THBO 38

 Chapter 38

The moment she saw her daughter, Marisa fluttered her hand in greeting.
“Hello, Cecil. Are you having a pleasant afternoon?”
“Yes, Mother. And you?”
“It’s a bit hot today. Would you like to have some cordial with me?”
“I’d appreciate that.”

Cecilia promptly sat down across the table, and at Marisa’s request, Countess Diela prepared two glasses of ginger cordial.
Ice with fresh flowers embedded in it floated prettily on top.

Marisa stirred her drink, then fixed her gaze on her daughter sitting opposite her.
The way she lowered her long black lashes was unbearably lovely. Though she hadn’t borne her in pain, she had raised her with a heart full of ache.

“Mother?”
“……She’s my daughter, but she really is beautiful.”
“Honestly, Mother. You’re far more beautiful yourself.”
“That’s the first time I’ve heard that, child.”

Whether Cecilia looked embarrassed or not, Marisa shut it out completely.
Seeing the faint rosy flush blooming on her daughter’s cheeks only hardened her thoughts further.

Beautiful.
So beautiful it was almost frightening. No wonder her son was so desperately enamored—

Marisa let out an unconscious groan and pressed a hand to her forehead.
There was no way she could welcome a future where her children leapt into a pit of fire.
Especially not when her son was dragging her daughter in with him.

If he’s going to jump in, he should do it alone.

As she grumbled inwardly, Marisa realized that if things continued that way, only a future where her son went mad, spiraled out of control, and met a miserable downfall awaited.

Oh dear… my head hurts.
I truly don’t know anymore.

“Mother? Are you all right?”

Blinking once, she saw Cecilia half-rising from her seat, her face filled with concern.
The hand holding her glass trembled slightly, her expression threatening to crumple into tears.

Marisa hurriedly waved her hand.
“I’m fine. It’s just…”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been getting headaches because of Alec…”

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, Cecilia seemed to understand at once.
“It does hurt,” she agreed, immediately sitting back down.

“It’s not only Alec who’s the cause,” Marisa corrected calmly, taking a folded note from her pocket.
As Cecilia flinched upon recognizing her mother’s handwriting, Marisa propped her chin on her hand and leaned forward.

“Cecil.”
“……Yes.”
“You didn’t need to look after her yourself.”

Eyes that had ruled both high society and politics for decades could not be deceived.
Having grasped what her daughter had been thinking when she delivered the verdict, Marisa read the note and clicked her tongue.

“If you were going to take care of her like that, you might as well have made her stay in the convent for the rest of her life.”
“But wouldn’t she have gone back anyway, even if she came out?”
“That may be true, but…”

If Eugénie Rivil had even a shred of sense, after leaving the convent she would have departed the Rivil barony again for the sake of survival.
Once cast out of her family and stripped of her financial foundation, only one path remained.
Returning to the convent.

“There’s a difference between staying voluntarily and being forced to stay,” Cecilia murmured quietly.
“The former is better than the latter… and isn’t ten years enough time to pay for one’s sins?”

“Perhaps.”

Marisa frowned slightly.
Calia Oper, the young countess who had brought her the note, had thoroughly detailed just how rude Eugénie Rivil had been.

I’d like to extend it by another thirty years.

Just as she was about to voice her rising indignation, Cecilia suddenly smiled.
Softly.
Even more gently than before.

It was a smile as refreshing as an unripe apple, yet also serene, calling to mind a spring day filled with apple blossoms.
And yet—why was it?

Though it should have been rare, it looked strangely sorrowful, and without realizing it, Marisa tightened her grip.
Unaware that her cordial glass had begun to tremble.

“Mother.”

At her daughter’s quiet call, Marisa finally surrendered.
“Very well. Let’s do as you wish. If your father voices objections, I’ll persuade him.”

“Thank you.”
“Now then. Let’s completely erase that ill-mannered girl from our memories. Tell me, daughter—have you finished The Hour of Sand?”

