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Chapter – 25
Bihan Kaisers. There were far too many things about him that felt strange.
A man known for being meticulous blocking a carriage without any plan, finding me immediately when I’d come out without any insignia, those contradictory words of his—none of it made sense.
And yet, faced with that gaze and that voice, I was left speechless.
“First… please come inside. Even if it’s an alley, this is too conspicuous.”
“….”
Bihan obediently stepped into the carriage. Because I had deliberately taken a small carriage to avoid attention, the distance between us—sitting opposite each other—felt closer than I’d expected.
“…This is strange. You don’t seem like yourself, Your Grace.”
“….”
I felt like I needed to throw out everything I knew about the protagonist’s profile. From top to bottom, he felt like a completely different person.
The ‘Duke Bihan Kaisers’ from the novel wasn’t like this.
“…I was waiting for your reply.”
Right. If I had replied to your letter, could I have avoided this awkward situation?
“…Your letter was filled with such excessive apologies that I didn’t know how to respond….”
Anyone could tell it was just an excuse, but instead of blaming me, Bihan simply continued speaking.
“I thought you must have been very disappointed in me that day.”
“Disappointed? No, not at all. Rather, it was only natural—”
To me, it was natural.
There was no way you’d come to me and leave Eclat, the true protagonist, behind.
“…Why would I be disappointed?”
“I believed you were being considerate of me.”
“Was there something I needed to be considerate about?”
I wasn’t supposed to know why Bihan had returned to the terrace with such a troubled expression, or why he’d gone back apologizing instead of accepting my request.
“…Rosemary.”
And you shouldn’t look at me like that, either.
What part of you did my interference touch?
If Bihan had changed from the original story, wouldn’t I end up interfering with Eclat’s desired ending?
But everything had progressed as it was supposed to, hadn’t it?
Even if I had influenced something, it shouldn’t have been enough to alter the story itself.
After hearing Eclat’s words, I wanted even less to do that… so then…
“Rosemary, I—”
“Lord Bihan.”
“…Yes, Rosemary.”
“I think… I think it would be best to repay you for guaranteeing the foundation in another way. And I don’t think I properly fulfilled my role at the masquerade that day either. I haven’t done anything for you, and it makes me uncomfortable.”
I need to put some distance between us. Just like I first thought, I shouldn’t get entangled with the protagonists until they reach their ending.
Especially not with Bihan, who knows the most about me.
“Why don’t you ask?”
“….”
“You should be asking me about that day, and about this situation today. Even a small curiosity would be fine. You could even accuse me of rudeness—please, ask.”
Something was wrong. I thought the story was proceeding exactly as it should after the masquerade incident, but…
I need to find out. Where did it go wrong?
“…Then I’ll ask, as you wish. At the ball, I declined your consideration first, but you accepted my words far too easily. As if something had happened to you.”
Bihan nodded and opened his mouth.
“Will you believe me… if I tell you I felt that I had to do so?”
“What?”
“There is someone under my protection at my estate. I realized he had come to the ball, and I believed it to be an unsafe place for him. But through my people, I was able to send him back. The person I accompanied was you, so it was only right that I do so.”
“….”
“And yet, I couldn’t. I felt as though I had to leave the ballroom with him. As if someone were pushing me from behind—that’s how it felt.”
“….”
“Will you believe me, Rosemary?”
My thoughts spiraled into chaos.
Up until now, all my assumptions were based on the premise that whatever the protagonists wanted was what moved the story forward. That was why I couldn’t understand Eclat, who suffered through every event despite knowing them all, and why I wanted him to understand my actions.
But what if the story proceeds even when they don’t want it to?
What if Eclat truly tried to avoid those events, and Bihan didn’t want to act that way, yet the story forced them forward?
Then what in the world is this place?
Where does that coercion come from, and who enforces it—how?!
“Rosemary?”
As I grabbed the chair to steady my tilting body, Bihan reached out in panic, but couldn’t bring himself to touch me.
“…Please return for today, Lord Bihan.”
When I finally straightened myself and looked at him, Bihan opened the carriage door and stood outside, gazing back at me.
“…Rosemary.”
“….”
“Please forgive my rudeness.”
“….”
After bowing deeply, Bihan quietly closed the carriage door. Silence poured in.
“…Amy.”
