When I wake up, I might be back at Frogen's mansion. In the morning, Rosina Molly will come in and wake me up, asking if I'm oversleeping again. Noah will sit next to me while I eat breakfast, reading the newspaper.
And at night, he'd come and read me the tale of the dog and the wolf in a languid, tired voice. I really liked that soft, yet clear voice.
It was an ordinary, ordinary day, nothing special. Only after it was shattered beyond view, and I looked at the desperate remains, would I recall how beautiful and special it was.
So I don't like anything special.
“Princess, you’ve had a hard time growing up.”
What about adults? I'm still a long way from that. I'm still a grown child who wants to act like a spoiled brat. I've never acted like a spoiled brat to anyone. Maybe it's only now that I want to do it to someone.
The fragmented memories that kept coming back felt like a heartless dream. I tried to ignore them, but before I knew it, they had settled deep in my heart as a lingering feeling of peace and comfort.
Having failed to escape reality, I slowly opened my eyelids and leaned against the dark gray wall, facing the reality of being locked in a solitary cell.
As I watched my breath dissipate like a hazy sea fog, strange thoughts arose deep within me. I felt isolated, alone, and desolate.
I used to enjoy being alone and lost in thought, but now I am completely isolated and sinking into solitude.
I didn't cry. Not when I entered this life of oppression, not when I nearly froze to death in the stable, not when I was about to be killed by mercenaries. And even when I left Noah, I remained detached, as if immune to misfortune.
Rather than the repetitive, arduous trials, I was shaken and broken by the insignificant words that promised to protect me. Just as I remain unmoved by bitter cold and blizzards, I melt mercilessly in a single sliver of warm sunlight.
“It’s cold and annoying.”
Why is there so much turmoil in a life I've always wanted to do nothing about? I've even been to prison.
The treatment wasn't bad. The food was good, and the bedding was clean. Perhaps it was wish fulfillment in another sense, but it didn't feel right. Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal came to visit and reassured me not to worry too much, saying he'd soon exonerate me.
Perhaps because of his support, the officers and guards simply looked at me with a look of disapproval, but didn't treat me rudely. "So, when are you going to let me out?"
It was when I was deep in thought, with my eyes closed, as if meditating.
The sound of her shoes clacking elegantly as she walked in rang out, and Celine, wearing a purple dress and with her platinum hair tied up in a bun, entered.
She must have come to visit me to mock me. She looked at me with her bright green eyes and laughed kindly.
“Is it possible?”
“Then you should try it.”
“You’re still just talking.”
She covered her mouth and giggled like a child. I stared at her with my arms crossed, eyes filled with disapproval.
“Why are you here?”
"Is there a reason I came to see you? Are you trying to seduce the guard now? Like you did with the enemy Duke. I didn't know you were such a frivolous woman."
As I listened to her muttering, I felt strangely moved.
Perhaps it wasn't just a casual relationship.
The connection between Noah and me was so intangible, so light and heavy that it was impossible to grasp or let go. I deemed it unworthy of a response, so I quietly ignored it and closed my eyes again.
She kept saying really irritating things, but eventually, my intuitive words silenced her.
“You ended up getting kicked, right?”
So, I did something so thoughtless. Celine's eyes grew redder and redder, and her face contorted. Her long eyelashes, drooping as if ready to burst into tears, trembled slightly.
“Did you enjoy playing with people’s hearts? You’re truly evil, like the devil.”
"What are you talking about? You think you're a good person? You know I'll be released soon. What will happen to the reputation you've worked so hard to build?"
"See, you were born bad. You're trying to take everything away from me. Your mother died because of you."
As depicted in the original, the admiral poured all his responsibility and resentment for his wife's unfortunate death onto this innocent body, and that woman, based on that one premise, likely justified all her irrationality and abuse, living a life of superiority and distinction. It was a happiness born from someone else's misfortune.
So, she couldn't stand the fact that she, who had always lived like the main character and been treated like a Princess, was being pushed out by her younger sibling.
"You know full well that's not the reason, right? You hate the sight of me, a tool for your superiority and happiness. Selling your deceased mother for that pretext is unconscionable."
I smiled meaningfully. Celine, who seemed to have caught on, swallowed hard. She seemed calm, trying to suppress her emotions. But she couldn't hide the anger and hatred in her green eyes.
I asked her with a pitiful expression.
"Did you do this with any thought for the consequences? Your father will be held responsible for the management of confidential documents."
“What are you talking about?”
