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Chapter 08
The Wrongly Fastened First Button (4)
The dead can do nothing to the living.
They cannot brush the shoulder of a weary daughter, nor can they embrace a brother who collapses in grief.
They cannot cheer, nor console.
The dead are simply dead—nothing more, nothing less.
That was why Berenice was never afraid of the dead.
What was truly frightening—the ones to fear and guard against—were the living.
“Nia… what on earth…”
“I once read a line like that in a book a long time ago. I guess it wasn’t a lie.”
But to the Marquis, the Berenice he knew now was still a child—one who hadn’t even gone through her coming-of-age ceremony.
There was no need to trouble her father by showing him too much.
“So I’ll be fine, Father.”
“Nia…”
Seeing his daughter trembling belatedly, fear creeping in, the Marquis sighed and finally found his voice. He gently took the dagger from her hand.
Watching him, Berenice swallowed a sigh of relief and made a quiet vow to act with more caution from now on.
But the moment she did—
“So you read that in a book, huh…? They say the Marquis of Wiltiéra is weak when it comes to his only daughter. Seems the rumor was true.”
It was Cayden, staggering as he pushed himself up, a faint smirk curling his lips.
Startled, the Marquis rushed to help him, but Cayden raised a hand to stop him.
Though his stance was unsteady, it was impossible to treat him carelessly or show sympathy—his crimson eyes burned too fiercely for that.
‘Still, a patient is a patient.’
Berenice didn’t know much about curses, having never been afflicted by one herself, but she had been poisoned before.
Judging by his pale face and the cold sweat glistening on his brow, his outwardly expressionless face belied a body that was surely in agony.
Knowing that, Berenice couldn’t help recalling the last image of him from before she turned back time. She let out a small sigh.
She still didn’t know why he had let her go back then. But thanks to that, she’d been able to drag one of her enemies down to hell with her before she died. If that counted as a debt, then so be it.
Debts should be repaid before interest accrues.
As the daughter of a merchant, Berenice had been taught that debts could be as valuable as assets.
But life as a fugitive had taught her the hard way that the “interest” attached to debts of the heart was terrifying—and that a debt was just a debt, nothing more.
And besides, one can’t negotiate while still owing a debt.
Recalling the thought that had first crossed her mind when she’d seen Cayden, Berenice gave a small, secret nod. Then, with careful steps, she approached him.
The Marquis, briefly puzzled by his daughter’s behavior, quickly averted his eyes as though he had seen nothing.
“Lean on me.”
Cayden, who had been closing his eyes to steady the turmoil within him, opened them in surprise at the small voice behind him.
Had he been in full health, he would never have allowed anyone to approach from behind.
That someone could come up on him unnoticed… was a fresh reminder of how pitiful his condition really was. He furrowed his brow slightly and spoke.
“Lean on you? With that frail body?”
“If you didn’t want that, Your Highness shouldn’t have refused my father’s help.”
“You think I refused the Marquis’s hand because I wanted yours?”
“Of course not.”
“Ha…!”
Cayden shook his head in disbelief, but Berenice’s bold gaze didn’t waver.
“When you’re exhausted, even a weak cane can offer support.”
“I’d rather…”
“Lean on a tree? Would you prefer that? You can, if you like—but you’d have to take a step back, which means you’d end up stepping in that puddle of your own blood again. Is that a problem?”
What in the world is this woman?
Cayden looked to the Marquis for an answer, but the man only stared off into the distance as though deaf and blind to everything happening nearby.
“So, will you step back—or will you lean?”
“…Hah.”
“Good choice.”
Berenice answered brightly, and with a resigned sigh, Cayden leaned just barely against her shoulder—lightly, almost not at all.
“You’re sturdier than a cane, at least.”
“Of course.”
“Though not quite as sturdy as a tree.”
“Next time, lean on the tree from the start, then. Don’t reject someone’s kindness only to face greater hardship later.”
“Greater hardship, you say… Is that what you call yourself?”
Cayden’s frame, tall and broad like the Emperor’s but more refined through years of battle, completely engulfed Berenice’s smaller one.
Had they not been speaking, no one would have even known she was there behind him.
The Marquis, still pretending not to see, finally turned back and held out the dagger.
“Is this the one?”