At my call, Amy—who had been waiting outside—carefully opened the door and stepped in.
“Yes, Miss.”
“Lennon will be waiting. Let’s hurry to Carrel Street.”
“Yes.”
“And tonight, I need to go back to the temple.”
“At night, Miss?”
“….”
I needed to meet Eclat. As soon as possible.
And to do that…
“Your Highness, thank you for coming in person at such a late hour.”
“Not at all, High Priest. This is an invitation to the temple for the Founding Festival—it’s only right that I come myself.”
A quiet battle of nerves unfolded between the High Priest, displeased by the late visit, and Edgar, who found that displeasure almost amusing.
The High Priest wanted the Crown Prince to visit during a crowded worship hour, but Edgar had no intention of moving according to the man’s wishes.
I didn’t want to come here for such a pointless reason in the first place. If it weren’t for Founding Day…
Founding Day was the Empire’s greatest national holiday. The imperial Founding Festival was an event where everyone—from the High Priest to foreign envoys—had no choice but to attend. Edgar’s visit was nothing more than a ceremonial courtesy to appease the High Priest.
“High Priest, then I’ll take my leave.”
“Your Highness, next time I hope you’ll visit when the sun shines brightest, so all may witness its sacred power.”
“High Priest.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“You were the one who taught me that divine magic is not for display, but for granting to the weak.”
“Allowing many to realize the greatness of the sun is also a form of giving, Your Highness.”
“Ah. Is that so.”
Pretending to be a good person was Edgar’s specialty—ensuring that everyone saw only his righteous side. But even a specialty had its limits, especially when it touched upon his sin-laden power.
“The sun, the Temple of Light, and even the imperial family of Bientia all stand to benefit from this. Surely you understand.”
“How disappointing, High Priest.”
“….”
“You of all people know how deep the curse upon me runs.”
“Your Highness, a curse?!”
“How can a power that kills people be called divine?”
“Your Highness!”
“…I’ll be going now. I’ll see you at the Founding Festival.”
Leaving behind words sharper than usual, Edgar turned and walked down a familiar corridor.
He had lived here once—more accurately, he had taken refuge here.
Divine magic as a blessing? No. It was a curse. If anything, it was fortunate that fewer people could wield it now.
The more he suppressed his anger, the harder it was to maintain composure when it finally surfaced. Edgar stopped on his way to the sanctuary, sighed, and turned in another direction—toward the space housing the confessionals.
“Ha…”
Lighting the candle in the farthest confessional, Edgar opened the door reserved for priests and stepped inside. It was the smallest space he knew, but also the quietest and most comfortable—especially at this hour, when no one should be visiting.
Click.
At that moment, the confessional door opened.
Specifically, the door used by penitents.
Someone coming to confess at this hour? The Temple of Light won’t fall anytime soon, it seems.
Ironically, Edgar would be the one most troubled if it did. Mocking himself, he remained silent. A confessor’s role was merely to listen.
After a moment of silence—perhaps lighting a candle or reciting a prayer—the penitent spoke.
“Father.”
Edgar shot to his feet as if struck by lightning. The partition hid him from her view, and perhaps she mistook the rustle for a response, because she continued.
“I ask for time hidden from the sun’s light.”
She was requesting a private meeting through the temple.
Who? Who would go so far as to use such an archaic method—
“…Please send a Shadow Invitation to Eclat Adrian.”
The “time hidden in shadow” requested through confession was an old aristocratic method used to seek forgiveness or love from someone otherwise unreachable.
The temple merely sent an invitation in its name. Disguised as an ordinary prayer, it would reach the recipient unnoticed. Whether the meeting occurred or not was uncertain, but thanks to the secrecy guaranteed by the temple, it was still used—nowadays mostly for secret affairs or illicit romances, even in an age of telegrams.
“I’ll leave the location, date, and time for the invitation, Father.”
The sound of writing followed, then she left.
After standing frozen for a long while, Edgar opened the small window in the partition—just large enough for a hand—and retrieved the paper and token she’d left behind.
“…”
A sprig of rosemary. To Edgar, it was the final blow.
Rosemary Riothium wanted to meet Eclat Adrian—through this method, no less.
“…My apologies.”
Edgar let out a bitter laugh. The rosemary would not be delivered to Eclat in the way she wished.
“I’ll steal that time for myself.”
