Erita fell on the lap of the Marchioness of Wales, who had come to her room, and sobbed, her body heaving.
“Madam, what if I really am not the Queen's child?”
“It’s already been proven false, isn’t it? Don’t worry.”
"Other royal families will also take action, manipulating all sorts of evidence to raise suspicions. If they even come across any solid evidence..."
"Are you so unsure? The only one who can become the future Queen is the Princess."
Contrary to the gentle voice stroking her back, the Marchioness of Wales's face was frighteningly emotionless. But Erita, lying face down and sobbing, had no way of knowing.
"She said she could abandon me. I'm so afraid that I'll be abandoned by my mother because of this that I can't stand it."
The Marchioness consoled Erita, who was already crying sadly as if she had been thrown out, as if she were a child.
"I'll stop it somehow. If that happens, I'll take the place of the princess's mother. You'll live happily ever after with me at the Wales House."
"How wonderful it would have been if you were my mother. You would have been such a kind and warm mother."
"Oh, how sad and heartbreaking it must be. I will always be on your side, Princess, no matter what happens."
It was a pretentious, artificial voice and words, like a fairy tale, designed to be pleasant to listen to. A sense of weariness and boredom permeated them. As always, the Marchioness suppressed the rising irritation within her. How long would she have to play the role of nanny to a grown child, telling her only what she wanted to hear? It was like a trash can, emptying and accepting her immature emotions.
Rosalia Lockwood, a shapeless shadow, forever subservient to the state and the crown, her life dictated. That was her name. She now lives as the noblewoman of the Marquis of Wales. She had a dream future and a lover, but neither marriage nor life could be the way she wanted. She felt that everything about her life and herself was a fabrication, so she didn't even know who she was. It had been a long time since she had been consumed by the gnawing emptiness of her life, unable to free herself. She had some understanding of the feelings of Renier Elliot, who had chosen his own death.
Erita asked, her tears streaming down her face to the point where the hem of the Marchioness's organza skirt was damp.
“Madam, is it possible that this happened because I touched that woman, Diana?”
"Noah Rotsilt has already betrayed Frogen. He can't go that far."
“I don’t understand why everyone makes life so hard for me. What did I do so wrong?”
The Marchioness of Wales's gentle hands, which had been stroking and drawing on Erita's back, suddenly stopped. A sigh, mixed with irritation, escaped her twisted lips.
“From now on, don’t do anything. Don’t try to do anything.”
Erita opened her eyes wide and looked at her with a cold voice that had suddenly turned cold.
“You’re telling me not to do anything?”
"For the time being, please refrain from doing anything Her Majesty the Queen tells you. I'll take care of everything. I don't think you fully understand how much effort I've put into this. Please refrain from causing unnecessary trouble."
Erita was startled by the Marquise's overbearing tone and rude demeanor, but she remained speechless. The fear that if even the Marchioness, the only person she relied on in the most difficult of situations, turned away, she would be truly alone simmered within her.
"...All right."
"The Princess can only trust me. Even if I side with Diana or ignore you like I did before, it's all part of the plan, so please always keep that in mind and act accordingly."
Although she maintained a firm tone, Erita nodded in agreement. The Marchioness of Wales had a hunch that Erita's role as Princess might end prematurely. She smiled bitterly, remembering the possibility that the illegitimate daughter might oust Erita and pursue other plans.
Noah's kindness, his willingness to take full responsibility, was tantamount to telling me to do nothing. However, despite the advice that it was pointless, I submitted a petition, urging them to consider Janet's status as an ordinary servant, not a spy or agent, and as being deeply traumatized by the death of Celine, to whom she was particularly attached.
I submitted the petition and stopped by Bedleton Prison to give her food. During our visit, she wasn't angry with me. She didn't show any resentment; she simply apologized.
I wiped my face with worry. My actions, unlike those of a sound conscience or morality, were nothing more than a cowardly act of sympathy, a minimal act of avoiding remorse. I stood in the middle of the ambiguous position of both perpetrator and victim. Most people stand indifferently, a neutral third party, watching, cynically condemning, or interfering. I'm no exception.
