TTCF 42

chapter 42

2023.09.11.

The fact that two people born on the same day both had black hair and both suffered from the same illness was, in any case, suspicious.

Of course, Lowell said he only began to fall ill after the severe fever he had at age ten.

Still, it couldn’t be ruled out that a preexisting condition had worsened due to that fever.

At any rate, it was certain the illness was a link between the two of them, so it was worth looking into.

“Find out more about Anette’s illness. You may even arrange for her to be examined. Use whatever means necessary, but we must confirm the details.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

After Simoren, having received the order, departed, Peter remained deep in thought. He was mulling over what Simoren had reported about Anette.

What Simoren relayed was that today Anette had attended Cléch’s tea party. And there, without batting an eye, she lied and deceived everyone.

[That made me think about a few things.]

[Such as?]

[First, I was relieved, thinking perhaps the matter troubling Your Majesty could be resolved more easily than expected. And the second is…]

Simoren paused as if choosing his words, or perhaps as if wary whether he should even speak them.

[I found myself afraid, wondering—from where to where might such a consummate liar have lied?]

Simoren was stiff and overly cautious by nature, yet once someone crossed that boundary, he tended to trust more easily than most. Knowing this about him, Peter could only chuckle at his remark.

“Is that something to fear? If you believe nothing, then there is nothing to fear.”

“I would like to do that, but… after watching Lady Anette closely, I’ve realized something.”

There are moments in conversation—too ambiguous to fully distrust, yet too uncertain to simply believe.

And Anette had an uncanny knack for slipping right into those moments.

[If I close my ears to everything she says, I feel like a fool. Almost as though she is toying with me right to my face.]

[And what did she say?]

[She admitted it was her doing that Your Majesty received the ribbon, but she denied any part in what happened afterward.]

[Sophistry.]

[I thought so too. Yet on the way back in the carriage, she said it again—asked whether perhaps what she told Lady Cléch was in fact the truth.]

Persistent question marks thrown at just the right spots unsettle people, making it unclear whether to trust or to doubt her words.

[And then she said this—that her jealousy toward Lady Cléch was genuine. That she herself had nothing.]

[Not the kind of thing a Duke’s daughter would say. Obviously false, isn’t it?]

*[I think so too, but… strangely, those words did not sound entirely false.] *

Rationally, Anette Martinek was a woman who spoke nothing but lies.

Yet when facing her directly, her words carried an odd ring of sincerity.

At moments when one should believe, she lied. But the very words that seemed transparently false somehow rang true. Was that not strange?

[In the end I wondered… does she, knowing I block my ears with distrust, deliberately mix truths among her lies?]

At those words, something crossed Peter’s mind.

[Then, Simoren… you mean you began to doubt your own distrust?]

[That would be the most accurate way to put it.]

Doubt of distrust.

That was the very last thing Lowell had said to Peter.

[If one day you begin to doubt your own distrust, come find me.]

Unconditional distrust becomes, in itself, a kind of blind trust.

[Trust is not some lofty thing. It’s simply a matter of choosing whether to accept the information you are given or not. That’s all.]

At last, Peter understood Anette’s words. Whether to distrust or not wasn’t the point—either way, it circled back to a form of trust. If you tell the truth to those who distrust you, and lies to those who trust you, then in the end no one can ever know the real answer.

And so he felt compelled to seek Anette out.

Because he no longer trusted in distrust itself.

When he opened the door, he saw a woman by the floor-to-ceiling window, bathed in moonlight, eyes closed.

Her black hair spilled over her shoulder, the stillness so deep not even the sound of breath could be heard. The sight evoked an image of a woman at the very end of her life. Even the shadow of her lashes on her cheek looked like tears. Or perhaps it was the sharp, uncanny silence surrounding her that created such an illusion.

With eyes closed, she seemed unshakably solid, as though nothing could disturb her calm. Yet when those eyes opened, in an instant her face became fragile beyond all measure.

Like a child woken from a nap. Like a summer rose suddenly struck by winter’s chill.

“…I didn’t want to be alone.”

Closed-eyed, she had seemed untouchable; yet with eyes open, how could a person’s presence change so completely?

“Please stay with me.”

What created such a difference?

Peter realized Simoren had not exaggerated.

She was a woman one ought only to distrust, her every word surely designed to ensnare.

And yet, seeing that unshakable mask crumble before him, suddenly it no longer mattered whether her words were true or false.

Even though he stood here with the intent to doubt.

“If anyone saw us, they’d think you’d been waiting for me.”

“Shall I say I was?”

Anette rose to her feet as she retorted. Her slow, quiet steps brought her closer, and when their shadows merged, her face emerged from the dark. Unlike her usual demeanor, it was expressionless, cold.

Simoren had said she smiled often, that she was unexpectedly cheerful. But Peter, every time he saw her, could not shake the sense that this was her real face—the blank one.

A face as if indifferent to everyone else. Her smiles were beautiful, yes, but somehow contrived.

“Saying pleasant things isn’t so hard. Especially if it’s for Your Majesty.”

“Then try it.”

“I even considered coming to find you, if you didn’t come yourself.”

Her fingertips brushed Peter’s shoulder—no, just barely touched it.

The delicate path traced down his broad shoulder, lingering against his collarbone, was subtle yet brazen. Her gaze followed her own hand upward until it locked with his.

“I thought I wouldn’t feel anything, but… that night, I can’t forget.”

“What night?”

Peter’s hand caught her arm. Their arms twined like serpents, eyes drawing close.

“When Your Majesty kissed me.”

“Even on our wedding night, you were clumsy.”

“Because Your Majesty is my first.”

One of Peter’s brows lifted, as though he couldn’t believe that.

“There are those who teach how to pretend clumsiness, too.”

At that, Anette laughed. She only narrowed her eyes and let out a soft smile, yet Peter swore he could hear her laughter. Was it truly hers? Or was it Lowell’s, echoing in his memory?

Then, silently smiling, she rose on tiptoe, pressing her lips close to Peter’s cheek. A whisper brushed his skin.

“Then… would you like to check?”

Which side was her true nature?

The words had barely left her lips before their mouths met. It was a fierce kiss, as though releasing all the repressed desire. Anette’s arms, entwined with his, now wrapped around his shoulders, and the heated breaths they exchanged filled every inch with longing.

In truth, it was an act of pure indulgence. Nothing else came to mind—Peter focused solely on stealing Anette’s breath. Those lips, that tongue once used to weave cunning words, now existed only to press against his.

After what felt like forever, Anette, unable to withstand it, pushed him away. Peter let himself be pushed, only to lean in again, touching his lips to hers once more. It was nothing more than a gentle press of lips, like the kiss he had once shared with Lowell long ago before leaving.

But here they were no longer fifteen-year-old children. And after the breathless passion just before, this could never again be pure or innocent. Amid ragged breaths, flushed with heat, they met again in stolen kisses.

As Anette caught her breath, Peter lifted her onto the desk. She was even lighter than he had expected.

“You ought to eat more.”

“Wouldn’t gaining weight make me look worse?”

“For eating you up, it would be better.”

Anette burst out in a soft laugh at his joke.

“Then right now, do I look bad?”

“You do. Because I can’t see what’s inside.”

Whether poison lurked within, whether she would harm him if he consumed her—Peter’s raw words made her lower her eyes, lips twitching faintly.

He had always been the man she had to look up to. But now, seated on the desk, their eyes were nearly level. The strange feeling gave her the sense that, if she reached out, she could pull him into her arms fully.

Just like in the old days.