Betrayal of Dignity - Chapter 29

29. The Mad King


The coronation was held with great magnificence. Damien swore before God that he would devote his life to the prosperity of Swanton. A large reward was placed on the head of Johannes, who fled the castle. This was the beginning of the Tisse Dynasty.

Instead of holding parties, the royal court held meetings every day. Before socializing began, the nobles and citizens who attended the council swallowed their saliva in an instinctive nervousness the moment they saw the policies listed by Damien. There was no question the King could not answer, but on the contrary, there were many who were caught off guard by his questions.

It was as if they had personally verified how much insight a person could have if they thought about it over and over again. This was because Damien had already established a clear ideal for the country in his head. The council members immediately realized that he had not prepared for this position in the year or two since the war. They also realized that Damien was a natural leader and how much he had endured while watching the absurd behavior of his own blood relatives.

The situation in the kingdom, which seemed to have fallen into the worst state of chaos since its founding, quickly calmed down. The Carter Duchy quickly noticed Swanton's situation and felt threatened, so they put pressure on him by raising tariffs, but Damien responded with a hard-line measure of withdrawing from trade negotiations.

It was judged that the relationship with the Carter Duchy, which had been at war and at truce for half a century, could not get any worse. In addition, the fact that the heir to the Duchy who had recently ascended to the throne possessed the most tyrannical temperament ever seen in the Duchy was also a factor. Damien decided that an alliance with a human who had shot and killed his subordinate in front of his pregnant wife for insulting his government was impossible.

Given Damien's disposition of not trusting the irrational and despising superficiality, it would have been better not to meet the King of Carter.

“Did Johannes hide in the Carter Duchy?”

“I'm sure.”

Damien dryly agreed with Weiss's words. If the new leader of the duchy was a stupid lunatic, then he would be a good match for Johannes, and if he was a quick-witted lunatic, then it was obvious that he would use Johannes to pressure Swanton.

“John cannot escape on his own.”

“There may also be restrictions on the movement of travelers to and from the Carter Duchy, so we will take action as soon as possible.”

“I should have listened to you and killed him a long time ago.”

“...You’re not the type of person who would have regrets.”

“Well, I guess I’m getting old.”

Weiss's eyebrows drew together as Damien spoke softly, sticking his quill into the inkwell. The strange weariness felt at the end of the words of someone who had never once lost confidence in his own desires was unfamiliar.

“If my father had heard that, he would have been furious.”

"Give my regards to the old Count. His youngest son, whom I acquired at fifty, has helped me greatly."

Weiss looked at the smiling Damien and opened his mouth after hesitating.

“When will Her Majesty the Queen’s funeral be held…?”

Damien's blue eyes slowly darkened as if he were sinking. His long eyelashes fluttered slightly, revealing his agitation. Weiss lowered his voice even further.

“Don’t you know better than anyone that there are many eyes in the palace?”

Damien twisted his lips as he realized what he meant.

“Maybe it’s your preference to sleep with a coffin next to you?”

Weiss couldn’t continue her words at the self-deprecating question and just swallowed dry saliva. How long could he keep quiet about the fact that the Queen’s charred body, filled with preservative agents, was in the King’s bedroom? If the rumor spread, it would be a situation where people would say that he was no different from Johannes, who had a mental illness. While there was suspicion that Johannes’ madness was inherited from his father’s side rather than his mother’s, Damien stood up.

"I'm kidding."

The young King chuckled softly, lightly patting Weiss’s stiff shoulder. Weiss couldn’t help but laugh along, because he knew he wasn’t joking. It had been two months since the Queen had died. Damien had not been able to accept her death.

“Your Majesty, I cannot serve a mad King.”

As Weiss hesitated and spoke softly, a spark flew in Damien's eyes.

“If you don’t want to see what real madness is, can you just leave me alone?”

In an instant, his blue pupils turned halfway up as he grabbed Weiss by the collar, revealing the bloodshot whites of his eyes.

“...Damien.”

Weiss's eyes shook with worry and anxiety as he called his name for the first time in years. Weiss was that serious.

“You know better than anyone that you are not normal right now.”

Damien's deeply shut eyelids trembled silently. His jaw was tense and stiff, and the blue veins on his neck clearly showed his condition.

“...Be like yourself... Please, act like Tisse.”

The hand that had been violently gripping Weiss’s jacket finally slowly released its grip. The sunken eyelids turned upward, revealing Damien’s deep eyes.

“The funeral will be held in ten days.”

It was as if he were to sentence himself to death. It was as if he were thinking of a volcano quietly exploding and swallowing everything in its path into lava. Vice quietly lowered his head and chewed his lip as Damien turned around and headed toward the bedroom.