As I walked back to the car where Molly was waiting after the visiting hours, a familiar figure and a faint scent passed by. Despite his heavy body odor, his clothes emanated a faint, incongruous scent of baby laundry, which I found peculiar. It was the strange scent of someone I'd always found peculiar.
I stopped walking and turned my head, only to be met with the bright blue eyes of a tall, slender soldier in Medea's uniform, staring back. In the midst of the crowds of people drifting away, he and I stood there, frozen in time. Locking eyes with the handsome man, his jet-black hair neatly combed back with pomade, I knew immediately who he was.
“Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal.”
“Diana.”
We called out to each other simultaneously. Our encounter was a pure coincidence. I saw him in his Medea Army uniform and tried to grasp the situation. Had he disguised himself as a Medea soldier to escape death, or had he come to reveal the truth for my sake? What if Celine's death had caused a change of heart and he had come to seek revenge on Noah and me? My thoughts were turbulent, and I asked, my thoughts at a standstill.
“How did you get here?”
“If you have time, how about a cup of tea?”
The voice was polite, like a gentleman asking for a date. Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal's face was as affectionate as ever. For some reason, I felt awkward making eye contact, so I focused my gaze on his broad shoulders. Finally, curious about his intentions, I let my guard down and nodded in agreement.
We headed to a small, nearby café and found a discreet corner seat. He pulled out a chair for me, as if to suggest I take a seat. I sat down and glanced around. With his dark hair and his Medea Army uniform, no one seemed suspicious of the lieutenant colonel. He ordered Earl Grey tea, and I ordered a cold lemonade.
“I’ll buy you dessert too. You like sweets.”
“Thank you. I’d like chocolate cake.”
“Don’t you like this too?”
I nodded as the lieutenant colonel pointed to the pudding on the side display. Suddenly, I remembered him ordering a bunch of food from the menu, not knowing what I liked. He'd called it "interest."
A beautifully decorated slice of cake, two puddings, and a drink were served on the table between us. The lieutenant colonel took a bite of the pudding and nodded slowly.
“I think I understand why you like it. It’s delicious.”
I've never seen him eat anything sweet. Well, I've only seen him a few times. I quickly shook off those useless thoughts and picked up my fork.
“I’m sorry about what happened to my sister.”
I spoke first, trying to break the awkward silence between us. He held his teacup and answered in a measured tone.
“I don’t deserve to be comforted. I never loved her.”
“That’s... yes.”
I was worried about how to get to the point. Celine's death couldn't have had any effect on him. His somewhat thin and haggard appearance supported that thought.
“I was wondering how you were doing.”
"I'm doing well."
“That’s fortunate.”
The lieutenant colonel, who was fiddling with a wide-mouthed porcelain teacup, added in a voice that contained a hint of regret.
“I heard that Mrs. Janet Evergreen is in prison.”
“Yes. I’m on my way back from a visit.”
“Is that so? Miss Diana, could you please keep quiet about the fact that you saw me here?”
“I will decide after hearing what your intentions are.”
“There is absolutely no harm to you.”
His blue eyes watched my fingers tapping softly on the table. Perhaps he sensed a glimpse of my inner anxiety, so he quickly lowered his hand under the table.
"Admiral Claire killed my mother, but his daughter, Celine, died trying to save me. Since then, much has changed: my thoughts, my values, and what's important to people."
“How has it changed?”
The lieutenant colonel smiled broadly in response. Only then could I truly look at him. Sapphire-like eyes, distinct features, and a warm, affectionate smile despite his usually gruff and fierce demeanor. Celine loved him enough to lay down her life for him. Where did that love, so lingering, unacknowledged and ungiven, disappear?
“Diana, before my wife died, she left a will asking you to live.”
“Yes? Your sister to the lieutenant colonel?”
“No. It is a will left to Admiral Winston Clare.”