Golden eyes lost focus and wandered.
That reaction the moment she brought it up.

Whether sons or daughters, being too quick-witted had its downsides.
Tsk. Marisa worked hard to hide her sulky expression.

“Well, I—I have a little left.”
“How many more days will it take?”
“A week…?”

Marisa smiled quietly, and Cecilia added belatedly,
“Five days…?”
“……”
“Four…”
“……”
“Three, really…”
“……”
“Two days.”

“So, two days it is?”

Having magically reduced a week to two days, Marisa nodded cheerfully.
Whether her daughter across the table looked as though the sky had fallen was of no importance.

“Then in two days, our daughter will be attending social events again?”
“Well, that—”
“No? I wanted to show off how lovely my daughter looks in dresses like the one you’re wearing today. Sniff.”
“I—I will attend…”

Cecil is definitely imagining herself crying and pounding the ground right now.
Accurately reading her daughter’s emotions, Marisa stuck out her tongue inwardly.

If she alone had enjoyed a summer holiday while both her daughter and Alec suffered, she had to pay the price!

“The day after tomorrow is the Lantern Festival, and the following day there’s a boat ride at the Starlight Garden. We can go boating together, right?”
“Yes. From the boat ride onward, I’ll be with you the whole time.”

It seemed she’d finished crying internally.
Cecilia agreed calmly and sipped her cordial.

Marisa scrutinized her daughter carefully, checking once more for any resignation in those golden eyes.
Fortunately, there was none. Only the air of I’ve played enough, now it’s time to work.

Marisa almost asked the question that suddenly came to mind—but stopped.
She closed her lips and let the comfortable silence continue.

It was already four in the afternoon.
That peculiar hour when people feel oddly loosened.
Between lunch and dinner, a fleeting moment that invites laziness.

Even her daughter, sitting with her back straight, looked a little softer.

Marisa reached out and clasped her daughter’s pale, slender hand.
“You’ve worked hard, my child.”
“……Thank you.”

It was a radiant moment, like a rainbow about to shatter.

After Cecilia left, having finished her cordial, Marisa slowly leaned back against the sofa.
Countess Diela appeared quietly and began clearing the glasses.

Staring at the glass her daughter had used, Marisa turned over the question she had been unable to ask.

So tell me, my daughter—why did you slap Alec?
Why did you wear such a sad smile?
And Alicia—why did you push her away, even though you cherished her so much?

…Of course, there was no chance her daughter would answer any of those questions.
Perhaps because both her son and daughter were Lysens, they were stubborn and arrogant in the way only royalty could be.

Marisa let out a deep sigh.
No matter how much she was called the “Mother of the Empire,” she was first and foremost the mother of two children.

Alexis and Cecilia.
Her beloved son and daughter, for whom she would gladly give all ten fingers.

That she valued their happiness more than the safety of the Empire itself was a truth she had to hide—yet a truth nonetheless.
So all she could do was pray.

Before returning to her room, Cecilia stopped by the garden and left a request.

“Could you deliver a bouquet to Miss Besten in my name? Something beautiful and extravagant. Hmm… if you could decorate it with jewels as well, even better.”
“Are there any flowers or gems you have in mind, Your Highness?”
“Not particularly, but could you give it a sensual atmosphere? Charge the cost to me.”
“Understood.”

After expressing her thanks, Cecilia turned lightly and left.

She knew perfectly well that there was no need to give Gabrielle Besten a gift.
But Eugénie Rivil had recited a poem to insult “Cecilia Lysens,” and the fallout had struck “Gabrielle Besten” instead.

There was no reason to look after her, yet Cecilia wanted, belatedly, to at least offer a gift.
Out of moral obligation.
Yes—out of moral obligation.

Passing through the corridor, she looked out the window to see people gathered in small groups playing polo.
One group was playing chess at a nearby table, while another seemed to be enjoying a dice game.

“Ah, there she is.”

Spotting Gabrielle Besten among those playing dice, Cecilia stopped and leaned against the window.