***

Chloe von Tisse of the Swanton Kingdom died young.

Twenty-three. Born as the daughter of a lower-class noble, she unexpectedly became a Duchess, and after her death, she was given the title of Queen. This was because the Duke ascended to the throne at the same time as her death.

Compared to the modest wedding, the funeral was grand. Many nobles lined the Rose Castle in Swanton, the new royal palace, to mourn the death of the King's consort in a tragic accident. The people bowed their heads in the streets for the unfortunate woman who became Queen after her death, Duchess Chloe von Tisse.

Another tragedy was that none of her immediate family attended her funeral. The Viscount de Verdier, who had been bedridden by the death of his eldest daughter, the pride of the family, was too ill to travel long distances, and the Queen's sister was missing. It was on the deck of a transcontinental steamer that the only relative, Lady Talbot, heard the news of her death.

Instead of her family, there were many servants who mourned her death. The servants who worked at the castles of Birch and Verdier received special permission to enter the palace and came all together. The maids shed tears, and the male servants could not hide their sorrowful expressions. Chloe was buried in the castle’s backyard, covered with colorful rose vines.

Damien's Chloe

Fall asleep here.

Raindrops fell heavily on the newly carved tombstone. Raindrops repeatedly struck the beautiful rose petals of various colors. It was the beginning of the spring rainy season.

***

Damien stood facing the window, staring at the rain pouring down as if there were holes in the sky. It had been three days since Chloe was buried in the rose garden. It had been sixty-three and a half days since she died. It would have been normal for him to have come to terms with reality at this point.

And he is, undeniably, abnormal.

If he thinks about it, he's done enough. He's even made a promise to himself that the moment the cold earth is sprinkled on her coffin, he'll admit everything. It took 60 days to make that decision, and he finally buried her in the ground. Chloe was buried in the exact spot where she had knelt down to him that night, when the scent of roses wafted on the wind, and promised to do anything for him.

The woman who was supposed to be the Queen of the country he created is dead. She has disappeared from this world. She was unable to escape the burning hut due to her bad legs.

Damien had indirectly experienced the horror of the pain of burning to death. It was when he set fire to the enemy barracks during the war. The screams that sounded like hell, along with the sound of cannons, echoed through the dark night.

Damien swallowed dryly, his eyes closed as he recalled the hut burning before his eyes. The bones of his clenched fists stood out. He had always condemned the foolish waste of time to speculate on what might have been, and the foolish self-consolation of regretting the past.

He still thinks that it is much more reasonable to regret what he has already done and to do something else productive when he has time to imagine different situations.

But the problem was that his mind was starting to spin apart from his reason.

Damien's mind was always full of tens of thousands of assumptions and regrets, on the verge of explosion. Every moment, endless assumptions reared their heads like black, slithering, poisonous snakes.

If only he had taken her to Swanton. If only he had not left her alone.

No, if only he had realized his feelings a little earlier and formally proposed to her.

Instead of feeling the urge to slit his throat in a terrible sense of defeat at this moment, he would have been kissing Chloe's delicate nape while listening to the sound of the rain. He would have wet his lips with sweet tears rolling down her reddened eyes, giving her an unbearable pleasure and making her even wetter. Just like he always did.

He covered his face with his dry hands and took a deep breath. The image of Chloe's charred body found in the burning cabin came back to his mind.

He felt miserable, hoping that she would suffocate to death before the fire could spread to her body. All he could hope for was that she would feel a little less pain. It was so useless to assume that she was already dead, but it was so useless that it drove him crazy.

Chloe's screams as she cries out in burning pain all over her body are ringing in his ears.

Damien. Damien...!

Did Chloe actually call his name in her last moments? Does he have any confidence in that fact?

Damn, what's the use of it now? It's all over now.

Damien stared at his own distorted face reflected in the glass. He knew better than anyone else that he needed to come to his senses, without Weiss having to point it out. He wanted to shout that this wasn’t him, that he wasn’t a miserable, alone man who would regret and brood, but it was even more maddening to know that it was true. As he opened his sunken eyes and bit his lips, he heard a sound behind him.

"Your Majesty."

Paul, the butler who was now the King's attendant, approached him cautiously, holding a small leather book in his hand.

"What."

Paul opened his mouth with difficulty, his expression cautious as Damien gave him a dry look.

“This is an item that arrived from Tisse’s post office.”

Damien took the book from him. His long, bloodless fingers turned the green leather cover, revealing a row of small papers. It was a stamp book.

A dry sneer burst from Damien's lips. The veins in his neck bulged as he looked at the stamp depicting a snow-covered, gray-brown birch tree overlaid with tiny blue flower petals.