Instead of resenting me for ignoring her help, Celine left a will asking me to live. The moment I realized she meant for the lieutenant colonel to protect someone he held dear, a shiver ran through my head. Was this feeling born of love? I felt a crack and a shatter somewhere deep within my chest. The pain of those sharp shards piercing and tearing through my stomach was unbearable. A ringing in my ears faded away. I felt like crying.
"Please, I'll grant you this. My happiness has been achieved, so long as you give your all to your life, Lieutenant Colonel. Don't live for others or with the intention of paying the price. Live selfishly, prioritizing your own happiness."
I hoped he would be freed from the shackles of guilt. Celine must have hoped for that too. I suppressed the emotions welling up in me and stood up. I couldn't quite pinpoint what it was that was gnawing at me, filling the gap between the broken pieces. He stood up with me, straightened up, and saluted me as if to say goodbye.
"I will do so, Diana. I wish you continued happiness."
Will the day ever come when he and I meet again? There may be a few more coincidences, or today could be our last.
Everyone who passes by me in an instant is like that.
“Take care, and see you next time.”
In the midst of a world war, promising the next time felt like an impossible promise, but it was a gesture of hope. Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal had a look on his face I'd never seen before, but he offered no other response or gesture. I quietly observed his blue, sunken eyes, and then, a pang of sadness, I hastily turned away.
The original story, based on the real-life Lieutenant Colonel Jeffrey Groenendael, was an Allied commander who died in World War II. The woman he rescued from kidnapping also died in the interwar period, just like Celine. My hope for freedom from the lieutenant colonel's entangled fate was a desperate wish for his predicted misfortune to change. On the car ride home, the sky was a clear blue, almost tearful, and I found it beautiful, but the melancholy that settled deep within me didn't easily dissipate.
Three days later, news arrived that Janet Evergreen had escaped from prison and disappeared overnight. I thought of Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal, whom I had accidentally encountered on a crowded street that day, when the sun was warm, and the sky was unusually clear. I suspected he had saved the life of Janet, someone as precious as Celine's mother. But I never mentioned the coincidence to anyone, not even Noah. That was the last thing on my conscience.
Lieutenant Colonel Jeffrey Groenendael and I went our separate ways from that day on, and I never saw him again.
“Madam, what if I really am not the Queen's child?”
“It’s already been proven false, isn’t it? Don’t worry.”
"Other royal families will also take action, manipulating all sorts of evidence to raise suspicions. If they even come across any solid evidence..."
"Are you so unsure? The only one who can become the future Queen is the Princess."
Contrary to the gentle voice stroking her back, the Marchioness of Wales's face was frighteningly emotionless. But Erita, lying face down and sobbing, had no way of knowing.
"She said she could abandon me. I'm so afraid that I'll be abandoned by my mother because of this that I can't stand it."
The Marchioness consoled Erita, who was already crying sadly as if she had been thrown out, as if she were a child.
"I'll stop it somehow. If that happens, I'll take the place of the princess's mother. You'll live happily ever after with me at the Wales House."
"How wonderful it would have been if you were my mother. You would have been such a kind and warm mother."
"Oh, how sad and heartbreaking it must be. I will always be on your side, Princess, no matter what happens."
It was a pretentious, artificial voice and words, like a fairy tale, designed to be pleasant to listen to. A sense of weariness and boredom permeated them. As always, the Marchioness suppressed the rising irritation within her. How long would she have to play the role of nanny to a grown child, telling her only what she wanted to hear? It was like a trash can, emptying and accepting her immature emotions.
Rosalia Lockwood, a shapeless shadow, forever subservient to the state and the crown, her life dictated. That was her name. She now lives as the noblewoman of the Marquis of Wales. She had a dream future and a lover, but neither marriage nor life could be the way she wanted. She felt that everything about her life and herself was a fabrication, so she didn't even know who she was. It had been a long time since she had been consumed by the gnawing emptiness of her life, unable to free herself. She had some understanding of the feelings of Renier Elliot, who had chosen his own death.
Erita asked, her tears streaming down her face to the point where the hem of the Marchioness's organza skirt was damp.
“Madam, is it possible that this happened because I touched that woman, Diana?”
"Noah Rotsilt has already betrayed Frogen. He can't go that far."
