“Merche? Why are you suddenly like this?”

When Merche, who had gone out with the prince and returned, suddenly started packing her belongings, a puzzled Carla ran up and asked.

Merche didn’t give a long explanation and instructed the servant to pack Carla’s belongings as well.

“Why are you doing this? What did you talk about with His Highness the Prince to be like this?”

“We need to go back.”

“What?”

“Carla, we need to go back right now.”

“Wh-what are you saying, all of a sudden? To return to the main territory, we need grandmother’s permission first, how can we…”

“We’ll see the family head and explain.”

“No, Merche. Don’t you remember grandmother said not to let anyone in and even sent us away?”

“We still need to go.”

Even though Mariette wouldn’t allow anyone to visit, they had to see her even if it meant breaking down the closed door.

Merche, with her lips tightly sealed, headed out to the doorway again.

“I am not the protagonist of the prophecy.”

“What nonsense is that again. Barging in like this, and now saying you’re not the prophecy’s protagonist.”

“Family head, we must return to Benenum now.

If we go back and absolutely do not interfere with outside affairs, but stay withdrawn, we can live.”

“Do you know what your words mean? Not interfering with outside affairs means running away with your tail between your legs from both factional fights and the royal succession battle. Is that truly what you want?”

“Yes. That’s what Benenum must do.”

“…So that’s your decision. Let me ask just once. Is that truly your sincere wish, Merche?”

“Yes. It’s all sincere, and my unchanging decision.”

Mariette, though perplexed by Merche’s sudden stubbornness, ultimately yielded to that persistence.

“Sigh. I understand for now. I’ll do as you say, so go out now. Shouldn’t you settle the matters you’ve stirred up here before leaving?”

Returning to her quarters, Merche pondered what ‘matters to settle’ Mariette had meant.

What affairs could Mariette, who hadn’t stepped outside even once and only exchanged messages via carrier pigeons, have stirred up?

The answer came from an unexpected encounter.

Just as she finished packing, Juana suddenly barged in. With a face flushed with anger to the point of breathlessness, she poured out fiery rage at Merche.

“What on earth are you trying to do! Do you think all of this is a game? Are all our lives just like insect lives to you!”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying. Please calm down and speak, Lady Juana.”

“If you just return to Benenum like this, what are we supposed to do… You know we can’t side with the opposing faction at this point, right!”

In the atmosphere that seemed about to erupt into a big fight, the surrounding servants looked on nervously, unsure what to do.

Merche gestured to dismiss them, and quietly observed Juana, who was seething with rage.

Now she seemed to understand. What Mariette meant by ‘affairs stirred up’.

It must have been a plan to push Merche as a candidate for the throne, making her the focal point of the faction.

It couldn’t have been a plan led by Mariette.

It was only recently that Merche had confirmed she might be the prophecy’s protagonist, and she had agonized for days, unable to accept that fact.

At least, the possibility that Mariette would hastily devise such a plan after seeing Merche so burdened was extremely low.

Then what remains is Ardor.

The family that was in the same faction and firmly believed her to be of direct royal lineage.

Her blood ran as cold as when she stood before the door of the secret room before meeting Magnus. Merche declared in a chilling voice.

“Lady Juana. I am not the protagonist of the prophecy.”

“…What? …Ha! Is that something you should say? How can you! We all believed in you alone, and now you say this!”

“I met with His Highness Prince Magnus today.”

The shouting stopped abruptly.

“If I don’t step back, he will kill my people and kill me. So I must not be the prophecy’s protagonist.”

Juana, turning pale, took a few steps back.

Unlike herself, the calm face that showed neither excitement nor anger belatedly caught her eye.

She was certain. That frighteningly cold woman had already made her decision. It would not change or be twisted.

“You know it’s you… You know that you’re the real one, not that prince.”

“What difference would it make even if I know?”

“…If we reveal and report to the world that he threatened you.”

“No. No matter what we do, the situation won’t change. I can’t change anything.”

Merche opened one of her hands and stared intently into it.

There was a wound there that had not yet healed.

A wound gained from where she had submitted, obeyed, and resigned. A trace showing how desperate she had been then.

“The prophecy’s protagonist is not me, but His Highness Prince Magnus. If you want to pledge loyalty, pledge it to him. Then Ardor will be safe too.”

It was a position she had never thought of as her own to begin with.

Rather than losing her people by stubbornly clinging to something she coveted, it was better to become a cowardly fugitive.

It’s not my place. Merche repeated endlessly to herself.

