For a moment, I hesitated. Should I not tell him…? But I really shouldn’t lie…
I nodded. “Yes. That’s why I asked if I could be invited to your villa.”
“But Duke Kihlgren’s bloodline ended. Byrne is not his descendent. Wouldn’t their resemblance have to be mere coincidence?”
If only he didn’t look exactly like that mysterious young man, I finished to myself. Otherwise, I could have easily passed it off as mere coincidence.
“Back in the Sky Chamber, Uncle Dearest said he was going to get Rust’s testimony. What became of that?”
“He’s staying here at the villa as my father’s guest. I don’t know whether they’ve spoken or not.”
“Is he here today?”
“No… I think he’s with my father. They’ve gone to the prison tower.”
The prison tower… The events of my father’s study the day before reentered my mind. My father had taken action against the arrested junior ball raiders that Uncle Dearest did not approve of… Is that what this was about?
None of this was in the books…
Going off The Noble King lore I knew, Rust was an anti-royalist. It was difficult to imagine that had changed. But at the junior ball, he had escorted me to the Sky Chamber and helped me (though not unconditionally) find the true crown. And during the royal survey, he had helped Derek…and helped protect me, a royal, in turn.
Beyond his phantom pains and his attempt to slash Queen Idéalia’s tomb, Rust knew more than he should—even knowledge that was never revealed in the books.
But at the very least, from Rust’s words and actions alone, I never saw any traces of that mysterious young man. If there were traces, Rust wasn’t aware of them.
In contrast, since Duke Kihlgren was deceased, in a way, he was more shrouded in mystery than Rust. Including the fact that he was in a position quite close to the Esfian royal family, if anyone had a more direct connection to that mysterious young man, it would not be Rust. It would be—
“Princess…why do you think my father took that action in the Sky Chamber?”
I looked up from the painting. Derek was staring right at me, arms crossed.
Took “that action.” Even though he was vague, I knew immediately what he meant. The same thing had probably tugged on Derek’s conscience.
And…it’s likely Derek also did not think the resemblance was a coincidence.
“Are you asking…why did he not react when he saw Rust’s face? Why he feigned calmness?”
Derek’s eyes closed.
“Yes.”
I didn’t know why. But the only person who could have brought this painting to the Impossible Room was the owner of the dagger key, Uncle Dearest. This was a place that was possible, but quite difficult to enter.
It didn’t make sense.
How did Uncle Dearest get in here?
If my deductions were correct, he needed royal bodily fluids to get in. He would need a royal to touch the dagger, either directly or indirectly. And ever since Duke Kihlgren’s death, the only royalty remaining were my father, Sirius, me, Alec, and the mother who bore me. Uncle Dearest would need one of those people to assist him…and I knew it wasn’t me. So…who was it?
There was one other oddity. It would have made the most sense to just throw away this painting, so why didn’t he?
“Well, one thing is clear—Duke Kihlgren is involved somehow.”
That was all I could say.
I looked around the room that was frozen in time.
“……?”
My eyes stopped on the back wall. It was difficult to see, but there was an easel standing opposite it. It was still covered with a cloth, and on it was…a painting?
“I think there’s another painting back there.”
Apparently Derek noticed it, too.
We approached it. Derek moved the easel, turning it to face us.
And the painting behind the cloth was revealed.
Even though it was still on an easel, the painting was finished. However, the bottom fourth of it was blackened with smoke, as if somebody tried to burn it, but the fire was extinguished.
But it was clear what the painting was. The remaining portrait was colored vividly, and it was beautifully made.
It was a wedding.
A happy bride and groom were gazing into each other’s eyes.
The man, I knew well. He was wearing a crown. He was much younger, but it was my father… He had no beard, but he had the same golden hair, dark emerald-green eyes, and facial structure…
And the woman—she resembled Edgar a great deal. As white flowers bloomed wildly around them, the woman’s long dark brown hair flowed in the breeze. Her cheeks were flushed beneath glittering eyes of dark brown.
A fanciful painting—
I reached out to it but balled my fingers into a fist before touching it, even though nobody told me I shouldn’t.
“This could also be interpreted…as a funeral painting,” Derek murmured. “The white flowers around them are surely Lieche orchids. Just as they can serve as both medicine and poison, they are used both in celebration and in mourning—they hold both meanings simultaneously.”
A flowery wedding…and also a funeral?
I pressed my lips together tightly.
Going off the people in the painting…
My father was still alive. But the woman. The woman who greatly resembled Edgar…
Only one person came to mind.
Edgar’s little sister…Irene.
It was clear just how deeply they loved each other.
It was that kind of painting.
It was also clear that it depicted a scene that never happened. But just how much? Just how much of it was fantasy? Were there ever feelings between the two?
The painting had no title.
But its artist—the hand who painted it left traces of its owner behind.
On the lower left-hand side blackened with soot, the artist’s signature was visible.
I read it.
“Si…lt…sfi…”
Si___lt _sfi_..
It was easy to fill in the missing letters.
“Siehalt Esfia…,” I murmured.
Only Esfia’s monarch took on Esfia as a surname.
This was the name of the former king—my grandfather.
My grandfather had painted this painting.