Episode 89

Eunice continued her explanation in a calm tone.

She said she had read the mysterious book when she was a child.

I naturally assumed she had read the same “original story” as I had, but that wasn’t the case.

She had read a different book.

The protagonist of Eunice’s book wasn’t herself.

“The Duke was the protagonist,” Eunice said, pointing at Igon.

“He was portrayed as a lonely person. Despite his great accomplishments, his life was depicted as one of constant struggle.”

Without pausing, she went on.

As a child, she had admired the Duke, rooting for him in his relentless battles and wishing for his legacy to be remembered as that of a great general.

I nodded along to her words but suddenly realized something strange. Raising my hand, I hastily interrupted her.

*Wait.*

‘You said *when you were a child*?’

I quickly got up, grabbed a pen and paper from the table, and wrote down the question, emphasizing the phrasing that had caught my attention.

My brows furrowed involuntarily.

Eunice hadn’t dreamed or remembered a past life. She had said she read the book when she was young—in other words, it was a physical object she had read in the past and remembered ever since.

This was a fundamentally different issue from my own experience of having read the “original story” in my previous life.

“Yes,” Eunice confirmed.

I immediately picked up the pen again and wrote another question.

‘Then where is the book now?’

Eunice blinked as if the thought had only just occurred to her.

“…It seems to have disappeared. Now that I think about it, I don’t remember seeing it after I grew out of adolescence…”

Her voice was barely more than a murmur.

I turned to look at Igon.

His expression had hardened, his face unusually tense.

Even Igon, who was always composed, seemed caught off guard by the peculiarity of this situation.

Under normal circumstances, Igon—the meticulous and sharp-eyed Duke—would never have overlooked something like this.

Switching my gaze between the two of them, I asked another question.

‘How did you come by the book?’

Eunice didn’t answer immediately, her expression thoughtful.

“How strange. Why didn’t I think about that before? It feels as if I was under some kind of spell,” she said, shaking her head slowly as if trying to clear her thoughts.

“When I was little, it was just there in the library. As though it had been waiting for me, it was tucked among the children’s books.”

That was odd.

Deeply odd.

I glanced at Eunice’s dazed face and Igon, who was now rubbing his chin, his expression dark and contemplative.

If neither of them had realized it before, then something—or someone—must have intervened.

There weren’t many entities capable of orchestrating something like this.

If I had to point to one possibility…

‘A god, perhaps.’

The realization reverberated through my mind like a quiet gong.

A chill ran up my arms, raising goosebumps despite the warmth of the room.

“Lily,” Igon’s voice called, snapping me out of my thoughts.

He cupped my chin gently, and I realized, to my surprise, that I had been biting my lip.

“It’s okay,” he murmured softly.

There’s nothing to worry about.

Nothing will happen.

His soothing words, whispered close to my ear, had a surprising calming effect.

The tidal wave of fear that had been swelling within me receded.

In just a few words, he had restored my sense of stability.

After some deliberation, I decided it would be best to let Eunice finish her story.

I picked up the pen again and wrote:

‘The whereabouts of the book aren’t important right now. Please continue.’

Eunice looked at me with a mixture of confusion and concern before nodding.

She resumed speaking in a composed manner.

She explained that, as a child, she had viewed the Durant family in the book and her actual family as separate entities.

It wasn’t until much later that she realized the villainous family in the story was the same as her own.

And honestly, it made sense.

Who would easily accept that their family was the villain in a story?

Moreover, the harsh tales in the book described aspects of the world that a young Eunice wouldn’t have known.

When she grew older, she dismissed the story as a fabricated, malicious tale written by someone who only knew her family’s name.

Eunice also admitted that she never mentioned the book to anyone else.

“It wasn’t exactly a pleasant story,” she said with a bitter smile.

Her perspective on the story changed when she realized how much Igon resembled the Duke Rodore depicted in the book.

“As a young man, he went to war, achieved great victories, lost his parents… there were too many similarities.”

The only difference between the book she read and the reality she now faced was me.

“In the book I read, the Duke didn’t have an adopted sister. He had a biological one,” she said.

Her words left my mind crowded with disorganized thoughts, but she didn’t stop there.

“At first, it was admiration. I was fascinated by both of you.”

Then…

She trailed off, but her meaning was clear.

Eunice developed a fleeting affection for Igon—a simple, adolescent infatuation born from admiration.

It was a kind of love that bordered on reverence, and perhaps it grew stronger after seeing Igon’s attentiveness toward me at the tea party hosted by the Empress.

Encouraged by her feelings, Eunice confessed to Count Durant, saying, “I like Duke Rodore.”

