2
2. The History of Obsession
Fabian was confused. He could not believe what had happened in the imperial palace.
The Emperor's advances, the Empress's torment, the Crown Prince appearing at just the right moment to save her. And Daphne, asleep in Ascherad's arms.
All of it was bizarre and strange. Humans are naturally afraid of things that defy common sense. The imperial family, running to the very extremes of absurdity, filled Fabian with dread.
Even after fleeing from Daphne, Ascherad had not forgotten to summon him. Ascherad had looked at him while stroking Daphne's hair, as if marking his territory.
He had ground his teeth and left the palace. The dawn wind was bitterly cold. He had no idea what he should do going forward.
Waiting for Fabian when he returned home was Count Locania. The Count, always playful, abruptly punched Fabian in the face.
"Why—why on earth did you do that!"
Count Locania raised his fist and said,
"You have to size a person up before you go courting them. Didn't I always nag you about that!"
Count Locania bellowed. Seeing that Fabian's face had darkened, as if he had guessed something, the Count spoke.
"What, did someone threaten you? What did that Emperor bastard say?"
Fabian shook his head.
"Come to think of it, Belenus, that rutting beast of a man doesn't even watch his step around others anymore."
Should he say that the Crown Prince had threatened him? Fabian hesitated. But seeing how even the Emperor cursed without fear, the Crown Prince might well have intended to seize and kill him.
The Count was always sly and smooth-tongued, but when angry, he held nothing back. Fabian asked in a deflated voice.
"Why must I not approach that woman?"
Count Locania said with a laugh.
"There is one woman I could never seduce."
"……"
"Do you know why?"
To that absurd question, Fabian could not answer. Count Locania said with a cold smile.
"That woman belonged to the Emperor. Had she been merely an ordinary mistress, I might have tried to seduce her all I pleased, but that woman was different."
"……"
"Do you know what the Emperor did? He loved her. He truly loved her, no less!"
The Emperor Belenus had loved Daphne's mother? Fabian's head spun.
"But you see, his way of loving was truly strange."
"……"
"He kept her by his side in the imperial palace, having brought her from who knows where, that beautiful woman—but in the end, he was so afraid that someone might see her that he built a mansion near the palace and hid her there."
Count Locania closed and opened his eyes slowly, as if trying to recall that woman.
"Yes, while that woman was in the palace, a great many things happened. Chiefly, anyone who so much as cast a glance at her—all of them died."
"……"
"Every flower that woman showed affection for was cut down, and if there was anyone she cherished, man or child, it mattered not—they were killed as well. The painter who painted her portrait, too, had his head severed."
"……"
"No matter how beautiful she was, I prized my own life too much to even meet her eyes."
"……"
"Then does the Emperor love Daphne?"
When he asked in a trembling voice, the man gave a faint snort.
"The woman he was so obsessed with died, and her daughter was born. Do you think he would simply leave that be?"
"……"
"Though she was born of another man's belly, Belenus—that bastard might even be pleased that no blood mingles between them. Or perhaps, even if blood did mingle, it would make no difference."
At those words, nausea surged up in Fabian. His stomach churned.
"If the Emperor is already making advances, then that face of hers, being quite fair, must be growing to resemble her mother."
"Then the Crown Prince—"
"Hm? What about the Crown Prince?"
"No, nothing."
Could it be that the Crown Prince was only doing all that to warn Daphne of the Emperor's danger?
No. No. He had made Daphne kneel and read a book. Stroking her like a cat in his arms, that man had been 'parading' himself.
It was a man's instinct.
"Then what the Emperor wants is, after all, to make Daphne his mistress? A woman he once regarded as a daughter—"
"I suppose so. It seems he no longer even bothers to hide it, the shameless man."
"……"
"I hear he is now reaching those same monstrous hands toward that woman as well. Let no one show kindness to her. Let no one treat her warmly. Such orders, it is said, have been given down."
"And if someone treats her warmly, what happens?"
"They all died. Those who pitied her, saying what sin had a young girl committed—all were executed for disobeying orders, and the young servants who knew nothing had their hands cut off and were cast out. Even the animals, they say, were killed."
"……"
"Recently, I hear a male servant was killed just for speaking a single word to her—"
At those words, Fabian groaned. But he harbored another question. Was it not the Crown Prince, and not the Emperor, who had shown obsession?
Who is it, exactly, that is obsessed?
"Then you're saying the Emperor is continuously watching Daphne?"
"He hasn't watched her every moment, but I'm sure he did so often. He likely had no interest in her when she was young, but upon seeing her grow up to resemble her mother, he must have begun his obsession."
Fabian ground his teeth.
"Then why am I still alive?"
"First, he would have been too preoccupied with the Empress's death and welcoming a new Empress to attend to anything else."
"……"
"Second—me."
"……"
"It's because of this clever father of yours. No matter what, he wouldn't want to make an enemy of me."
