Just then, laughter drifted from somewhere. A faint peal of laughter from a distant place soon vanished, yet it carried Grace away to some moment in the past.
The moment she stood in a vast wheat field holding her father’s hand—she did not know the reason—but that day, she had giggled brightly.
“You little rascal, you laugh hard enough to split your sides.”
The sound of that laughter was still vivid. Grace recalled that innocent laugh for a moment, then extinguished the flickering candle flame and headed for the bed. She lay sprawled, pulled the covers over her head, hugged a large pillow, and curled up. Only by curling up like this and completely hiding herself beneath pillow and blanket could she fall asleep.
As she slowly blinked, her gaze drifted toward the fireplace. The firewood he had provided was burning warmly in the room.
Naturally thinking of him, she seemed to feel the warmth that had enveloped her back and the powerful strength that had helped her draw the bowstring. Sleep slowly crept in with the phantom warmth, present yet seemingly absent like a heat haze.
When she closed her eyes, a vast golden wheat field spread out.
When everything ends, I must go to that wheat field where I walked with Father and Mother. Breathing in the fragrant scent of wheat… I must smile just as I did back then.
* * *
At the same time, Walter, who had lain in bed just as Grace had, felt himself being pulled into a deep sleep. It was a dream, yet he thought he must wake from it.
But try as he might, it was no easy task.
In the sticky dream like a swamp, he was a helpless child. The previous Duke of Richmond, who greatly resembled his father, smiled and looked down at him.
“Your Highness the Crown Prince, from now on, Your Highness must live as Walter. Act like the young master of Richmond and hide yourself. Only then will you survive.”
His black eyes curved in a long smile, yet tears clung to the corners of his eyes.
Walter cried out with all his might.
You are mad. With what mind did you watch your son die in my place? Was this damned method truly the only one?
But as with all his dreams until now, no voice came out.
“If you act as sensitively as you do now, you will be caught easily. Your Highness and my son have very different personalities.”
The previous Duke of Richmond looked at Walter as if truly worried, then added as if resigning himself.
“If hiding is difficult, then rather, keep your words to a minimum.”
“……”
“Please survive, save His Majesty, and return to your rightful place.”
Finishing those words, the Duke stepped back and bowed deeply to him. Then he turned around. A small boy and a straight-backed woman approached his side with sad faces, and the three vanished into murky darkness.
Walter called out to them until his throat burst, but the three never returned.
Killing one’s personality, as the Duke had said, was no easy thing. So he drastically reduced his words and acted as much like Walter as possible, and before he knew it, he began to grow confused.
Who am I?
Then, when Eliza’s sorrowful sobs came to mind, it felt as though he were in a furnace.
No, he was already burning.
Before he knew it, he was lying on scorched black earth. Acrid smoke filled the sky and black soot filled his lungs.
It was then that he wished cool rain would pour down, if only.
“You have been my signpost and my anchor since long ago.”
An elegant voice poured down over the flames like rain.
“I was able to endure because you existed.”
The flames that had enveloped Walter subsided like a lie. Only then did he exhale a ragged breath. Before him appeared a woman resembling fresh green leaves.
Grace watched over him with unwavering eyes and spoke softly.
“Rise.”
At the whisper like wind, the maddening heat, ash, and soot scattered like a lie. And the next moment, a lost word flowed anew from her pink lips.
“Ares.”
Walter’s eyes flashed open.
At the boundary between dream and reality, gasping for rough breaths, that voice came to his ears once more.
“Ares.”
Walter stared blankly into the empty air, then eventually covered his eyes with his hand and giggled. It was a dry, sharp laugh like a frigid winter wind. Then, reining in his laughter like a lie, he roughly swept his face and muttered fiercely.
“What a strange dream to have.”
His gaze, as he slowly rose, turned to the door of the room where Grace stayed.
In pitch-black darkness, Grace’s figure flickered like an illusion. Gleaming blond hair, a round white forehead, beneath it golden eyebrows and large leaf-green eyes, dimples sinking deep into her slender cheeks.
Walter’s eyes grew dark as an abyss.
“You… said you could endure because I existed?”
Those words shook him violently.
“That I… was your signpost and your anchor……?”
Walter rose from his place and walked toward the door. Reaching the black door, he rested his forehead against it.
Yes. Now he understood why she had felt different.
Beyond the guilt-laden mask, Grace had been looking at the real him. The mask he had been forced to don to survive was caked thick with guilt. He was always thirsty, always breathless, as though crammed into a tiny box sealed tight on all sides.
The moment her eyes rose vividly before him, the mask enveloping him began to shatter. When the mask that had slowly cracked piece by piece finally collapsed entirely, a pale dawn began to rise beyond the window.
In the world brightening dimly, Walter smiled without realizing it.
* * *
That night, Flora had slept fitfully.
Walter lingered in her mind, and sleep would not come at all. The sense of intimidation flowing from his imposing stature, the gaze that had fixed upon her, the perfect features like sculpted marble, the low voice that seemed to scrape against her heart.
Until now, every man who had courted Flora had been lacking in some way. If their physique seemed fine, their personality was frivolous; if their personality was decent, their house or looks were displeasing.
But Walter was perfect.
Imagining him looking down at her with a loving gaze, an ecstasy she had never felt before surged through her.
Flora pressed down on her pounding heart and spoke as if making a vow.
“I shall become the perfect Duchess.”
Duchess of Richmond.
Flora Richmond.
The more she uttered it, the more certain she became that this was destiny.
She was the esteemed daughter of Count Luwen, who was closest to Count Linck. Moreover, Count and Countess Linck also regarded her as a daughter. The House of Count Luwen had already been residing in the Duke of Richmond’s castle for five years. For Flora, the ducal castle was already no different from her own home. The young ladies and lords who would become the main figures of the Northwestern social circle also revered and served her.
Thus, taking control of the inner household of the Duke of Richmond would not be a difficult task for her.
Flora sprang up from her bed at dawn before the sun had risen and called for her maids. The maids’ faces looked somewhat pale, but Flora paid it little mind.
“Go and bring me the book related to the ducal family’s rules.”
The rulebook the maids hurriedly brought was thick enough to make one sigh just looking at it. Flora, roughly skimming through the first few pages while fiddling with the edges, asked.
“What is that woman doing? Does she even know how to handle cutlery?”
The arrangement of a single main plate and formal dinner cutlery was what Flora had in mind.
The maids smiled awkwardly with pale faces and answered with a tremble.
“W-well… she somehow knows, it seems.”
“Y-yes, it was awkward.”
Flora pouted her lips in displeasure.
“She must have learned it in a hurry? How amusing.”
“Ah, ahaha. That’s right……”
“Does that woman at least wear dresses or jewels?”
“She wasn’t wearing any accessories in particular. And the dress was just……”
Flora’s lips curved upward again.
“Bring the dresses and jewels I bought this time.”
“Yes, my lady.”
It was when Flora was devoting herself to dressing up that an unexpected summons was delivered.
The Countess had called for her.