"Ha ha ha..."

Damien, who was shrugging his shoulders and letting out a dry laugh, slammed the booklet down on the desk.

“Isn’t it funny? A wedding commemorative stamp is issued after the bride has died.”

The snow-covered birch trees of Tisse and the blue forget-me-nots of Verdier. The two family crests matched each other like a pair. His red pupils, with their blood vessels bursting, shook dizzily as he stared at the open stamp book.

“Madam.. No, it is said that this is a painting that Her Majesty the Queen personally commissioned before the accident occurred. I brought it because I thought I should let you know, but I was short-sighted.”

As Paul lowered his head with a complicated expression and clasped his hands together, Damien chewed his lip and mocked himself.

“I’m not saying anything to you. It’s just that this whole thing feels like a farce.”

What if this had happened to someone else? Damian would have laughed at the man, calling him the most stupid male in the world, and blamed him for the misfortune that had befallen him.

"Sorry."

“You can go out.”

Paul stepped aside, and Damien was left alone again. The bitter water welled up inside him as the sound of the rain grew louder. Night. His and her time.

He stared into space in silence, then opened the display case on impulse. The greenish liquor was sloshing around at the bottom of the bottle. Damian drank the entire bottle. Will he see her today? The cheap liquor that causes hallucinations. If he had drunk this much, she would probably have shown up once, but his lover never showed up even once.

His throat rippled as he drank the bitter liquor like water. There had never been a failure in Damien Ernst von Tisse’s life. Born into the highest nobility, he grew up receiving a full education, and he was also supported by strong and wise people. The seeds of success and desire that he had been born with blossomed into a tree of enormous size and spread out branches.

He had never failed, but he was not particularly afraid of failure either. He had the confidence and strong belief that he could recover from anything that came his way.

But Chloe von Tisse was a failure from which he could never recover. The first woman he ever loved had completely ended him. If there were a way to reconnect the severed ties, he would have done anything cruel.

If only there was a fucking way.

A rough breath escaped from Damien's dry lips as he trembled. He had kept the rotting corpse by his side because he wanted to meet her soul. He didn't care if it was a dream or a hallucination. But Chloe never came to see him.

“Fuck... Chloe.”

A wet moan like a sigh flowed out from the teeth that were clenched and clenched. This was exactly what made Damien unbearable. His wife completely blocked his chance to ask for forgiveness. By running away across the river of death.

The bottle of liquor he was holding hit the edge of the desk with a sharp sound and shattered. He felt his pulse pounding and lifted his hand, and a long line of blood flowed from his palm down his forearm. The slight pain did nothing to clear his hazy mind.

“Your Majesty, please remain still.”

Damien gripped the broken glass tightly. Then his wife, Chloe, would raise her voice and open her eyes like a startled doe.

“I clearly told you to stay still...!”

He couldn't bear it. Thinking of her face, relying on the hallucinations he had created, this situation was driving him crazy. He couldn't accept the reality that he couldn't hold her in his hands. He felt like he was going crazy because he couldn't touch her soft hair that had flowed like ribbons, her cheeks and nape that blushed easily, her waist that revealed a subtle curve, and her knees that looked like they would break.

"Ha..."

I'd rather die. If I die, will I be able to see you?

His face reflected in the glass was distorted. Damien reached out and rubbed the glass where his face was reflected, and red blood spread. Chloe's voice seemed to ring in his ears.

“You’re making a boring joke, Damien.”

“I’m not joking.”

Damien let out a scratchy whisper. Chloe let out a small laugh.

“The river of death splits into two, heaven and hell... There’s no way God would send you and me to the same place.”

Bang!

Damien's face was shattered in the window. Raindrops poured over the broken window and soaked his face. When this terribly capricious season ends, this feverish feeling will end. It will. Certainly... Certainly.

***

A plump, red-haired man was urging the royal guards in the rain.

“His Majesty really asked me to send the items to the royal palace!”

“Go back. Before I drag you out.”

The man raised his voice with a red face, his neck squeezing tightly into a shirt that looked a little too small.

“Then, wouldn’t it be okay if you just gave him the item? It’s a precious item, so I wanted to give it to him myself, but if I can’t meet His Majesty, please just give him this.”

“Do you know what’s inside and can tell me? If you want to present a gift to His Majesty, you must go through the official process.”

“I really want to thank His Majesty...! Even though I look like this, I’m rich. I have a lot of money! I even brought Julian Wyatt’s music!!!”

As Redbeard howled, the guard standing guard at the gate let out a long sigh.

“Look at this, can’t you clearly see His Majesty the King’s handwriting?”

The guard's expression changed slightly when he saw the check the man had taken out of his coat like a treasure. If the item the man had brought in on the cart was really what the King had requested, he was reluctant to turn him away like this.