“Yes.”
Ignoring Berenice’s presence at his back, Cayden gave a slight nod.
“What must I do with it?”
“The red gem at the hilt—break it.”
“There may be a reaction. We should study it first—”
“I know that artifact. Break it.”
The Marquis fell silent at Cayden’s firm tone.
He finally realized what the Prince before him was saying.
A cursed magical tool—and the Prince recognized it instantly.
It came from the Imperial Palace.
And there was only one person within the Imperial Family who would dare use such a thing against Cayden.
Like Berenice moments earlier, the Marquis silently thought of that name. Then, at Cayden’s command, he ordered his knight to crush the red gem before everyone’s eyes.
It was the cleanest way to dispose of a cursed weapon that had harmed a royal.
“At least there won’t be any misunderstandings between us now.”
So that’s his way of saying he’s glad we didn’t do something stupid like hiding it.
Standing behind Cayden, Berenice thought drily to herself.
She didn’t know much about him.
He was the Crown Prince’s full brother, born of the late Empress. After the Emperor remarried, their grandmother—the Dowager Empress—had raised the two princes.
He had once followed his elder brother everywhere, doing whatever his brother did.
After coming of age, he spent most of his life at war, rarely returning to the capital.
Unlike the Crown Prince, who resembled their mother’s gentle grace, Cayden took after the Emperor—strong and sharp-featured.
And after the Crown Prince’s death… he suffered a terrible injury before he could even rise to prominence. Recovery took years.
It must have been the poison and the curse that caused it—especially the curse.
Peeking over his shoulder, Berenice looked down at the shattered fragments of the gem.
Stripped of its power, the once-red jewel had turned a dull gray.
That must be what delayed his recovery.
During that time, the third prince—backed by the Empress and the temple—had risen to claim the title of Crown Prince.
The Emperor had done nothing to stop it.
And Cayden… whether out of resignation or for some other reason, had not fought for his birthright. He had only pursued Berenice—seeking the “truth.”
Remembering the last face she had seen before her death, Berenice lifted her eyes to study him.
Without the curse, his complexion looked better—though still pale.
Still, it was an improvement from the haunted, broken face she remembered from before.
As her thoughts settled, the conversation between Cayden and the Marquis continued.
“I’ll escort you to my estate.”
“I’ve heard the physicians of Wiltiéra are quite skilled. I suppose I’ll have the chance to confirm that myself.”
“And what about contacting the Imperial Palace—?”
“Don’t.”
Cayden cut him off, eyes fixed on his shoulder wound, where the bleeding had already begun to slow after the gem’s destruction.
The Marquis hesitated, then gave a small bow.
If the cursed weapon had indeed come from the Imperial Palace, as he and Berenice both suspected, then it was best to pretend today’s events had never happened.
…Truthfully, even if word did reach the Emperor, nothing much would happen.
Such was Cayden’s standing in the Imperial Family now.
But the Emperor might start to question the relationship between His Highness and House Wiltiéra.
Though loyal to the crown, the Marquis’s family had long maintained a stance of political neutrality.
When his eldest son became the Crown Prince’s personal knight, there had been whispers that House Wiltiéra had joined the prince’s faction.
But Bledin had renounced his right of succession and publicly declared that his personal choices did not reflect his family’s stance. Thus, the family had remained “neutral”—at least in name.
If today’s events became known, however…
The Emperor has yet to name a successor.
The Marquis knew well how bloody that competition for the throne could become—he remembered clearly the rivers of blood that had paved the current Emperor’s rise.
He had no desire whatsoever to be dragged into another storm like that.
As he was turning over ways to conceal Cayden’s identity—
“There’s someone collapsed over here!”
A knight’s voice rang out from the distance.
Another assassin? The guards immediately tensed, raising their weapons toward the direction of the shout.
“It’s probably my aide. Pathetic constitution—he couldn’t keep up, so I left him behind.”
Cayden grimaced, one hand pressed to his temple as if to hold back the pain. Hearing the knight describe the fallen man’s appearance, he confirmed it was indeed his aide.
“Seems there’s no reason for us to linger here any longer. Marquis—what do you think?”
Watching his men help the unconscious aide to his feet, the Marquis nodded.
It was time to return to the estate.