“I don’t understand why everyone makes life so hard for me. What did I do so wrong?”
The Marchioness of Wales's gentle hands, which had been stroking and drawing on Erita's back, suddenly stopped. A sigh, mixed with irritation, escaped her twisted lips.
“From now on, don’t do anything. Don’t try to do anything.”
Erita opened her eyes wide and looked at her with a cold voice that had suddenly turned cold.
“You’re telling me not to do anything?”
"For the time being, please refrain from doing anything Her Majesty the Queen tells you. I'll take care of everything. I don't think you fully understand how much effort I've put into this. Please refrain from causing unnecessary trouble."
Erita was startled by the Marquise's overbearing tone and rude demeanor, but she remained speechless. The fear that if even the Marchioness, the only person she relied on in the most difficult of situations, turned away, she would be truly alone simmered within her.
"...All right."
"The Princess can only trust me. Even if I side with Diana or ignore you like I did before, it's all part of the plan, so please always keep that in mind and act accordingly."
Although she maintained a firm tone, Erita nodded in agreement. The Marchioness of Wales had a hunch that Erita's role as Princess might end prematurely. She smiled bitterly, remembering the possibility that the illegitimate daughter might oust Erita and pursue other plans.
***
Noah's kindness, his willingness to take full responsibility, was tantamount to telling me to do nothing. However, despite the advice that it was pointless, I submitted a petition, urging them to consider Janet's status as an ordinary servant, not a spy or agent, and as being deeply traumatized by the death of Celine, to whom she was particularly attached.
I submitted the petition and stopped by Bedleton Prison to give her food. During our visit, she wasn't angry with me. She didn't show any resentment; she simply apologized.
I wiped my face with worry. My actions, unlike those of a sound conscience or morality, were nothing more than a cowardly act of sympathy, a minimal act of avoiding remorse. I stood in the middle of the ambiguous position of both perpetrator and victim. Most people stand indifferently, a neutral third party, watching, cynically condemning, or interfering. I'm no exception.
As I walked back to the car where Molly was waiting after the visiting hours, a familiar figure and a faint scent passed by. Despite his heavy body odor, his clothes emanated a faint, incongruous scent of baby laundry, which I found peculiar. It was the strange scent of someone I'd always found peculiar.
I stopped walking and turned my head, only to be met with the bright blue eyes of a tall, slender soldier in Medea's uniform, staring back. In the midst of the crowds of people drifting away, he and I stood there, frozen in time. Locking eyes with the handsome man, his jet-black hair neatly combed back with pomade, I knew immediately who he was.
“Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal.”
“Diana.”
We called out to each other simultaneously. Our encounter was a pure coincidence. I saw him in his Medea Army uniform and tried to grasp the situation. Had he disguised himself as a Medea soldier to escape death, or had he come to reveal the truth for my sake? What if Celine's death had caused a change of heart and he had come to seek revenge on Noah and me? My thoughts were turbulent, and I asked, my thoughts at a standstill.
“How did you get here?”
“If you have time, how about a cup of tea?”
The voice was polite, like a gentleman asking for a date. Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal's face was as affectionate as ever. For some reason, I felt awkward making eye contact, so I focused my gaze on his broad shoulders. Finally, curious about his intentions, I let my guard down and nodded in agreement.
We headed to a small, nearby café and found a discreet corner seat. He pulled out a chair for me, as if to suggest I take a seat. I sat down and glanced around. With his dark hair and his Medea Army uniform, no one seemed suspicious of the lieutenant colonel. He ordered Earl Grey tea, and I ordered a cold lemonade.
“I’ll buy you dessert too. You like sweets.”
“Thank you. I’d like chocolate cake.”
“Don’t you like this too?”
I nodded as the lieutenant colonel pointed to the pudding on the side display. Suddenly, I remembered him ordering a bunch of food from the menu, not knowing what I liked. He'd called it "interest."
A beautifully decorated slice of cake, two puddings, and a drink were served on the table between us. The lieutenant colonel took a bite of the pudding and nodded slowly.
