The blue birds that had been soaring as if yearning for the sky melted away without a trace moments later. The people who had turned their eyes to the strange phenomenon soon returned to their debates leaving only Dehart standing there as if trapped in time.
“Your Grace.” Ilay called out to him.
His unflinching and brazen personality proved its worth in moments like this.
“Are you all right?”
However, even someone as oblivious as Ilay couldn’t help but be startled by Dehart’s current appearance.
Dehart’s golden eyes shed flickering sparks as he nodded, and his hands, trembling with a shiver, were clenched into tight fists.
There was no trace of confusion consuming him, only a cold, unwavering determination.
“Yeah.”
Ilay felt an indescribable sense of pressure. It was like watching an untamed flame dance within a cage of ice—an existence that could shatter the fragile surface at any moment and set the world ablaze, yet all he could do was stand by and helplessly witness it.
Ilay shuddered unconsciously.
I’ve never seen him like this before… Could this be his true nature?
Before joining this unit at his cousin Ryan’s recommendation, Ilay had never interacted with Dehart up close. Because of that, he had always assumed the man was hot-tempered, hasty in judgment, and obsessive to the point of forgetting everything else when engrossed in something.
In short, he judged him too flawed and unfit to be a duke.
But the Dehart before him now was quite different from his expectations. If his assumptions had been correct, Dehart should have exploded like a firecracker at the sight of someone who resembled the dead duchess and gone on a rampage without a second thought, losing all sense of reason and control.
Yet right now, he was eerily calm.
To Ilay, that wasn’t a good sign.
If his sanity had returned due to the delusion that the short-haired woman was the duchess, then the backlash upon realizing that she’s not will be even more severe.
“…Are you truly certain that it is her?” Ilay asked cautiously.
At his question, Dehart’s eyes widened as if wondering why he was stating the obvious. But Ilay remained composed and continued speaking. He needed to shatter Dehart’s delusion before it solidified. This was not only for his sake, but also Inverness’.
“Please, don’t take this the wrong way, but at the funeral held at Hillend Hall… didn’t you see her with your own eyes?”
“..…”
“Your Grace, you personally confirmed the Duchess’s passing. And everyone at Hillend Hall saw her off together.”
It was an undeniable fact. Even the officials who came from the capital had verified Sebelia’s remains.
“The duchess’ body still rests in the family crypt at Hillend Hall—right next to where Your Grace will one day take your final rest.”
At Ilay’s sharp remark, Dehart’s lips tightened. The reality he had stubbornly ignored rushed at him the moment he encountered hope.
“Are you truly certain that’s her? Why do you believe that she is the duchess?”
Ilay’s cautious words pierced his heart like an arrow, and Dehart could not answer his question.
Because it has to be. She is Sebelia; he thought.
That was the only ridiculous answer he could think of.
“Ha!!!”
Dehart let out a hollow laugh. It felt as if thousands of needles were pricking his skin.
“So this is what it’s like for a madman to realize he’s insane.…”
Ilay’s words had doused him with the cold water of reason. The reality of the past juxtaposed against the present chilled his fevered brain.
His heart insisted that the woman he had just seen was his wife. But his head—his experiences, his rationality—screamed that she was merely a lookalike. That the real Sebelia was already dead.
What is the truth? No…what do I want to believe is the truth? He asked himself.
That flimsy, narrow belief that Sebelia couldn’t have possibly taken her own life—he had clung to that single conviction and followed it all the way here.
And now, suddenly, she appeared before him. Alive?
At this very place. At the very moment he was searching for the final puzzle piece to uncover the truth about her death?
“Was it all….an illusion?” Dehart breathed, his voice cracking into fragmented syllables. “I thought I saw her with my own eyes, but was it merely because I so desperately wanted to?”
Had his mind, filled with hope, finally broken, leading him to mistake a hallucination for reality?
Did I… actually want her to be alive?
It felt as if sharp metal was scraping against his insides. The feelings he had buried so deeply were now completely laid bare.
The reason he’d clung to the belief that there was a secret to her death, even if it meant being called mad. The reason he had imprisoned his last remaining family into that tower and fled the north.
It was all because he didn’t want to believe she was dead.
Because he couldn’t accept her death.
At the very least, if it wasn’t suicide—if she had been unjustly killed by someone else—then… maybe, just maybe, I could accept it, even if only a little.
“Ha…”
This was a living hell, thick with the stench of blood.
Standing in its midst, Dehart slowly blinked his eyes, his face turning deathly pale.
Ilay watched him calmly, hoping he would abandon the foolish belief that the duchess was still alive.
But instead, Dehart stared blankly at the sky for a moment before saying;
“…Station knights at the city’s south and west gates.”
“What?”
