RALMH 62

Chapter 62

“I know my words must have sounded disrespectful. But I had to make sure—whether you truly have my niece’s best interests at heart.”

Her voice trembled again as she struggled to steady it.

“Because…”

But she never got the chance to finish. The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs rang clearly.

“Aunt, is this really what you asked me to bring? This is…”

“A sword.”

Even wrapped in several thick layers of cloth, the long sword’s shape was unmistakable. Covered tightly up to the hilt, it was laid out lengthwise across the table.

“Unwrap it.”

At her aunt’s instruction, spoken with a tense expression, Betty pressed her palms together nervously and began to undo the cloth.

As soon as the sword’s hilt was finally revealed, Ian—who had been sitting silently until then—leaned forward.

That sword…

The weapon itself wasn’t familiar. He was seeing it for the first time.

But the emblem engraved in the center of the hilt—that was familiar.

Apart from the crests of the Imperial family and the Duke of Dayban, it was the one most familiar to Ian: the crest of the Prowell family.

Then it’s true…

Ian’s suspicions were confirmed. This was undeniable evidence.

Once the cloth was completely removed, the neglected, poorly maintained sword came fully into view.

“It’s your father’s keepsake.”

“My father’s? But Mother said that all of Father’s belongings were…”

“She told you they were all buried, didn’t she? But not this. This one thing, she purposely kept and brought here.”

This time, Betty noticed how her aunt darted a glance toward Ian.

Betty, too, traced the emblem on the hilt with her fingers. Such marks were usually only engraved on noble family possessions—making clear their ownership, proving their lineage.

At that moment, a strange sense of familiarity struck her. Though damaged and worn to the point its outline had blurred, she had definitely seen this crest before.

Not once, but many times.

“…No way…”

“It is the crest of the Marquisate of Prowell,” said Ian, Duke of Dayban, confirming her suspicion.

A heavy silence fell over them.

Betty was utterly stunned. Her father had only ever been described as a knight—or not even that. She wasn’t sure if he had been an official knight at all. All she knew was that he was skilled with a sword and once worked as a mercenary.

But never, not once, had she heard that he had any direct ties to a noble house.

“Why… why is this here? Why on earth…?”

“Because your father was of noble birth. I never knew which house, but clearly you, and His Grace here, both do.”

“This is the place I often visited. The place they said would take me in as an adopted daughter into a suitable noble family.”

Her aunt’s face softened into a complicated smile.

“It seems blood ties truly do pull people together. Perhaps it was fate that you two should meet. That’s why I told my sister—you deserved to be given a choice.”

“Then why did Mother hide this from me?”

“Because she didn’t want you hurt, didn’t want you to be unhappy.”

Her aunt slowly sat down, gazing at the sword as she continued.

“I don’t know everything. When we were young, your mother left home, saying she wanted to become an actress. Then one day, she said she had fallen in love. But because he was from a high-ranking noble family, they opposed it, so she went far away to live with him.”

“And after Father died, I came here with Mother.”

“Exactly. Even after returning to the capital, she could have gone to them, at least once. But she refused. She didn’t want you—or herself—to be treated like a stain on their family. She didn’t want to cling to them like a burden.”

But Betty couldn’t accept that. The Prowell household she knew was nothing like that.

“The House of Prowell would never do such a thing. They wouldn’t treat anyone so harshly…”

Why had her mother thought otherwise? Betty searched her memories and recalled—

That during the late Marquis’s time, the family’s atmosphere had been very different from how it was now.

“If your mother’s fears were unfounded, then all the better.”

Her aunt paused, then spoke again in a careful tone.

“I know there are many things you haven’t told me. That’s why I felt I couldn’t delay any longer. It was time you knew, since you’re clearly already entangled in the complicated matters of the nobility.”

“Aunt, I…”

But her aunt shook her head, as though words were no longer needed, and clasped Betty’s hands.

Warm as always—her hands radiated comfort.

“Your mother must have kept this one sword because she couldn’t let go entirely. Just in case.”

Then, leaving Betty still struggling to accept it all, her aunt rose and rummaged through a drawer.

“I know that alone might not be enough proof. That’s why I kept a few letters that your mother asked me to burn. With these, surely there can be no doubt.”

From the depths of the drawer, she carefully pulled out a thin bundle of papers and handed them to Ian.

Now Ian understood why she sought assurance from him—because for Betty to uncover her true identity, it would be far easier with the support of someone of equal noble standing.

And so, what she had really asked was whether he was willing to stand by Betty, to be her pillar in the storm that would follow.

“…This should be enough.”

To my beloved Aron.

The neat handwriting at the top of the first page closely resembled Betty’s own. It matched exactly the script in the original manuscript of Roxelon they had found.

“This can’t be real. Me, a daughter of House Prowell… It’s impossible.”

Betty sank into her chair, bewildered. It simply didn’t make sense.

Yes, she had always felt a strange familiarity with the Marquis and Marchioness of Prowell. Even the Empress, whom she had barely met, gave her a similar impression.

But she had thought it only human affinity—nothing more.

“It might not be true…”

“The stories, the evidence—everything points to you, Betty.”

Ian’s calm words carried a certainty she herself lacked. She looked at him, seeking answers, and he explained further.

“From the moment I saw the name Aron, I suspected. The only Aron I know was from House Prowell. And coincidentally, that was also your father’s name. Do you recall me saying that Prowell’s youngest son resembled his second uncle? It wasn’t just in personality—he was known for his skill with a sword. Rumor had it he would one day lead the knights.”

Betty listened, piecing together all her scattered memories.

The Marchioness, saying she found her face familiar upon their first meeting.

The Empress, exclaiming that her name “Betty” was the same as her grandmother’s nickname, Beatrice.

The Marquis himself, jokingly mistaking her for the Empress Janine.

“You’ve realized something was strange all along, haven’t you?” Ian asked, reading the shifts in her expression.

“…Yes.”

Looking back, the clues had always been there—one after another, pointing toward the truth. Only if you had an inkling of the answer would they fall into place.

“Then… then…”

Betty floundered, unable to sit or stand still.

“You’ll need time to gather your thoughts. For now, return to the place you’ve been staying. If it’s still comfortable for you, that is.”

Mirin gazed at her niece with deep affection. Anyone could see the closeness between Ian and Betty.

That was what had worried her at first—her sister had walked a similar path, and though she did not regret it, it had been full of hardship.

But somehow, she felt this story would unfold differently.

Just looking at the way Ian watched over Betty—she believed his words. He would protect her, no matter what.

If entering the nobility is her inevitable fate…

Then Betty, with her unbending nature, would need someone steadfast to support her in whatever life she chose.

And Ian, both in his station and in the way he treated her, seemed to be the perfect one for that role.