“I think I understand why you like it. It’s delicious.”
I've never seen him eat anything sweet. Well, I've only seen him a few times. I quickly shook off those useless thoughts and picked up my fork.
“I’m sorry about what happened to my sister.”
I spoke first, trying to break the awkward silence between us. He held his teacup and answered in a measured tone.
“I don’t deserve to be comforted. I never loved her.”
“That’s... yes.”
I was worried about how to get to the point. Celine's death couldn't have had any effect on him. His somewhat thin and haggard appearance supported that thought.
“I was wondering how you were doing.”
"I'm doing well."
“That’s fortunate.”
The lieutenant colonel, who was fiddling with a wide-mouthed porcelain teacup, added in a voice that contained a hint of regret.
“I heard that Mrs. Janet Evergreen is in prison.”
“Yes. I’m on my way back from a visit.”
“Is that so? Miss Diana, could you please keep quiet about the fact that you saw me here?”
“I will decide after hearing what your intentions are.”
“There is absolutely no harm to you.”
His blue eyes watched my fingers tapping softly on the table. Perhaps he sensed a glimpse of my inner anxiety, so he quickly lowered his hand under the table.
"Admiral Claire killed my mother, but his daughter, Celine, died trying to save me. Since then, much has changed: my thoughts, my values, and what's important to people."
“How has it changed?”
The lieutenant colonel smiled broadly in response. Only then could I truly look at him. Sapphire-like eyes, distinct features, and a warm, affectionate smile despite his usually gruff and fierce demeanor. Celine loved him enough to lay down her life for him. Where did that love, so lingering, unacknowledged and ungiven, disappear?
“Diana, before my wife died, she left a will asking you to live.”
“Yes? Your sister to the lieutenant colonel?”
“No. It is a will left to Admiral Winston Clare.”
Instead of resenting me for ignoring her help, Celine left a will asking me to live. The moment I realized she meant for the lieutenant colonel to protect someone he held dear, a shiver ran through my head. Was this feeling born of love? I felt a crack and a shatter somewhere deep within my chest. The pain of those sharp shards piercing and tearing through my stomach was unbearable. A ringing in my ears faded away. I felt like crying.
"Please, I'll grant you this. My happiness has been achieved, so long as you give your all to your life, Lieutenant Colonel. Don't live for others or with the intention of paying the price. Live selfishly, prioritizing your own happiness."
I hoped he would be freed from the shackles of guilt. Celine must have hoped for that too. I suppressed the emotions welling up in me and stood up. I couldn't quite pinpoint what it was that was gnawing at me, filling the gap between the broken pieces. He stood up with me, straightened up, and saluted me as if to say goodbye.
"I will do so, Diana. I wish you continued happiness."
Will the day ever come when he and I meet again? There may be a few more coincidences, or today could be our last.
Everyone who passes by me in an instant is like that.
“Take care, and see you next time.”
In the midst of a world war, promising the next time felt like an impossible promise, but it was a gesture of hope. Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal had a look on his face I'd never seen before, but he offered no other response or gesture. I quietly observed his blue, sunken eyes, and then, a pang of sadness, I hastily turned away.
The original story, based on the real-life Lieutenant Colonel Jeffrey Groenendael, was an Allied commander who died in World War II. The woman he rescued from kidnapping also died in the interwar period, just like Celine. My hope for freedom from the lieutenant colonel's entangled fate was a desperate wish for his predicted misfortune to change. On the car ride home, the sky was a clear blue, almost tearful, and I found it beautiful, but the melancholy that settled deep within me didn't easily dissipate.
***
Three days later, news arrived that Janet Evergreen had escaped from prison and disappeared overnight. I thought of Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal, whom I had accidentally encountered on a crowded street that day, when the sun was warm, and the sky was unusually clear. I suspected he had saved the life of Janet, someone as precious as Celine's mother. But I never mentioned the coincidence to anyone, not even Noah. That was the last thing on my conscience.
Lieutenant Colonel Jeffrey Groenendael and I went our separate ways from that day on, and I never saw him again.
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