“I’ll go with you.”

It was the immediate response to her saying she was leaving.

There were no further questions after that, nor any requests for permission.

Rude set out on the road to Benenum as naturally as the sun setting and the moon rising.

Though it was said to be the end of winter, the night wind was still chilly.

As she stepped out of the carriage that had stopped for camping, a thick blanket was promptly placed on her shoulders. Turning around, it was him.

“You need to put something in your stomach. At this rate, you’ll end up walking around as a skeleton with only bones left.”

The excuse of having no appetite didn’t work. Rude pulled her into the temporarily set-up tent and cut up pieces of well-roasted meat.

The hand holding the knife was rough, as if slaughtering prey rather than cutting meat to eat.

Blue veins protruded on his arms, and the taut muscles above them rippled.

The curved lines were graceful. Merche’s gaze was helplessly drawn there.

“What. Still feeling unwell? Does my form not look good?”

He asked, tilting his head slightly, then followed Merche’s gaze.

Confirming what she had been looking at, he grinned so widely his mouth corners seemed about to tear.

“If you wanted something else, you should have said so earlier.”

“…That’s not it.”

“I was being insensitive. This wasn’t the time to be cutting this. Right?”

Before she could stop him, Rude undressed.

It was night, and while everyone else was wearing an extra coat due to the wind, he alone acted as if it were midsummer.

His fully exposed upper body stood out starkly in the pitch-black darkness.

Wondering how to dissuade him, her eyes fell on the venison he had neatly cut.

“The food will get cold. Let’s eat first.”

“Why are you changing the subject? I’ve already undressed.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Don’t lie. You said you had no appetite earlier.”

Even so, he focused on slicing the roasted meat again.

Hurriedly swallowing one piece to prevent him from saying anything else, then another, she found herself truly eating before she knew it.

After finishing the painstakingly cut meat and taking a sip of water, Rude suddenly asked her.

“When are you going to visit Lupinus Castle?”

“I have no plans to visit right away.”

“Then when, if not right away?”

“Is there a reason I absolutely must go there?”

“Yeah. There is. There’s something you need to see.”

“What could that be…”

“An old man on his deathbed.”

Merche put down the water glass she was holding.

“Perhaps the person you’re referring to…”

“Who else could it be.”

That bastard who’s my father. He nailed down her tentative assumption.

Merche was momentarily at a loss for words and fell silent.

To think Genovefa was still alive.

It was already common knowledge that the succession of the Lupinus family head had not occurred in a natural way.

After Rude became the family head, the Lupinus side announced the death of the previous head Genovefa and claimed the cause was illness, but no one believed it.

Even Merche didn’t.

She firmly believed Genovefa had died by Rude’s hand.

But for him to be alive means they deliberately faked his death.

“That old man is clinging to life, just waiting for you to come.”

Speaking mockingly, he frowned midway through.

An old man trapped underground, waiting only for the day he’ll die. That face he wanted to kill so badly came to mind. Of all times, while eating…

He threw down his fork irritably.

“You should be the one to kill that bastard, shouldn’t you?”

Though he had deliberately kept him alive instead of killing him, there were times when he felt the urge, but he endured with that one thought.

Someday, Merche visiting the castle and killing that bastard, watching him writhe and struggle desperately.

Hadn’t he even dreamed of wanting to see that? On the day it became reality, he felt he’d be full even without eating.

“……”

The woman with features as harmonious as if painted remained silent for a long time. Her face showed she was deep in thought.

It was bound to be tedious, uninteresting thoughts.

Rude could pinpoint the candidates for those worthless and insignificant musings without even looking.

Things that didn’t exist in his life, or rather, things he wouldn’t entertain except for Merche – faint guilt, human sympathy, compassion, such things.

As time passed, the dishes and utensils were cleared away, and people began preparing for bed one by one.

Even as her surroundings changed, Merche was still lost in thought, only blinking her eyes.

After staring intently at those white, soft cheeks, he suddenly asked again.

“You. Something happened there, right?”

“…Nothing happened.”

“Then why are you suddenly running away like a criminal on the run?”

“……”

“Who is it. Who’s chasing you?”

He poured out several names into Merche’s ear, who remained silent.

Not the old man of Benenum, nor his granddaughter, not them.

There weren’t many candidates who could make Merche, who usually didn’t budge like a centuries-old tree, run away.

As he sifted through the narrowed-down candidates, Rude finally blurted out the name that bothered him most.

“Magnus Fondo.”