Count Locania pounded his chest proudly. He was currently developing cannons, having at long last created the ranged weapons so desperately needed on the battlefield.
How could anyone kill such a man? The blueprints resided in his head, and the artisans he employed had sworn absolute loyalty to him.
"So, my son. Think wisely—if you do not wish to lose your life."
"My life is precious to me as well."
Fabian spat out the words irritably and walked into his room. The Count clicked his tongue. His face gradually hardened with cold.
"No matter what, there are lines one must not cross, and that wretched son of mine is no better than a rotten scoundrel."
Count Locania ground his teeth.
"Isn't that why the Crown Prince turned out the way he did? A pathetic bastard who even cast aside his own son. And to think that thing is called Emperor, ruling over the empire—the country is headed for ruin."
He cursed the foolish and merciless Emperor to his heart's content.
* * *
Morning came, and the sun rose to its zenith. Fabian, sleepless, was lost in thought. When the sun began its descent toward the west, he rose from his seat. And he ran toward a place he knew of old.
The tomb of Daphne's mother, Beatrice.
Fabian was riding hard toward that place. The wind blew, tousling his hair.
Is this love?
Or is it chivalry?
Or is it atonement for the coward I was, who could not save her?
As he rushed to pick the daffodils, Fabian thought.
She was someone he had spent only two seasons, a mere two seasons, with. One season was devoted entirely to the time of an unrequited love, and one season was a relationship where they had only barely exchanged words.
If asked whether she held more meaning than family, one could well answer that she did not.
And yet.
And yet.
And yet, is it not too pitiable?
His chest tightened.
Fabian recalled the seasons he had watched over Daphne. She was shunned and ignored by everyone. Sometimes Daphne would speak in a very small voice, and each time, the way she had been treated pained his heart beyond bearing.
A woman in an old maid's dress. And yet, when she smiled, more beautiful than anyone in the world.
Fabian liked her.
Fabian was an outsider. Though a bastard child, he had received his father's care nonetheless, and so had been able to obtain a house for his family in the capital and become a knight.
Though illegitimate, his life had not been terribly unhappy.
Of course, there had been times when he was checked by his father's legitimate wife and tormented by the rightful heirs of the Count's house. But those were akin to a child's pranks, and once they all came of age, they regarded one another with wary indifference. He had lived a life that was quite far from bad.
His father was wealthy enough to feed and support all his children, took responsibility for the women he touched one way or another, and showed each of his children his own measure of affection. His own family—his mother and younger sister—were tightly bound together in familial love.
And yet…….
And yet, Daphne was different.
Unless she had been born to be unhappy, it could not have been this way.
Daphne's life had been thoroughly violated.
The knights had warned him not to go near Daphne, but he had trusted in his father's power and thought it did not matter. Or perhaps it was merely the brash, green audacity of a young pup.
Fabian stood before the tomb. Since even the most favored mistress could hardly bring a tomb into the imperial palace, Daphne's mother had been buried here.
As if the Emperor continued to tend it, the tomb was neat and clean, yet somehow lonely. Perhaps because there was no one who would come to visit it.
In that sorrowful, lonely graveside, daffodils were in bloom. He picked the daffodils, intending to give them to Daphne.
"Daphne."
Fabian wept as he gazed at the withered daffodils. It seemed so like what Daphne's future would be.
Only the love that Ascherad had condescendingly granted her was a sudden shower of rain, and so Daphne had starved for love, gazing only toward that place.
Daphne had done nothing wrong. Living such a life was unmistakably unjust.
He now knew what was happening. Daphne must not remain there. A future loomed clear before her, where she would become a plaything of the high and mighty, thoroughly violated and discarded.
Though everyone in the world could not take her side, he would take her side himself.
He recalled the first time he had seen Daphne.
That maid who had rushed out into the rain of tears had haunted his eyes. He disliked how she always wore a frightened expression. And yet, when he spoke to her, the way her eyes would glimmer faintly at it was lovely. When he occasionally addressed her, the way she answered with a smile was beautiful.
Always calling herself the daughter of a sinner, she had cowered as if in resignation. And yet she never blamed those around her—that sight was pitiable, and made him want to protect her.
Fabian wept.
Even knowing what this decision meant, he could not stop his tears. But then, was this not all he had ever learned?
His womanizing father had always taken responsibility, and he too had always been responsible for his family. So then, though he was 'a man,' it was only natural to take responsibility for the one he loved.
A sense of chivalrous duty?
Perhaps that was part of it as well. A knight rescues a lady. Setting that aside, did it even make sense by common reason? Someone had to save her. He had to save her, and make her smile a little more.
He was not a hero of myth. But for one woman, he could become a hero.
And to that end, Fabian was willing to enter Daphne's hell alongside her.
He clenched the daffodils tightly in his hand.