7. The mad boy Daphne doubted her ears. What sound was this? She looked at the man standing before her.
He told me to indulge myself freely? In what? In him? Was he telling me to indulge in him?
Or was the one who spoke not the man she knew? But the man who had spat out those cruel words was unmistakably Ashelard. A gaunt face. Bloodless lips. And yet, that beautiful face of his bore not a single trace of damage.
The man, wearing a smile so elegant it made her teeth chatter, willingly offered up Daphne's body. As if she meant nothing at all.
"Why that expression?"
he asked gently.
"If you've committed a sin, it's only natural you receive punishment. Isn't that right?"
Those words were surely about this incident. Yet somehow, they struck deep into her heart.
He gazed into Daphne's eyes for a long while. No further explanation was needed.
"I……"
Ashelard. Please don't abandon me. Daphne recalled the time she had spent with Ashelard. The days she spent reading books at his feet, chatting with him, being indulged to her heart's content. The times she was occasionally given cookies, or enjoyed the privilege of eating the food he left behind.
Stay by my side always. Ashelard had clearly said that.
Ashelard surely cherished her.
He would cherish her.
And yet……
Ashelard, looking at Daphne's dazed face, turned his back and left. A very brief silence fell over the room. She finally realized that no one else was in the room. Fear swept over her in an instant.
"Even your prince won't be able to save you."
She lifted her leg and stepped back, but a large hand gripped her slender wrist and roughly dragged her along. Daphne shook her head wildly. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Before her eyes, Ashelard's 'betrayal' loomed far larger than this man's hideous lechery.
No—was it even a betrayal? Strictly speaking, Ashelard had no obligation to help her.
That's right. Ashelard had always been that way.
Seeming to cherish her…… while her plight was…… no, don't think about it. Even in the midst of it all, Daphne gave up on thinking any deeper.
Even harboring the hope that he would help her was shameless. To Ashelard, she hadn't even been worth the distance of being 'someone to help.'
He was someone who had always spoken of uprightness and justice—he had merely pitied her. That must be why he could toss aside Daphne's body without a second thought.
And yet……
And yet, if so, then why did he tell her to stay by his side? Why? Why did he look at me with that expression? Why?
Was it all a lie? A deception?
Even now, she found it laughable that she thought a prince would bother to 'deceive' someone like her.
Daphne's struggles stopped. Then the man's hand touched her neck. When she stopped resisting, the prince willingly, gently smoothed back her hair.
"Good, that's right. What a cute little thing you are."
She had deluded herself into thinking it meant something—that this noble prince had laid eyes on her, that he had graced her with a few extra words.
In reality, it was a thought far above her station—just like her mother, the emperor's concubine who had never even been allowed into the imperial palace. She was destined to be trampled, crushed, defiled, and cast down into the abyss. This was, after all, the life of Daphne, who lived in the gutter.
Looking up at the man breathing roughly above her, she thought blankly as his hand grabbed and tore at the buttons of her maid's blouse.
"Open the door!"
Just then, came the sound of someone pounding violently on the door.
"Damn it, who is it now!"
The prince of Pindus shouted through gritted teeth.
"Your Highness! It's the priests!"
Priests? Why them? Why would they pound on the prince's door without warning?
"There is an impure presence here! Open the door at once!"
"This is the chamber of the prince of Pindus!"
"We are priests of Keres! A strange presence brought us here!"
They were priests of Keres, the god of death who presided over funerals. They were sometimes the ones who prophesied ruin and destruction. Having come closest to death, they excelled at sensing the wicked.
"Open the door! There is an impure presence here—open it at once!"
The priest's command fell like a decree.
"Wait, just a moment!"
The prince cried out urgently and hurried to dress himself. But before he could even straighten his clothes, the door swung open. Trying to pull up his trousers, he lost his balance and crashed to the floor.
In an instant, light poured forth, revealing three priests dressed in black. Their eyes turned toward the weeping Daphne and the prince.
Disheveled hair, a woman in a maid's uniform, weeping. One of the priests clicked his tongue and spoke.
"So this is the source of the wicked presence!"
"……"
"What shameless conduct, during a sacred ceremonial period no less! Do you wish to face the judgment of Keres, god of death!"
At the priest's roar, the prince tried to rise only to stumble and fall again.
Priests of other gods were power-hungry sorts, but these men worshiped only the god of death, and were the kind of people who feared nothing but death itself.
The sight of a prince, in a foreign land under national mourning, attempting 'assault' under the pretext of punishing a maid, was not a good look. The prince, too, had at least enough sense to understand that.
"Th-this wench was at fault……"
"Can anyone here not see that the prince is attempting to assault a powerless young woman? Must I show you the judgment of the god of death myself!"
