the Vandemirs, only one person stood out as capable of targeting Damian so ruthlessly: Frederick.
Recently, Damian had brought down Marquis Grant, a key ally of the crown prince. This could be retaliation. But even so, it seemed excessive. Killing Oscar Vandemir was a risky move, even for Frederick. Was it purely out of hatred for Damian, or was there another motive at play?
Aracila tapped the armrest of the sofa absently, lost in thought, when a knock came at the door.
“Milady, may I enter? I have urgent news,” came Colin’s voice from the other side.
Colin had been by her side ever since Damian’s arrest, working tirelessly to help free him. Aracila hadn’t refused the aid of such a capable aide. While she remained in seclusion, Colin discreetly gathered information on her behalf. His ashen face now, however, sent a jolt of unease through her.
“Milady, Duke Vandemir has submitted a petition demanding Sir Damian’s execution,” he said gravely.
“What?” Aracila’s grip tightened, her heart lurching.
“And His Highness the Crown Prince and Her Majesty the Empress are lending their support to the duke’s request.”
The words hit her like a blow, leaving her dizzy. Had she been standing, her legs might have given out beneath her. Colin, his expression grim, let out a small “Ah” before continuing. “But there’s some good news. The ban on visiting Sir Damian has been lifted.”
“Really?” Aracila’s eyes widened, and she sprang to her feet. The imperial authorities had barred all contact with Damian during their intensive investigation, leaving her frantic with worry. She’d feared being trapped in an endless wait, but this news was a lifeline. “Apply for a visit immediately!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with excitement.
Damian was confined in the underground dungeon of the imperial palace. Aracila’s request for a visit was approved swiftly, and the very next day, she followed a guard through the cold, stone corridors to see him. As she descended the spiral staircase, a strange sense of déjà vu washed over her. It felt eerily similar to the time she’d walked this path in a prophetic dream about Iris’s death. She hadn’t expected to tread this road again.
The guard unlocked the cell door, handed her a lamp, and stepped aside to give them privacy. Aracila approached the bars, her heart heavy. In the dim, sunless dungeon, Damian sat on a chair, eyes closed, still dressed in the clothes she’d last seen him in.
“Damian,” she called, her voice quivering faintly.
He opened his eyes slowly, the golden hue of his irises catching the light even in the darkness. Aracila held the lamp closer to the bars, its glow revealing a face worn and haggard from days of confinement. A surge of emotion welled up in her, but she forced her voice to remain steady.
“I won’t ask if you’re alright. I know you’re not. I’ve been so worried about you,” she said softly.
“…Have you?” Damian replied, his voice quiet but resonant.
“Of course,” she said, her grip tightening on the bars. “I don’t believe for a second that you killed Oscar Vandemir. I was in the same room as you that night—I know you didn’t go anywhere.”
Her fingers dug into the iron, frustration and injustice burning within her. That her testimony was dismissed simply because she was his wife only fueled her anger.
Damian gazed at her, his weary face creasing as he spoke. “But they’ve found evidence against me, haven’t they?”
“The dagger and the letter?” Aracila said, her tone resolute. “Colin looked into the dagger. Apparently, last year, Sir Toz from your knights got drunk and was pickpocketed. He lost a dagger—one exclusive to the Crimson Hawk Knights. He didn’t report it, thinking it was a minor incident.”
Since one of the knights had lost such a weapon, the fact that the murder weapon bore the order’s emblem didn’t definitively point to Damian. “As for the dagger found in our room, someone could’ve planted it while we were away,” she continued. “If we can explain the dagger and discredit it, Oscar’s letter won’t hold up as decisive evidence.”
It wouldn’t be easy to dismantle the case, but Aracila was determined. She would get Damian out of this cell.
Covering her mouth with her hand, Aracila whispered softly.
“Just hold on a little longer, even if it feels unjust. I’m doing everything I can to save you…”
“There’s no need for that.”
“What… what?”
Aracila stared at Damian, stunned. The lamplight illuminated only half his face, leaving the rest shrouded in shadow, indistinct. But his cold, piercing gaze cut through the darkness with unmistakable clarity, leaving her flustered.
“Did I hear you wrong?”
“You heard me correctly. You don’t need to make such efforts for me, my lady.”
His voice, emerging from dry, pale lips, was lower than usual, slightly hoarse.
She hadn’t expected him to draw such a sharp line so suddenly. Even after his deliberate words, Aracila could only gape at him, bewildered. Damian met her gaze with a dry, emotionless tone.