Celine paused for a moment, then tilted her head slightly with a puzzled expression. Her face was almost impudent.
“You stole my father’s operational secrets, passed them on to Frogen, and framed me for it.”
Her eyes widened at my words. She remained silent for a moment, as if searching for words, before finally blurting out a few words.
“Take care.”
She turned quietly. A few strands of platinum hair, flowing down the clean nape of her neck, swayed gently as if saying goodbye.
"Jeffrey. I heard you testified that you gave her that necklace."
Prime Minister Damian Groenendaal, seated on a long wooden chair in the chapel of the Groenendaal ducal residence, asked with a reproachful tone. Unlike his physically robust sons, he was of small stature, but, befitting the prime minister and Duke of the Belford Empire, he possessed a dignified presence and an air of solemnity.
The lieutenant colonel, the object of the reprimand, stood expressionless and looked at his father.
"You're right."
“Are you going to explain where you got the rose diamond that only Medea has?”
"My mother came from the noble Medea family, didn't she? I think that's quite possible."
"Are you planning on giving her your mother's belongings? If you do, there'll be talk of marriage."
“Can’t I?”
The lieutenant colonel asked monotonously, as if it were nothing special.
“Are you thinking of getting married?”
“I would also consider doing so, depending on her wishes.”
“Even though we live in an era of free marriage, you still want to protect a woman accused of colluding with the enemy and marry her?”
“My father also married my mother, who ran away from Medea.”
The Prime Minister gazed at the lieutenant colonel's black hair with his blue eyes, somewhat clouded by the passage of time.
"I regret that choice. Your mother kept many secrets from me."
He turned his head, clasping his wrinkled hands together as if in prayer.
He thought of the black-haired woman he once married for love alone.
She was the second daughter of the Harrison family, a noble family of Medea, and never revealed the reason for her flight.
After the Prime Minister's persistent courtship, she finally accepted his proposal, asking no questions. Even during their marriage, she remained depressed and passed away from an unknown illness a few years later. The Prime Minister's mouth, previously tightly shut in reminiscence, opened calmly.
"I've always respected your choices, but this time I won't allow it. Since the woman you helped is suspected of being a spy, it could be detrimental to you. As your father, I promised your mother that I would protect you."
The voice was firm and stern. The lieutenant colonel stared silently at the statue at the front of the chapel, saying nothing. The white statue, depicting a woman holding a baby, gazed down at the two men with a benevolent face.
“Do you blame my mother?”
At his son's question, his father let out a faint sigh, his face dark with worry.
“You ask even though you know well.”
“I did it for my late mother. Of course, I also care about her.”
"Does that kid remind you of your mother? Who do you take after to be so stubborn?"
The Prime Minister, who had hesitated and kept his mouth shut, frowned and brushed back his neatly swept, graying blond hair. He sighed deeply as he watched his son's broad back as he turned away without answering.
"Yes, it must be because he takes after me. Because he's my son. Although we don't resemble each other at all on the outside... Ah, Agnes. What was it you were so desperate to hide from me?"
The Prime Minister, muttering to himself, sighed and rubbed his eyes. He recalled the image of young Jace and Jeffrey, clutching his wife's hand tightly and looking at him with clear eyes.
Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal left the chapel and stepped outside the mansion. His sharp eyes were sharp and fierce. He recalled his late mother's pitiful last words.
"I've always lived with a sense of guilt. I couldn't tell you, afraid your father would despise me. Please, find that poor child, protect her, and make her happy."
“How far do you plan to go?”
The lieutenant colonel stopped and hummed softly as he got into the car. His voice was filled with a torrent of anger directed at the admiral.
The Duke of Rotsilt's mansion, located on the outskirts of the city, was originally quiet, but today it was incredibly quiet, as if nothing existed.
The sky outside the window was overcast, as if snow was about to fall at any moment. The fireplace had long since been extinguished, leaving a chilly chill in the office.
His secretary, Vincent, saw a piece of burnt paper in the cooled coal ash, lit a match, and threw it into the fireplace. In the silence, only the crackling of the paper and the ticking of the clock could be heard.
He took out a cigar, puffed on it, and stood like an anonymous tombstone by the window of his empty office. With a blank expression, he stared blankly through the window at the spectacle of soldiers swarming in.
Dry, wheat-colored eyes counted the number of soldiers entering the mansion from the garden. Vincent, who had been chuckling, muttered in a voice that seemed to border between sigh and admiration.
“The mad Duke... has finally done something crazy.”