“Also, request the baron’s cooperation to increase the nighttime patrols and security. Our priority is to ensure she doesn’t escape.”
“Your Grace!”
Ilay’s eyes shook in disbelief.
“Whether it was a hallucination or not… whether it was just my own delusion, or a secret I don’t yet know—I’ll find out when I see her again,” Dehart declared, a blinding white thunderbolt slashing across the golden eyes that used to burn as brilliantly as the sun.
Ilay gulped at the sight.
A madman could not answer his own question.
***
As he followed Dehart, Ilay pondered.
Was his superior truly mad? Or, unbelievably, was the Duchess actually a twin?
Ilay, though lacking in social graces, was a rational man, and he could not accept the possibility that the duchess was still alive. It would be an unacceptable error.
The Duchess was dead.
A funeral had been held according to proper procedure, and her death had been officially recorded.
Erasing a person from the world wasn’t something that could be done haphazardly. Numerous customs and the expertise of those who enforced them were involved.
Could the Duchess, a woman who had been locked inside, have pulled off something like that? He asked himself.
If she were truly alive, then her first priority would have been finding a body—a freshly deceased body that looked exactly like her.
And that was impossible.
“What a mess,” Ilay sighed as he watched Dehart issue commands to the knights with sharp efficiency.
If things continued like this, more and more people would end up getting caught in the chaos.
And the first victim would undoubtedly be the woman who resembled the Duchess.
Ilay recalled the short brown-haired woman, who by the way looked so different from the pale, lifeless-looking duchess. She had seemed strong-willed, and full of spirit.
She had run away, which meant she either had her own circumstances or had simply realized that the Duke was not in his right mind.
Either way, she would likely try to leave the city, and when that happened, a confrontation would be inevitable.
If she’s going to get caught anyway, it’s better to handle this before the fire spreads any further.
After a brief hesitation, Ilay finally stepped forward and approached Dehart.
“Your Grace.”
“…Just in case, send men to the ruins as well—what is it?”
Dehart, in the middle of giving orders, turned his head to look at him. His eyes, which had been drained of all color moments ago, had now returned to their brilliant golden hue.
Ilay cautiously leaned in and whispered into his ear;
“I know where the person you just met is staying.”
A sharp gaze locked onto him—one that seemed ready to cut him in half on the spot.
Ilay swallowed hard.
Was this too reckless?
No. If this hope was going to be shattered, it was better to crush it before it had the chance to rise.
Resolving himself, he gave a tightly-pressed-lips Dehart the inn’s address.
***
Sebelia, having packed her bags, dashed down the hallway as if flying.
I’ll take the back alleys and head for the hill.
She had no idea what was going through Dehart’s mind, but judging by his state just moments ago, one thing was clear—she absolutely could not afford to be caught.
I’ve never seen eyes like that before.
They were haunted eyes—eyes that had been betrayed by hope dozens of times, trampled by expectations hundreds of times. And yet, at some point, they had begun to dream again.
A chill ran down Sebelia’s spine at the thought that Dehart had looked at her with such eyes. And instinctively, she knew.
She knew that her being officially dead would mean nothing to him; that to someone who had endured countless disappointments and despair, the opportunity she now represented would override all logic and reason.
So it was better to avoid him altogether. But if, by any chance, she couldn’t, then the best course of action would be to face him when she was in a position to stand on equal footing.
“In other words, not now.”
If her memory was correct, the man by his side earlier bore a striking resemblance to Ryan, which meant he was most likely Ryan’s relative.
And a Duke like Dehart wouldn’t have come all this way with just a single knight.
As she hurried forward, the street beyond the window suddenly grew noisy. Sebelia stopped just before descending the stairs and turned her head, her blue eyes widening as far as they could go.
Already?!
Through the window, she saw half a dozen knights, led by none other than Dehart. He had deliberately worn the official uniform bearing his family’s insignia, and the sight of it made the crowd part in astonishment.
He’s really serious about this.
With trembling hands, Sebelia gripped the window frame. She could see the knights blocking the entrance to the inn.
What should I do? She bit down on the soft flesh inside her mouth, forcing herself to focus.
A frontal escape was impossible.
From the way Dehart led his knights, she could tell he intended to subdue her by force rather than words. Once caught, it wouldn’t matter how much she protested that she wasn’t Sebelia —he wouldn’t listen.
“He even attended my funeral, so how can he possibly believe I’m alive…?”
She truly couldn’t understand. Has that arrogant man lost his mind? Any normal person would just assume that she was merely a lookalike.
As she grew more anxious, an idea suddenly struck her.
“…Right.”
If what he wanted was a living Sebelia, then she would give him exactly that.
With a calm expression, Sebelia turned around and retraced her steps.
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