While she knew there was tension between the two families, she hadn’t understood just how deep the animosity ran.

She had naively thought that perhaps their union could mend the longstanding feud.

“My father was furious,” she said.

That simple explanation painted a clear picture of the situation.

I couldn’t help but glance at Igon, gauging his reaction while trying to decipher Eunice’s expression.

Everyone in the room knew that Igon wasn’t entirely innocent when it came to her father’s demise.

As though reading my thoughts, Eunice spoke in a calm voice.

“…Don’t worry. I don’t blame Duke Rodore.”

And then, with visible difficulty, she continued, “I heard the rumor from my father himself.”

Her gaze moved between Igon and me as she spoke.

“The rumor… that the two of you were in love.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine the types of rumors Eunice must have heard, given how familiar we were with the stories circulating about us.

“I thought it was a lie,” she admitted.

And understandably so.

It made sense.

“I was the one who told the Crown Prince about you,” she said.

It seemed Eunice had taken my cordial relationship with the Crown Prince as proof that the rumors about Igon and me were unfounded.

Then, as if confessing her sins, she added, “Even after I realized that your relationship with the Crown Prince wasn’t like that, I was the one who spread those rumors.”

As a relative of the Empress, Eunice’s words likely carried just enough weight to stir trouble for me without causing a scandal.

“When I learned that my father and aunt planned to kill you… I let it happen,” she said.

“I didn’t stop them—not because I lacked the courage or was afraid, but because I wanted you to die.”

The revelation of her darker thoughts, from someone I had always thought of as kind, was deeply shocking.

At the same time, it wasn’t entirely surprising.

Watching Eunice apologize, I realized that her feelings might have been more complicated than simple malice.

But more surprising than her apology was the existence of the physical book and the nervous way she acted even after apologizing.

It felt as though she had more to say, but she didn’t continue that line of thought.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

Her apologies came again and again.

Igon, on the other hand, seemed to find her guilt entirely natural, as if her remorse was no more than what was expected of her.

It was, in its own way, a reflection of the deeply ingrained aristocratic mindset.

However, I couldn’t shake a different thought.

Although I might have been wrong, I had never felt that Eunice harbored any significant romantic interest in Igon during our time together.

Moreover, her apologies and demeanor seemed overly intense to be attributed solely to the guilt of being a bystander.

Still, since Eunice didn’t seem inclined to elaborate further on her own, I decided to steer the conversation in another direction.

‘How did you figure out that I was Evelyn?’

Given the laws of causality, it was unlikely that Igon had told her.

Eunice nodded slightly, as if she had been expecting the question.

“In the book, there was a story about an immortal villain who changed bodies. It ended with the Duke preparing to stop him.”

It was Ash’s story.

Hearing that the Igon in Eunice’s book also worked to thwart Ash left a bitter taste in my mouth.

‘Did Igon succeed in that world?’ I wondered idly, before writing again.

‘And?’

“Duke Rodore mentioned in the book that he was waiting for you. I assumed you might return in a similar way… especially since I’d already seen your former body’s funeral.”

Eunice spoke as if her conclusion that I was Evelyn was simply a guess she had gotten right.

The explanation left me with a strange sense of unease, but I chose not to point it out.

Today, she had come to us, apologized, and shared a story that was clearly difficult for her. That was already enough for now.

I could have pressed her further, but I doubted it would yield anything useful.

Pushing her would only scare her more.

Besides, something far more important than my unease about Eunice had emerged.

The existence of that mysterious “book.”

There was only one person who could provide answers about such a thing.

‘Rosalind.’

We needed to return quickly—Eunice included.

Resolute, I turned my gaze toward Eunice. Before I could say anything, however, Igon stood up first.

“Lily,” he called softly, almost melodically.

“Let’s get up. If we stay here much longer, the evening will pass us by,” he said in a gentle, coaxing tone.

It wasn’t the most fitting remark after such a shocking conversation, but his words reminded me of the hunger I had forgotten.

Through the window, the sunlight had already grown dim and muted.

I nodded in agreement with Igon’s suggestion, then turned to look at Eunice.

Our eyes met, and she seemed uncertain, eventually lowering her gaze.

It felt like I could see the weight of her guilt pressing down on her shoulders.

I could have written a few reassuring words for her, but I didn’t.

I couldn’t muster the warmth to comfort someone who had once wished for my death.

Turning away from her, I followed Igon out of the room.

It struck me then that I hadn’t asked why Eunice seemed so uncomfortable around Igon.

Then again, did it matter?

The answer could come from someone other than Eunice.

I tapped the back of Igon’s hand, and he gently clasped mine in return, his grip warm and steady.

 

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