“Once you leave the item behind, I’ll report it to my superiors. I can’t say for sure what will happen after that.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Redbeard smiled brightly and handed the large umbrella he was holding to the uniformed guard.

“No, I don’t need an umbrella...”

“Not you, my gramophone.”

Redbeard raised his bushy finger and warned the guard to do his best to keep the gramophone dry, then turned around. He had never been lucky in his life, and the best luck he had ever had was meeting His Majesty the King on the train to Tisse.

“Hey! What’s your name?”

As the guard belatedly shouted from afar, the man running through the rain laughed and shouted.

“Taylor, the phonograph man! Laurence Taylor of Winsbury!”

Thanks to His Majesty the King, he was able to gain access to the best musicians in the kingdom, and his business flourished. He pulled his hat down low, hoping that his gift would at least provide some comfort to the King, who was heartbroken by the loss of his Queen.

***

The season of Swanton, where the scent of roses wafted, passed quickly and it was late autumn, when the wind that touched the tip of the nose became cold. The people were no longer surprised by the name of the new King, and the kingdom regained peace.

The change to a new era was taking place slowly but surely. The style of fashionable dress changed, and carriages and automobiles ran together on the streets. Among the poor nobles who lived with empty titles, more people had professional jobs. There was also an interesting situation where rich businessmen paid poor nobles to learn their etiquette to acquire culture.

Change inevitably comes with resistance. The Tisse Dynasty adopted a paradoxical method of further strengthening royal authority to minimize the resistance of the old power. They employed talented people regardless of their status, pushed lower-level nobles to pressure the upper class, and visited the territory without notice to check the local atmosphere and eliminate any possible rebellions. Damien, who had already thought about all forms of rebellion himself, was the monarch best suited to this situation.

“Do you know a man named Lawrence Taylor?”

It was in the car on the way back after finishing the factory inspection. Damien looked out the car window and gave a short answer to Weiss’s question that had suddenly opened his mouth.

“I don’t know.”

“Excuse me.”

It had been ten days since he returned to Swanton. Unlike Johannes, who rarely left the palace, Damien inspected the local lands without rest. It was natural that he had more work to do than before he ascended to the throne, and Damien was also handling the many schedules as if he had been waiting for them.

To say he was working too hard was an understatement. He seemed to be deliberately working himself to death, not even sleeping. The royal and local papers carried the King's accomplishments on their front pages every day.

When the first photograph of the King, taken amid a flash of lightning, was printed and distributed around the kingdom, it was no surprise that the people’s support soared. People were enthusiastic about the birth of a young King with a strong gaze.

“Have you looked at the list I gave you yesterday?”

"Roughly."

“What do you think...?”

“This problem won’t be solved by getting rid of the leaders who led the strike. There are certainly some valid points in what they are demanding. The problem will be negotiations with the factory owner.”

Weiss swallowed dryly with an uncomfortable expression, because he realized that the list Damien was talking about and the list he was talking about were different.

“It’s not a list of strikers, it’s a list of prospective brides.”

"Ah."

Only then did Damien let out a short exclamation. Weiss cleared his throat, feeling a sense of guilt surge up in him without him knowing why.

“We have selected noble ladies of high virtue and ladies from universities with outstanding academic achievements.”

Weiss loved the Duchess quite a bit and was saddened by her death, but that didn't mean Damien could live alone for the rest of his life. This was especially true when he had ascended to the throne as a monarch ruling a country. Damien's mother, Priscilla, also worried deeply about the King living alone, though she couldn't say it out loud.

“Why don’t you choose for yourself? I think I would be happy to marry the bride chosen by the Prime Minister.”

"Yes?"

Damien smiled slightly as he locked eyes with Weiss, who couldn't hide his embarrassed expression.

“I’m joking. Don’t worry, I’ll look into it carefully and choose the one that best suits me.”

His relaxed demeanor and joking speech were no different than before, but it was clear that he had completely changed. As one of those who saw Damien most in private, Weiss could sense that something had definitely died in his eyes.

His mother must have been worried about that, too. Weiss's expression darkened even more. The King still couldn't get out of the swamp of sorrow.

"Weiss "

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Weiss, who had been lost in thought, straightened his posture and looked at him.

“But who is that? The Lawrence Taylor you mentioned earlier.”

His sharp personality, which doesn't overlook even the smallest things, remains the same, so perhaps he should rely on the power of time. Weiss thought to himself as he recited the report from the security chief in detail.

“He is a merchant from Winsbury. He seemed to be a peddler, but he said he had something to give to Your Majesty. I checked Your Majesty’s seal on the check and took the goods for now.”