“I accepted your visit because I have something to say.”
“…What is it?”
“Divorce me.”
Aracila inhaled sharply, silently. A heavy, oppressive silence pressed down on them both.
The sight of her pale, frozen face, immobilized by shock, pained Damian, and he lowered his eyes slightly. It felt as though a sword had been plunged into his chest, twisting his insides, but he endured it stoically.
This was what Frederick wanted—for Damian, branded a murderer, to leave Aracila’s side.
For her sake, he had to push her away as coldly as possible. Even without Frederick’s threats, Damian would have asked for a divorce. He couldn’t drag her down with him.
Though he worried about what Frederick might do to Aracila after their separation, the urgent need was to end their sham marriage. Misfortune, when shared, didn’t diminish—it multiplied.
“Let’s end our contract here.”
Damian’s voice was icy as he declared the end once more. Aracila, still dazed, finally gathered herself and responded, her voice strained as if wrung from her core.
“Damian, are you joking? You think now’s the time for talk like that?”
“I always planned to divorce you after the New Year’s festival.”
“…Why?”
“Because I don’t need you anymore.”
Damian knew Aracila well. She was driven by a strong sense of duty, too compassionate to turn her back on someone in danger. That’s why he had to be sharper, colder—to make it so she could walk away from him willingly.
“Didn’t we agree to maintain this marriage only as long as I wanted? I no longer need you in my life.”
“…”
“We’ll only be obstacles to each other moving forward. Staying together just breeds more enemies, and I’m tired of the headaches.”
Even as he chose words meant to wound, Damian couldn’t meet her eyes. He didn’t notice that her face, once clouded with confusion, had gradually steadied.
Gripping the lamp tightly, Aracila responded with clear, resolute words. “No.”
“My lady, this isn’t something you can change by being stubborn.”
“That’s my line. I won’t accept this sudden demand for a divorce.”
Her firm tone left Damian visibly puzzled. He was clearly a losing card, one that should be discarded. Especially after spewing such cruel words, she should have cast him aside.
Aracila’s face flickered with a mix of anger, hurt, and complex emotions, her lips trembling as she snapped, “Look at the situation you’re in! What do you think will happen to you if we divorce now? There’s nothing to gain from it!”
“That’s not your concern.”
“Then what am I supposed to do? I can’t just ignore what’s right in front of me. How could I abandon you and walk away?”
The Vandemir family, his closest kin, were baying for his blood. If Aracila left him too, he’d have no one to shield him.
She couldn’t bear to leave him in such isolation.
But Damian didn’t acknowledge her heart. Instead, he refused to pull her into that same loneliness.
“Why can’t you? What are we to each other?”
“…”
“We’re just a fake couple bound by mutual convenience. Not friends, not anything—just strangers tied by a deal.”
His cold words struck the damp walls, ringing in her ears. Narrowing his brow, Damian spoke with something close to a plea. “Please, don’t make the foolish choice to ruin your own future.”
The prison guard brought him newspapers three times a day, always ones with damning articles about him. Through this unwelcome ritual, Damian gleaned how public opinion was turning.
“The Magic Tower’s Heir: Is This Acceptable?”
“The Next Master’s Husband Commits Murder”
“Did Aracila Vandemir Truly Know Nothing of Her Husband’s Crime?”
The public’s blades weren’t aimed solely at Damian. Aracila, too, was being targeted, her reputation questioned, her integrity doubted despite her innocence.
Damian couldn’t bear it. He didn’t want to be the obstacle that derailed her dreams.
If you stay with me, you’ll surely ruin your future. So leave. End the contract.
Getting a divorce before the formal murder trial was the best thing Damian could do for Aracila now.
“I regret marrying you,” he said.
“…”
“Seeing all this misfortune pile up, it’s clear we were never meant to meet.”
Aracila’s breath caught sharply. His honed words clawed at her heart, leaving it raw. Her eyes, now reddened, glared at him as she asked, “Is that all you have to say?”
Damian’s silence was his affirmation. He had nothing left to offer but words that hurt.
Aracila let out a short, bitter laugh before wiping all expression from her face. Her pallor was so stark she looked like a wax figure.
“I didn’t lose sleep and rush here to hear this.”
Muttering softly, she turned abruptly. Talking further seemed pointless, and she no longer wanted to.
Damian didn’t stop her as she walked away without a farewell. He only watched in silence, and when the door closed behind her, he tilted his head back and let out a deep sigh.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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