As soon as he heard that a woman named 'Diana' was in danger of death, he left everything without a second thought.
His fame, his long-standing status as a nobleman, his astronomical wealth—everything he possessed. Even the young man's future, secured by the Emperor's trust and with a bright future ahead of him, was assured.
Since he is even trying to throw away his life, Vincent can only say, 'He is crazy.'
Now, all that remains for him is a criminal for desertion during wartime, violation of the Imperial Security Act, and treason. Any charges can be imposed at the Emperor's discretion.
It was a realistic choice. Even empires were struggling with a single frontline position, waging a protracted war. What could be done in such a short time?
It was the closest option, but a normal person would have considered it the worst option and turned away from it, giving up on their goal.
He shot the maid from the intelligence agency who was watching him in the arm, not the head. Was it to avoid being accused of aiding him? He wasn't the most considerate of men. How strange.
The sound of numerous boots gradually grew closer, and then, with a loud crash, the office door swung open. Vincent smiled faintly as he saw the soldiers breaking through the door.
“It’s too late. I stopped him, obviously.”
"Sir Vincent. You've been his secretary for a long time. I have some questions to ask about the railroad construction and military procurement corruption, so I need you to come with me and testify. If you were involved, you would inevitably face punishment."
Exposing corruption. That's the first thing you do when you're trying to kill a company or an influential individual.
"First, please call Count Ford's legal counsel. I won't say anything until then."
Vincent, sitting flexibly at his desk, struck a match and lit the cigar he had in his mouth. He took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke in a long, sigh-like puff.
He, who always worked with a neat demeanor, loosened his tie, which he had always worn neatly, as if it were tight.
If not now, then when will I smoke a cigar here? That crazy Duke will never come back here again.
The soldiers began searching the office and the mansion, making a loud noise. A painting of a ghostly horse had been hanging in one corner of the room for some time.
A gilded frame containing a strangely eerie painting fell, shattered with a loud crash, and was crushed by military boots. The papers he had once so wearily gazed at flew wildly, as if in a final celebration.
It's all over. The long lineage of the Duke's family, and the young Duke known as the Emperor's steed.
Wow, this is truly a work of art.
A man, once the Duke's loyal secretary, was seen fluttering between the fluttering white papers, muttering softly with a sense of regret and emptiness.
“Now that I’m unemployed, I wonder if I can date freely.”
And at night, he'd come and read me the tale of the dog and the wolf in a languid, tired voice. I really liked that soft, yet clear voice.
It was an ordinary, ordinary day, nothing special. Only after it was shattered beyond view, and I looked at the desperate remains, would I recall how beautiful and special it was.
So I don't like anything special.
“Princess, you’ve had a hard time growing up.”
What about adults? I'm still a long way from that. I'm still a grown child who wants to act like a spoiled brat. I've never acted like a spoiled brat to anyone. Maybe it's only now that I want to do it to someone.
The fragmented memories that kept coming back felt like a heartless dream. I tried to ignore them, but before I knew it, they had settled deep in my heart as a lingering feeling of peace and comfort.
Having failed to escape reality, I slowly opened my eyelids and leaned against the dark gray wall, facing the reality of being locked in a solitary cell.
As I watched my breath dissipate like a hazy sea fog, strange thoughts arose deep within me. I felt isolated, alone, and desolate.
I used to enjoy being alone and lost in thought, but now I am completely isolated and sinking into solitude.
I didn't cry. Not when I entered this life of oppression, not when I nearly froze to death in the stable, not when I was about to be killed by mercenaries. And even when I left Noah, I remained detached, as if immune to misfortune.
Rather than the repetitive, arduous trials, I was shaken and broken by the insignificant words that promised to protect me. Just as I remain unmoved by bitter cold and blizzards, I melt mercilessly in a single sliver of warm sunlight.
“It’s cold and annoying.”
Why is there so much turmoil in a life I've always wanted to do nothing about? I've even been to prison.
The treatment wasn't bad. The food was good, and the bedding was clean. Perhaps it was wish fulfillment in another sense, but it didn't feel right. Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal came to visit and reassured me not to worry too much, saying he'd soon exonerate me.
Perhaps because of his support, the officers and guards simply looked at me with a look of disapproval, but didn't treat me rudely. "So, when are you going to let me out?"
It was when I was deep in thought, with my eyes closed, as if meditating.
The sound of her shoes clacking elegantly as she walked in rang out, and Celine, wearing a purple dress and with her platinum hair tied up in a bun, entered.