“What was that?”

“It’s a new gramophone and a record with Wyatt’s music on it.”

The expression disappeared from Damien's face. He stared at Weiss in silence for a moment, then finally turned his head to the window where the autumn rain was falling. Damien's dry voice continued to Weiss, who was wondering how to end the suddenly interrupted conversation.

“Weiss, do you believe in karma?”

Weiss opened his mouth after thinking for a moment about his rambling question.

“I believe that there is judgment from God.”

“...What does that mean?”

“I think that karma is ultimately the price paid for one’s mistakes.”

A low laugh echoed through the car. Damien's empty, hollow laugh was completely different from the arrogant, confident laugh he used to hear from him.

“I feel like my karma is coming back to me one by one when I forget about it.”

Damien, wearing old gloves that did not match his fancy attire, clenched his fists.

“Have you ever done anything wrong that goes against God’s will?”

As far as Weiss knew, Damien was far from a tyrant. Damien, who had been chewing his lips with an expression that made it impossible to guess what was on his mind, opened his mouth as if muttering.

“Then I guess your god and my god are different.”

"Your Majesty."

Damien looked at Weiss, who was worried, and whispered lowly.

“Bring Lawrence Taylor’s things to me right now.”

There was an illusion that something strange was flashing in his empty eyes. Weiss, who had no idea what was going on, nodded, feeling himself more relieved by this sight. At least for this moment, he felt that Damien was alive.

“I will convey it immediately, Your Majesty.”

***

The King's bedroom, with its windows covered by red curtains, was dark without a single ray of light. Only the candles on the silver candlesticks, dripping wax, flickered.

A wet sigh escaped Damien's lips. His throat rippled, and sweat formed on his forehead.

The gramophone on the shelf was emitting music through a trumpet-shaped tube. The melody that shook the still air was mixed with increasingly rough breathing.

The red bedroom was now a concert hall with red curtains. Small, delicate wrists. The feel of the round hands that felt like they were pulsating from a young animal. His heart beat with hot desire along with the mad sound of the violin.

Chloe's face flushed as she closed her eyes tightly, imagining kissing him. Her slightly parted lips were trembling. The hands he held were shyly wet, driving him crazy. At that moment, he wanted to feel between the four wet knuckles with his tongue.

"Ha..."

The veins on Damien's raised neck bulged. Something flashed outside, and thunder struck. It was an autumn typhoon. The sound of music was mixed with the sound of heavy rain.

"Shit..."

He closed his eyes and concentrated, desperately thinking of her. He furrowed his brows, waved his arms wildly, and panted hard, like someone running at full speed. The sound of rain. What had the sound of rain been like with her? The sound of rain hitting the roof of the carriage loudly invaded his ears.

Her face, wet and dry, smiling with excitement, came closer to him. A cracked voice flowed from Damien’s lips. The music was now reaching its climax.

“Chloe, Chloe, my love...”

Chloe whispered, letting the rain and tears fall from her long eyelashes at the same time. With a face that couldn't hide its joy. With her pretty eyes squinted, her voice said she couldn't contain her excitement.

“I want to keep dancing with you.”

“Me too. Me too.”

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and ran down the sharp contours of his face.

“Damien, please. Please, Damien.”

Just before the pleasure in his entire body exploded, Damien bit his lip until it bled and opened his eyes wide. It was because her voice disappeared as soon as the music stopped.

“Fuck...!”

He sprang up, letting out a swear word, and the gramophone shattered in his hands, rolling down the shelf. Damien staggered, running his hand through his sweaty hair. His body trembled like a stringed instrument with its bow cut off, and the afterimage that could not be detonated tormented him.

He stared at his own blurry reflection in the stained mirror. He felt disgusted at himself for chasing her afterimage, relying on all the superstitions he hated, and darkening the room to avoid the light. He felt like stabbing himself in the neck.

This is not me.

This is not me.

Damien walked out of the bedroom barefoot, wearing only a robe. The servants tried to stop him, but when they saw his gaze, they retreated. Lightning flashed in the wide hallway. The sound of the heavy rain continued to disturb his mind.

Kookung!

Before he could even take a few steps outside the castle, the heavy rain and wind completely soaked him. The rose garden was off-limits. The guard standing guard in front of the closed iron gate approached him in surprise.

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty...”

“Open.”

He pushed the guard's shoulder, who hesitated in surprise, and the young guard fell to the floor with his legs giving out. Damien opened the iron door covered with withered rose vines and headed inside.

He walked to the very back of the garden where all the leaves had fallen, and finally looked at the tombstone erected on Chloe's grave that appeared before his eyes. Damian's Chloe, sleep here. The cold raindrops beat down on his body without stopping.