If Eugénie Rivil had insulted Gabrielle Besten, the outcome would have been awkwardly glossed over.
Whether the poem was true or not didn’t matter.
What mattered was that Gabrielle Besten was a commoner with no backing.

But Eugénie Rivil had insulted Cecilia Lysens.
Thus the conclusion became both cold and justified, and people grew more curious about how Eugénie Rivil would be punished.

Because the victim was a Lysens.
Because she was the imperial princess.

Cecilia smiled faintly.

So, Alec—the real reason I stopped you was…
Because I don’t truly have the right either.
As you know, I’m a fake.

The late-afternoon sun cast long shadows.
Cecilia idly stroked the ends of her hair, then resumed walking.

It had been an exhausting day.

No one was surprised by the end of “Eugénie Rivil.”
Having been born into power, the price for crossing the line was a cruel law, and her fate was only natural.

Some noticed and praised the princess’s leniency.
Some mocked the fall of a so-called genius poet.
Others were shocked that the Rivil barony itself had survived.

Exactly half a day after the verdict became known, no one in Sharten spoke of Eugénie Rivil.
With the summer holiday bordering on a festival, there was no reason to ruin the mood by discussing a criminal.

Instead, as if bound by an unspoken promise, they all longed for the imperial princess.

“Miss Besten received a bouquet from Her Highness!”
“I heard there was an amber necklace hidden among the golden roses? She must have been the most hurt, yet how thoughtful…”
“Lady Oper, when will Her Highness grant us the honor?”
“Look forward to the boat ride, Countess Illis.”
“Oh my! That’s tomorrow!”

Amid the countess’s clapping, the rumors spread joyfully.

While Sharten searched for her—or not—the “center of attention” was sprawled in a lounge chair.
After finishing the cleanup the day before yesterday and having tea yesterday with Blanche and Calia, she had finally regained a quiet day.

Cecilia gazed at the now-finished The Hour of Sand and weakly stroked the spine.
“I should return it once I’m back in Pongrep.”
Ah—come to think of it, she needed to find that “book” as well.

“I need to hurry.”
As quickly as possible. For Alec and Blanche’s sake, too…

At some point, she dozed off.
When she woke from a roughly four-hour nap, all outside noise had vanished.

Perhaps because the sunlight had taken on a yellow-red hue, she felt as though she were sinking endlessly into stillness.
She rose slowly, fixing her disheveled hair.

As if scolding her for sleeping uncomfortably, her neck and waist protested loudly.
“Oof…”

Groaning, she headed to the bathroom.
After drying her wet hair and stepping onto the balcony, the sky was unmistakably red.

Twilight—the symbol of a day’s end—was always a sorrowful color.
Beyond the edge of red light, past the golden clouds, lay “Hesperia,” they said.
The eternal resting place ruled by Nyx, goddess of death and beauty.

Cecilia slowly lowered her hand that held the towel.

Before she could sink into gloomy thoughts, lively voices were thankfully carried on the wind.
They belonged to people heading toward the coast for the Lantern Festival.

The Rivil barony won’t be among them, will it?

She turned away calmly.
No one would be looking for them anymore… though it wasn’t only their case.

No one would be looking for her either.
In truth, she hoped that was the case.

There was no truth that could be hidden forever, and she too would have to leave someday, before it was too late.
So she wished that no one—no one at all—would come looking for her—

“Thought you’d be alone.”

At the low voice suddenly speaking from behind, Cecilia spun around in shock.
A man stood arrogantly, his feet planted in the twilight.

Even the overflowing spectacle of light, even the storm of colors swirling around, were overwhelmed by his lofty presence.
A cruel—almost violent—kind of allure.

It seized the eye and bewitched the viewer entirely.

After gazing down at her for a long moment, the man stepped down leisurely.
Despite the fierce wind flapping his shirt, his bare white feet balanced precariously atop the railing.

Though backlit and hard to see, the crooked curve of his lips was unmistakable.

“I’ve come to take you with me, sister.”