"So you seek to justify violating a woman! You filthy prince!"
A dark aura writhed around the priests' staffs, and the prince, terrified, fled from the room.
"Your Highness!"
The knights all rushed out after the prince. Once again, no one remained in the room except Daphne and the priests.
"All are equal before death—yet why do mortals inflict such cruelty upon one another over rank?"
They clicked their tongues as they looked at Daphne. She pulled herself up and bowed politely to the priests.
"Th-thank you."
"There is no need for thanks."
The priest who spoke curtly looked at Daphne.
"You really are…… you've been bitten by troublesome creatures, haven't you."
"……"
"It does you no good to be loved by Lord Keres, you know."
What did that mean? Loved by the god of death……
Seeing her frightened expression, the priest offered no further explanation, clicked his tongue, and departed.
The other priests followed after him.
She straightened her clothes and stumbled out of that dreadful room.
Something else dreadful had been added to a life that was always dreadful. She staggered down the corridor. When she headed toward where the workers were, they began to whisper at the sight of her.
There were no looks of sympathy. She simply felt like a spectacle.
No—it had always been that way.
She had always endured subtle harassment, like being given the prince's schedule incorrectly, and no one ever helped her. When she suffered disgrace, people would quietly approach and merely watch.
That's right, she was a sinner—it was only fitting. And so the tragedies she always endured could never buy empathy or compassion, only to be reduced to a spectacle like this.
Daphne's eyes met those of Amanda and Sara, who were staring wide-eyed.
Ah, really, I hate it. I'd rather live as a beggar on the street—at least that would be easier than this.
Daphne needed comfort. But the mother who had been on her side was dead, and friends did not exist. She curled up on a rat-gnawed mattress and wrapped the thin blanket tightly around herself.
It was cold.
More piercingly cold than ever before.
It hurt.
Her struck shoulder hurt so much.
"Hh, hhhk……"
Sobs leaked through the cracks. These are tears shed because it's cold and it hurts. Repeating that to herself, Daphne shed tears for the first time in a long while.
She lost her mother at ten, entered the imperial palace, and had lived like this until seventeen.
After that day, Daphne did not seek out Ashelard.
* * *
Carrying an armful of white roses the gardener had cut, Daphne bustled about. The period of national mourning had ended, but the emperor, grieving the empress's death, decorated the imperial palace with white roses every single day.
In truth, the imperial couple had not been on good terms, and she knew the emperor's mourning was false—a performance to appease Talasa, the empress's homeland. It wasn't even surprising that fresh flowers were replaced whenever the roses began to wilt.
When she delivered the white roses to Amanda, Amanda frowned and said,
"What do you think this place is, that you came here?"
"……"
"Don't catch His Majesty's eye for no reason and get me in trouble too. Get lost."
Amanda truly had a vicious tongue. Daphne nodded and headed out of the residence.
Summer was approaching, and the weather was hot. As she gazed up at the brilliant blue sky, a soft voice reached her.
"Daphne."
Her ears perked up, her pupils dilating and then contracting. She looked just like a puppy seeing its master.
She tried hard not to turn her head, but her body betrayed her will. She lifted her head and looked at Ashelard. Ashelard was smiling gently.
The cool breeze, the blue sky, the green of early summer tinting the garden. Ashelard, beautiful with not a single discordant note, in that beautiful imperial palace.
He looked as fresh and bright as if those hellish days had never existed at all.
"Were you carrying flowers?"
"……"
Not a single crack could be found in that face smiling like a painting.
"The flowers suit you so well. You look lovely."
It's strange. Strange, strange!
Why doesn't that man show any expression at all? He doesn't even show contempt. Is it because he knows nothing happened between her and the prince? Or because the punishment ended with the punishment?
Or is it because it simply doesn't matter to him?
Because the violence Daphne suffered, and the assault she nearly endured, mean nothing to him?
Because he doesn't even have the awareness of having betrayed her?
Just as Daphne froze at that incomprehensible friendliness—
"Can't you answer her quickly!"
Leon, the chamberlain, shouted. Daphne opened her mouth, then answered, "Yes," without even looking at Ashelard's face, and fled at a fast pace.
Surely he won't punish me for being insolent?
Her heart pounded heavily. She had turned her back on Ashelard for the first time. She wanted to turn her head—she wanted, again and again, to run to his feet and look at him with a bright smile—but she did not.
A sour sense of betrayal spread through her heart. Stopping her quick pace, Daphne looked back. Ashelard, standing in the distance, was simply standing there.
Is he looking at me?
Ha, as if.
Daphne turned away, mocking her own foolish thoughts. And that drove him—already mad—completely insane.
It was the greatest mistake seventeen-year-old Daphne ever made.