She must have come to visit me to mock me. She looked at me with her bright green eyes and laughed kindly.
“Is it possible?”
“Then you should try it.”
“You’re still just talking.”
She covered her mouth and giggled like a child. I stared at her with my arms crossed, eyes filled with disapproval.
“Why are you here?”
"Is there a reason I came to see you? Are you trying to seduce the guard now? Like you did with the enemy Duke. I didn't know you were such a frivolous woman."
As I listened to her muttering, I felt strangely moved.
Perhaps it wasn't just a casual relationship.
The connection between Noah and me was so intangible, so light and heavy that it was impossible to grasp or let go. I deemed it unworthy of a response, so I quietly ignored it and closed my eyes again.
She kept saying really irritating things, but eventually, my intuitive words silenced her.
“You ended up getting kicked, right?”
So, I did something so thoughtless. Celine's eyes grew redder and redder, and her face contorted. Her long eyelashes, drooping as if ready to burst into tears, trembled slightly.
“Did you enjoy playing with people’s hearts? You’re truly evil, like the devil.”
"What are you talking about? You think you're a good person? You know I'll be released soon. What will happen to the reputation you've worked so hard to build?"
"See, you were born bad. You're trying to take everything away from me. Your mother died because of you."
As depicted in the original, the admiral poured all his responsibility and resentment for his wife's unfortunate death onto this innocent body, and that woman, based on that one premise, likely justified all her irrationality and abuse, living a life of superiority and distinction. It was a happiness born from someone else's misfortune.
So, she couldn't stand the fact that she, who had always lived like the main character and been treated like a Princess, was being pushed out by her younger sibling.
"You know full well that's not the reason, right? You hate the sight of me, a tool for your superiority and happiness. Selling your deceased mother for that pretext is unconscionable."
I smiled meaningfully. Celine, who seemed to have caught on, swallowed hard. She seemed calm, trying to suppress her emotions. But she couldn't hide the anger and hatred in her green eyes.
I asked her with a pitiful expression.
"Did you do this with any thought for the consequences? Your father will be held responsible for the management of confidential documents."
“What are you talking about?”
Celine paused for a moment, then tilted her head slightly with a puzzled expression. Her face was almost impudent.
“You stole my father’s operational secrets, passed them on to Frogen, and framed me for it.”
Her eyes widened at my words. She remained silent for a moment, as if searching for words, before finally blurting out a few words.
“Take care.”
She turned quietly. A few strands of platinum hair, flowing down the clean nape of her neck, swayed gently as if saying goodbye.
***
"Jeffrey. I heard you testified that you gave her that necklace."
Prime Minister Damian Groenendaal, seated on a long wooden chair in the chapel of the Groenendaal ducal residence, asked with a reproachful tone. Unlike his physically robust sons, he was of small stature, but, befitting the prime minister and Duke of the Belford Empire, he possessed a dignified presence and an air of solemnity.
The lieutenant colonel, the object of the reprimand, stood expressionless and looked at his father.
"You're right."
“Are you going to explain where you got the rose diamond that only Medea has?”
"My mother came from the noble Medea family, didn't she? I think that's quite possible."
"Are you planning on giving her your mother's belongings? If you do, there'll be talk of marriage."
“Can’t I?”
The lieutenant colonel asked monotonously, as if it were nothing special.
“Are you thinking of getting married?”
“I would also consider doing so, depending on her wishes.”
“Even though we live in an era of free marriage, you still want to protect a woman accused of colluding with the enemy and marry her?”
“My father also married my mother, who ran away from Medea.”
The Prime Minister gazed at the lieutenant colonel's black hair with his blue eyes, somewhat clouded by the passage of time.
"I regret that choice. Your mother kept many secrets from me."
He turned his head, clasping his wrinkled hands together as if in prayer.
He thought of the black-haired woman he once married for love alone.
She was the second daughter of the Harrison family, a noble family of Medea, and never revealed the reason for her flight.
After the Prime Minister's persistent courtship, she finally accepted his proposal, asking no questions. Even during their marriage, she remained depressed and passed away from an unknown illness a few years later. The Prime Minister's mouth, previously tightly shut in reminiscence, opened calmly.
"I've always respected your choices, but this time I won't allow it. Since the woman you helped is suspected of being a spy, it could be detrimental to you. As your father, I promised your mother that I would protect you."
The voice was firm and stern. The lieutenant colonel stared silently at the statue at the front of the chapel, saying nothing. The white statue, depicting a woman holding a baby, gazed down at the two men with a benevolent face.