No.

You can never sleep.

It was impossible for het to be asleep while she was the only one. Shouldn't his wife be in his bedroom right now? Besides, she hated the cold. He had to kiss her skin, which was cold, several times before she could fall asleep, relying on his body heat.

The Earth is too cold for you, Chloe.

The guards who had been following the King and were at a loss opened their eyes wide in shock when he started digging the Queen's tomb. He got up from where he was digging the dirt with his bare hands and approached the guards.

“Your Majesty... Your Majesty.”

The guards, who had gasped in surprise at the sight of his blue eyes gleaming with madness, trembled even more in fear as the King pulled out his sword from his belt. Damien turned around as if he had no interest in him and cleared the dirt with the back of his sword.

As the coffin finally began to appear, Damien gasped and clenched his teeth. He wanted to show her clearly, even though she didn't even appear in his dreams. That this was him. That he was a villain who could be insulted even if she were dead.

Boom!

A stifled groan escaped his lips, completely soaked by the pouring rain and the peal of thunder. After digging for a long time, he finally climbed into the nailed coffin. The lid rattled in his hands. Damien wanted to know. If she was judging him for his crimes now, he wanted her to appear before his eyes and answer his questions.

“Tell me, Chloe...”

A madman's moan-like whisper escaped Damien's lips. Was she unable to escape from the burning cabin, or was she unable to escape? Was it an accident, or... suicide?

“You have to come before me and talk!”

That was what drove Damien mad the most. What was eating away at his mind and splitting him apart was the fact that Chloe's corpse, which looked like a stick of wood, had no trace of any painful twisting. It was as if she had taken some kind of drug and fallen asleep before setting fire to it.

If so, it is a clear betrayal.

The gift Chloe gave him, who would not let her go, was a betrayal that sacrificed her own body. Her face, whispering with wet eyes that she did not want his love, was vivid. Damien bit his lip and shook his head.

“You can never escape.”

Boom! Boom!

“Do you know? Even after you die, you’re still mine!”

Damien's fist slammed down, cracking the wood. Splinters dug into the flesh, but Damien gripped the coffin lid even harder.

“Ugh!!!”

Eventually, the thick tree that had created a crack fell apart with a cracking sound. Damien stared intently at the corpse that was finally revealed to be nothing but bones.

Inside the coffin containing the jewels of Tisse and the Queen's coffin, there was only a foul smell. Hot tears flowed down Damien's wet face. His whole body felt hot as if a fire had been put into his throat.

“My love... is this you?”

Damien shrugged his shoulders and laughed, unable to believe that the rotting remains were the woman he had loved so much.

Lightning flashed along with the thunder, ripping through the sky. Half of Damien's face, which had been mocking himself, was illuminated with light. It was then that a lightning-like realization struck his mind.

Is this you?

Is this really you?

There was another flash of light. As Paul, who was brought in by the guards who had rushed in, looked at the King, who had broken the Queen's coffin, unable to open his mouth, Damien's pupils inside the coffin became sharp like those of a wild beast that had found its prey.

The jewel of Tisse that fell from the corpse.

It was the only evidence that indicated that it was Chloe who had burned to death in the cabin.

“Hey, that kid didn’t get out. Chloe didn’t get out!”

Thoughts were building up rapidly in Damien's head. None of the servants, who were calling for Madame or his mother, who was falling down while calling for Chloe's name, had seen Chloe in the cabin.

When the people of the castle came running after the security guard reported seeing black smoke, they said that the cabin was already on fire and they couldn't do anything. If he thinks about it, Chloe, who hated him so much, wouldn't have been wearing Tisse's jewel on her body when she was about to die.

The rain grew cold and turned into pieces of ice.

"Ha..."

Chunks of ice the size of a child's fist fell, hitting his shoulder, head, and back. As he watched the heavy hail crashing down into the coffin, Damien felt his heart pounding against his ribs.

"Your Majesty."

Paul knelt beside him, holding his black umbrella high. Damien turned to him with his face pale.

“List.”

"Yes?"

“Bring me the passenger lists of all the trains that left Tisse that day.”

Damien's eyes flashed. Yes. It didn't make sense to end it like this. He had to dig up that day that he had overlooked or refused to know about, blinded by the despair of loss.

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty...”

It was natural that in the eyes of others, he would appear to be a madman chasing after vain hopes. However, Damien had neither the time nor the need to explain the situation to them. After confirming all the facts, he would have to go truly mad.

“No one should be left out. Every single baby animal should be recorded.”

Damien's eyes were bloodshot. It couldn't end like this. This trashy, loser-like figure is not him. To prove that, he has to reveal that Chloe is alive. From this moment on, he's betting the rest of his life on finding out. So, Chloe. You have to be alive.

