TTCF 50

chapter 50

(2023.09.19)

At the hour when the whole world is steeped in a dark blue light, Peter’s steps passed one by one the pillars lined up along the corridor. Between the identical, endlessly stretching marble columns, the long shadow of the man walking created the illusion that one of the pillars had stepped out of line. Especially so because his gait didn’t look like that of an ordinary person, but rather as though he had lost his way.

It had been ten years since Peter returned to the imperial palace. Yet even in his own home, he often pretended to lose his way. In truth, there was no way he could ever be lost in a place where he had been born and raised all his life—he knew what building lay if he turned left here, when the lights would go out—just as clearly as he knew the lines on his own palm. But since there was nowhere in the palace where he truly felt he belonged, he was forever a lost man in his own house.

Was it because of the “marking”? Or was it because every love that ran through the dragon bloodline was, at its root, some form of madness?

The existence of a “mate” so desperately required by the House of Ponderayen sometimes felt more like a curse when he thought of it. What could be more insane than making another person part of yourself? They were not divine beings, yet those born with sacred blood grew up weaving the noose that would one day hang them. Only after they had thrust their heads into the loop did they realize it was their lifeline.

The rope they had to grasp to stay alive.
The rope that, sooner or later, would sever their life.

Until his mind began to be devoured by madness—until he erased Lowell with his own hand—Peter had known he existed in this world because he could think of Lowell.

No matter where he was or what shape he took, as long as Lowell existed, the world around him always looked the same. He had not loved the world, but the girl he loved had never once failed to love the seasons, all year round.

He could almost believe that everything in the world existed to make her happy. The girl always had something to wait for: when spring came, the blooming of flowers; in summer, the ripening of green grapes; in autumn, the coloring of the leaves; in winter, the falling of snow.

If the world turned simply to fulfill her expectations—if flowers bloomed, grapes ripened, leaves turned, and snow fell only so she could look forward to the next moment—then even Peter might have felt his wearisome life was colorful.

For the girl who was his world and his color—his everything—was Lowell.

But with Lowell’s absence, Peter’s world had transformed into something completely different. It was like showing a blind man a world full of color and then taking his sight away again. Ironically, Peter could understand every Ponderayen who had gone mad after losing their mate. They had willingly put the noose around their necks, only to find there was nothing in the world to hook it to, leaving them stranded.

For a Ponderayen, a mate was not merely a lifelong companion. It was their only means of staying connected to the world, their single path to feeling the world as ordinary people did.

The tragedy lay only in the fact that they realized this at the moment they lost their mate.

And still, Peter envied them. At least they had once had a whole, living mate.

His own marking was a half-thing. A wing torn away before it had ever been fully unfurled.

If only I had never known.

If only he had never known such a world existed, such feelings existed. Without ever truly seeing the world, his eyelids had already closed again. And the day they would reopen would never come.

And so today too, the blind man wandered lost. Playing back in his mind a conversation from not long ago:

“If Lady Lowell Hessen were alive, Your Majesty, would you seek her out?”

It was an answer no one—not even Peter—had been able to give. Again, Peter had not replied to Noah. But it wasn’t because he didn’t know the answer. Quite the opposite.

Peter had known it instinctively the moment he heard the question.

I would.

If Lowell were alive, he would cast aside everything to find her. Even if she were fated to die tomorrow, even if she were maimed, even if she had forgotten him and married another—it didn’t matter.

He would find her, kneel before her, and beg:

Please… love me, just once.

Without you, I can feel nothing; without you, I can touch nothing. My life becomes whole only with you. If you would love me just once, I would offer anything at your feet.

Peter knew the feeling of begging even in thought. He knew he could become as pathetic, as selfish as necessary when it came to Lowell.

And so he could never say it aloud.

How… how could I dare?

To say “I’ll give you everything, so love me” — what a ridiculous story that would be.

He had ruined Lowell’s family, her life, everything. To say now that he could give her anything—how could that sound like anything but deceit to her ears?

So Peter said nothing. And Noah withdrew his question.

“If Your Majesty is deeply troubled, I will not press further. But remember, this is only a possibility.”

“…I know.”

“No matter how much Annette Martinek resembles Lowell Hessen, the traces of Annette Martinek’s life are far clearer than any assumption that Lowell Hessen survived.”

If anything had been made clear by this incident, it was only that “Annette Martinek” and “Lowell Hessen” had lived truly different lives—were indeed two different people.

Whatever confusion sat in Peter’s mind, Annette’s life’s traces were too vivid. If she had been left a vegetable by magic overuse and then recovered her consciousness through healing, it was still more plausible than the idea that Lowell had survived that fire and lived on until now.

And yet, if she really were—just by the slimmest chance—if she truly were—

If she really were Lowell.

Then all the confusion in Peter’s head would vanish in an instant.

His confusion about Annette’s purpose existed solely because Annette had no reason at all to want a place by Peter’s side.

But if she were Lowell, there would be no need to look far for the reason. There would be no reason for confusion. It had been his father who burned down Lowell’s world. Why else would she come all the way here, hiding her true identity, except for revenge?

If he ever met Lowell again, Peter thought, there was only one thing she would want:

My life.

As he wandered aimlessly, the winter wind clawed sharply at his cheeks, yet his heart felt hot. Anger, emptiness, questions—none of it faded, leaving only a stifling heat.

At last Peter stopped walking somewhere. He saw people who recognized him bow their heads in haste. Passing through the familiar corridor as those around him naturally stepped aside, he came to a door he had never wanted to grow familiar with.

Things he had not wanted to grow used to, yet had. Faces he had wanted to forget, yet could not.

Opening the door and stepping inside, he met the face he had loved, staring at him in slight surprise.

A face he had repeated to himself countless times was not the same, yet every meeting made him forget all he had told himself. The source of all his confusion.

“Annette Martinek.”

A dry voice slipped from Peter’s lips. His burning insides were filled with nothing but acrid smoke, and so what poured out felt only like that. Would the day come when he too was consumed by this blaze, as the Hessen mansion had once been?

Peter wanted to crush the woman’s throat right there, to break her slender neck so she could never look up at him again. To leave her gasping for air, and when tears streamed from those emotionless eyes—would the fire inside him finally die then?

But Peter could not do it. And so the only words he could speak were:

“Lowell, try killing me.”

Did she get found out?

At the man’s abrupt words, Lowell felt as though she had been struck hard on the head.

She clearly remembered their peaceful conversation that morning. They had laughed and talked, and the atmosphere between them had been kinder than ever. In that moment, they might even have passed for ordinary lovers.

Finally, she had thought, this man is falling back into my hands. She had felt she could almost pat her stomach in triumph. Had her body not been in such wretched condition, Lowell might even have been humming today.

Of course, thanks to Miheyu’s help, her dreadful mood had returned despite her dreadful body.

At this rate, there will be no problem going forward.

She felt the day she could end her life in the palace was near. When that time came, she would be free of this long, bitter chain. No more loneliness. No more guilt. No more lowering her head because she could not even weep.

So before going to bed, she had opened a book for the first time in a while. The Age of Pride was one of her favorites.

Not because she enjoyed it. Reading a madman’s praise of death always made her own wish for the end clearer.

A death everyone can accept.

There had been a hidden sentence in what she had said to Shimoren.

A death everyone could accept was not enough. What she wanted was one everyone knew, and everyone could accept.

My death.

For it would be suicide.