“Do you blame my mother?”
At his son's question, his father let out a faint sigh, his face dark with worry.
“You ask even though you know well.”
“I did it for my late mother. Of course, I also care about her.”
"Does that kid remind you of your mother? Who do you take after to be so stubborn?"
The Prime Minister, who had hesitated and kept his mouth shut, frowned and brushed back his neatly swept, graying blond hair. He sighed deeply as he watched his son's broad back as he turned away without answering.
"Yes, it must be because he takes after me. Because he's my son. Although we don't resemble each other at all on the outside... Ah, Agnes. What was it you were so desperate to hide from me?"
The Prime Minister, muttering to himself, sighed and rubbed his eyes. He recalled the image of young Jace and Jeffrey, clutching his wife's hand tightly and looking at him with clear eyes.
Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal left the chapel and stepped outside the mansion. His sharp eyes were sharp and fierce. He recalled his late mother's pitiful last words.
"I've always lived with a sense of guilt. I couldn't tell you, afraid your father would despise me. Please, find that poor child, protect her, and make her happy."
“How far do you plan to go?”
The lieutenant colonel stopped and hummed softly as he got into the car. His voice was filled with a torrent of anger directed at the admiral.
***
The Duke of Rotsilt's mansion, located on the outskirts of the city, was originally quiet, but today it was incredibly quiet, as if nothing existed.
The sky outside the window was overcast, as if snow was about to fall at any moment. The fireplace had long since been extinguished, leaving a chilly chill in the office.
His secretary, Vincent, saw a piece of burnt paper in the cooled coal ash, lit a match, and threw it into the fireplace. In the silence, only the crackling of the paper and the ticking of the clock could be heard.
He took out a cigar, puffed on it, and stood like an anonymous tombstone by the window of his empty office. With a blank expression, he stared blankly through the window at the spectacle of soldiers swarming in.
Dry, wheat-colored eyes counted the number of soldiers entering the mansion from the garden. Vincent, who had been chuckling, muttered in a voice that seemed to border between sigh and admiration.
“The mad Duke... has finally done something crazy.”
As soon as he heard that a woman named 'Diana' was in danger of death, he left everything without a second thought.
His fame, his long-standing status as a nobleman, his astronomical wealth—everything he possessed. Even the young man's future, secured by the Emperor's trust and with a bright future ahead of him, was assured.
Since he is even trying to throw away his life, Vincent can only say, 'He is crazy.'
Now, all that remains for him is a criminal for desertion during wartime, violation of the Imperial Security Act, and treason. Any charges can be imposed at the Emperor's discretion.
It was a realistic choice. Even empires were struggling with a single frontline position, waging a protracted war. What could be done in such a short time?
It was the closest option, but a normal person would have considered it the worst option and turned away from it, giving up on their goal.
He shot the maid from the intelligence agency who was watching him in the arm, not the head. Was it to avoid being accused of aiding him? He wasn't the most considerate of men. How strange.
The sound of numerous boots gradually grew closer, and then, with a loud crash, the office door swung open. Vincent smiled faintly as he saw the soldiers breaking through the door.
“It’s too late. I stopped him, obviously.”
"Sir Vincent. You've been his secretary for a long time. I have some questions to ask about the railroad construction and military procurement corruption, so I need you to come with me and testify. If you were involved, you would inevitably face punishment."
Exposing corruption. That's the first thing you do when you're trying to kill a company or an influential individual.
"First, please call Count Ford's legal counsel. I won't say anything until then."
Vincent, sitting flexibly at his desk, struck a match and lit the cigar he had in his mouth. He took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke in a long, sigh-like puff.
He, who always worked with a neat demeanor, loosened his tie, which he had always worn neatly, as if it were tight.
If not now, then when will I smoke a cigar here? That crazy Duke will never come back here again.
The soldiers began searching the office and the mansion, making a loud noise. A painting of a ghostly horse had been hanging in one corner of the room for some time.
A gilded frame containing a strangely eerie painting fell, shattered with a loud crash, and was crushed by military boots. The papers he had once so wearily gazed at flew wildly, as if in a final celebration.
It's all over. The long lineage of the Duke's family, and the young Duke known as the Emperor's steed.
Wow, this is truly a work of art.
A man, once the Duke's loyal secretary, was seen fluttering between the fluttering white papers, muttering softly with a sense of regret and emptiness.
“Now that I’m unemployed, I wonder if I can date freely.”
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