***

A black carriage raced toward the Rose Garden. It was a dreary day, with all the leaves of the beech trees in the garden gone.

“Gray Wilson has arrived.”

“Let me in.”

Gray appeared in the King's audience chamber. Dressed in black priestly robes, he was the neatest-dressed man Damien had ever seen, but his face was gaunt and rough, a mess.

“It seems like you became a boxer instead of a priest of God?”

He was completely isolated from the outside world in a monastery on a remote island, delving into the doctrines of God, and only learned of Chloe's death after Damien sent someone to find him.

“There was quite a bit of noise as they made a fuss about being allowed to visit Her Majesty the Queen’s grave.”

The captain of the palace guard, who was holding his arm, made a troubled expression. Judging from the fact that his lips were also cracked and covered in blood, it was easy to guess what had happened before.

“Please let me lay flowers on the young lady’s grave.”

“Well, that might be difficult.”

“Why not?”

Damien looked at Gray and dropped the ash from his cigarette.

“I dug up her grave.”

Gray's dark face turned bright red. The guard's jaw tightened as he held him, ready to rush over and grab the King by the collar.

“You are clearly not human, but a demon.”

“What are you doing to His Majesty, Gray! Cherish your life!”

Paul scolded Gray with a shocked expression for insulting the King in front of him, but Damien, who was involved, showed no sign of displeasure. He even seemed satisfied with the expression on his face as he looked at him and laughed softly.

“You may leave, as I would like to have a friendly conversation with Gray Wilson.”

At Damien's command, the servants and attendants all left their seats. Gray glared at him and spat out.

“How does it feel to have finally killed the young lady?”

Damien smiled his picturesque smile once more, staring directly into the hatred and anger burning in his dark eyes. His right shoe clicked on his left knee as he sat on his throne.

“Is it funny?”

Gray's eyes were wet. Since his last meeting with Miss Chloe, he had deliberately built a wall between himself and the outside world and lived in a monastery on a remote southern island. He was afraid of seeing the news in the newspapers, not only because he had completely deceived Chloe into marrying the Duke, but also because Chloe had chosen to be by his side despite knowing all this.

The moment Count Weiss, who found him, informed him of Chloe's death, his mind went blank. He couldn't even sleep a wink as he returned here, changing boats and trains. When the gatekeeper guarding the rose garden refused Gray entry, his heart felt like it was being torn apart. The doctrines of God that he had memorized all this time flew out of his head.

“It’s not funny.”

“Then what is it?”

Gray's voice cracked and trembled. Damien was still smiling brightly. He even had the illusion that the eyes that were staring at him were sparkling and shining.

“What are you so happy about that makes you laugh?”

“It feels good, indeed.”

Damien lit a cigarette and motioned for him to come closer. The knife hidden in his sleeve had long since been taken away, but Gray didn’t care. He walked slowly toward the King, feeling the urge to kill rising. The veins in his clenched fists bulged.

“You really think Chloe is dead, Gray Wilson?”

Gray stopped strangling him because of a word Damien spoke softly. The wispy cigarette smoke slowly dispersed, and his face became clearer.

“What are you talking about now?”

Gray glared at him and muttered. He couldn't understand what nonsense he was talking about when he confessed to personally digging up Chloe's grave so that the dead could not rest in peace.

“Hahaha! At least Chloe didn’t run away holding the hand of the dark-hearted servant. That’s right. That’s what a wise wife should do. Of course, she would have done that.”

A fitful burst of laughter echoed through the spacious room, but Gray's face hardened more and more. Then, the moment he realized that what had been shining in Damien's eyes was madness, his spirits suddenly slackened.

“...Are you in your right mind?”

“I want you to know that even though you’re talking like that, the reason you can live is because I’m in a really good mood right now.”

Without even suppressing his laughter, Damien dropped the cigarette and clasped his long hands together. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and looked at Gray, his blue eyes flashing eerily.

“Gray, can I tell you a secret?”

“...”

“Chloe isn’t dead.”

Gray now had no desire to even deal with Damien. The man before him had lost his mind. It was clear that Johannes' madness was a royal hereditary trait.

“But why is your expression like that? Isn’t it normal for you to be jumping for joy when the person you worship is personally telling you that he or she is alive?”

“Denying the death of the young lady does not erase your sins.”

As Gray spoke in a complicated voice, Damien shrugged his shoulders again and laughed. Damien slowly opened his mouth, glaring at Gray, who did not avoid his gaze.

“That’s why you can’t do it, Gray Wilson. The rope is right in front of you, but you don’t think about grabbing it and instead sink into the sea of ​​sorrow. Because it’s so much easier for a fool like you.”

“Do you feel it is not foolish to hang on a rotten rope?”

Damien smiled as he watched Gray coldly mocking him.

“What does it matter if I’m determined to die anyway?”

Gray swallowed hard, and Damien's voice cracked coldly.

“Or were you just going to be sad enough not to die?”

Damien continued cruelly, looking straight into Gray's wavering eyes.

“Or would you rather be thankful that the person you loved died? Because this would be the most beautiful ending to your tragic love that could never come true. Don’t you think so?”

Gray's teeth ground, and his jaw clenched.

“...even in this situation where the young lady is dead, do you find joy in trampling on others rather than asking for her forgiveness?”

“Do you know why I don’t kill you right now, for daring to call my wife that insolently?”

“I don’t care if you kill me or not.”

There was no fear in Gray's eyes as he spat out bitter words. If it weren't for Chloe's warm consideration, he wouldn't have survived until now. It was common for dirty, disobedient orphan boys to wander around as vagrants and die.

“Because when you finally realize that I was right, I want you to sink into a sense of defeat that is more painful than sadness.”

Gray no longer felt the need to confront Damien. It felt pointless to even be angry at him for going mad, unable to admit his own guilt, and even Chloe's death.

“I will collect the young lady’s remains and bury them in Verdier. I cannot leave her here alone.”

“Do whatever you want.”

Damien spat out as if that didn't matter at all.

“Because I’m going to save Chloe.”

Gray turned around silently. Tears fell silently as he followed his footsteps out of the castle.

***

Damien stood blankly at the window overlooking the rose garden, staring intently at Gray as he arranged the remains in a box. His hands gripped the velvet curtains tightly. Damien chewed his lips as he heard the sound of threads snapping.

There is no need to be agitated.

There is no reason to lose your composure.

That's not Chloe.

Damien tried to remember only that she who had betrayed him had at least not left for another's embrace. If he had seen any secret triumph on Gray Wilson's face, Damien would have killed him himself. Most painfully and cruelly in the world.

The moment his thoughts trailed off, a cold sneer suddenly escaped his lips.

“...Was it like that?”

Chloe probably had foreseen it all. That he would eventually suspect her death. And who would he look for first?

If so, then the real reason why she couldn't hold Gray's hand was completely explained. Chloe had protected her loyal servant, who would do anything for her until the end. She had set fire to her husband's heart and burned it black.

The unbearable sense of defeat creeps up again. Damien's breathing, which has been panting heavily, becomes increasingly hot. When his patience reaches its limit, the next moment comes when uncontrollable anger sweeps through his body. Hot blood flows back from his heart, and his mind splits into hundreds of pieces, causing a state of confusion.

He had never imagined such a miserable end. Damien clenched his fists and thought over and over again. Of course, what made him miserable was that his woman had told him of her unilateral separation by death. But what was even more desperate was that he knew Chloe was alive but could not reach her. He could not control himself as he struggled with his failed love.

Chloe Verdier has a complete grasp of Damien Ernst von Tisse.

A familiar desire rose in his stomach, along with the murderous desire to kill the fragile and beautiful god who had eaten him up and left. Damien's sunken eyelids trembled silently. He would store the desire that followed along with the anger in his chest. Because he had to return it all when he saw her again.

What he does best is making plans and imagining hundreds and thousands of situations in his head. And persevering for a better future. When he suppressed his desires, his mind became more cool. Damien walked slowly and looked at the papers piled on the desk. When he pulled the rope on the wall, Paul appeared right away.

“Did you call?”

“I have to go to Birch Castle.”

As Paul bowed his head, Damien added, leafing through the papers.

“And after Chloe died, gather all the servants who left Birch Castle.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Is this all that was found in the burnt cabin and her bedroom?”

“Is there anything in particular you are looking for?”

Damien swallowed dryly. The twelve suitcases Chloe had brought from her parents' house were all burned. It was as if she had planned it, and she had moved them into the cabin, leaving only the remains of everything blackened. But it didn't make sense that there was not even a trace of the braces he had designed himself, made of ivory and fire-resistant metal.

Damien looked down at the paper and smiled bitterly. Chloe Verdier fled from him with the wings he had made for her. A noblewoman who didn't have a limp would have had far fewer restrictions on her movements.

He couldn't tell if the hot air spreading out from his heart was anger at her for striking the back of his head so nicely, or relief at the fact that the rope he was holding onto wasn't rotten.

Chloe, if this is your judgment on me, I will accept it. If you want to test my faith, fine. I will do as you wish. But when I have endured all this and reached you, the aftermath will be yours. We will go to hell together.

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