Kyle Hughes scrunched his handsome face into a scowl and clicked his tongue. He’d just caught sight of Randolph, who was sitting at a desk piled high with documents, completely absorbed in his work. “Take a break already.” Randolph ignored him. His bloodshot eyes continued to skim the pages. Kyle could see dark circles under those eyes. “You aren’t even sleeping, are you?” He suspected Randolph hadn’t gotten a solid eight hours since his fiancée was sentenced to death. Randolph wasn’t the only one worried about Constance. Countless people were standing up in her defense—among them Kate Lorraine, Mylene Reese, Viscount Grail, and the subjects of the Grail domain. Not to mention her former fiancé and a certain king of the shipping business. Their efforts were paying off; the winds were starting to shift. But Randolph was the one working behind the scenes with Kimberly Smith to forcibly remove any obstacles in their path. All while pursuing Daeg Gallus, of course. Kyle understood painfully well how much Randolph wanted to save his fiancée, but even Kyle, an admitted workaholic, was starting to worry about how much the man had on his plate. He sighed, eliciting a level response from Randolph. “It’s not a problem.” “I disagree. You won’t be doing anyone any good if you break down.” “We have no time to spare. The execution is days away.” “All the more reason for you to save your strength. If the current strategy fails, you might have to whisk our dear Connie off to a foreign land. I’ll help you break her out of jail.” He’d meant it as a joke, but Randolph remained strangely silent. Kyle’s lip twitched. “Whoa, hold on a second. Don’t tell me you’ve been preparing for that, too…!” Kyle brought a hand to his head. He’d suddenly developed a pounding headache. Randolph gave him an innocent look. “What are you talking about?” “…You heartless brute.” His reproachful glare had no apparent effect. Kyle sighed loudly once again. “Listen, I still consider you a close friend,” he said, wagging his finger in the air. Randolph finally looked up from the pile of papers. “What a coincidence.” “Hmm?” Randolph’s face was as blank as ever, but he seemed a little less tense than before. “I was just thinking the same thing.” “Really.” “That’s why I’m not telling you anything else. If I did, you’d probably do everything you could to help me,” Randolph said without a trace of embarrassment. Kyle flinched. “…You’re awfully sure of yourself,” he snapped, too flustered to come up with anything better. “Sure of myself?” Randolph echoed, giving him a puzzled look. “No, I’m just speaking the truth.” Kyle could tell from his tone that he wasn’t joking or being sarcastic. Those were his genuine feelings. “You…scam artist…!” Kyle groaned, scratching his head. Just then, his assistant, Talbott, approached timidly. “What is it?” he snapped, glaring reflexively. “Ah, I’m sorry…!” the man answered instantly, apparently terrified by Kyle’s expression. It seemed a visitor had arrived. Kyle looked at Randolph. A head poked through the doorway, followed by a waving hand. “Were you in the middle of something?” “No, it’s fine,” Randolph said, standing up and pulling over a chair. “Would you rather I leave?” Kyle asked. The blond-haired visitor looked at him with oddly bright eyes. “You’re Lieutenant Commander Ulster’s right-hand man, aren’t you? You can stay,” she said. She had willful eyebrows and a large mouth. She was wearing men’s clothing, and her hair was pulled back messily. Her face was too wild to call beautiful, but Kyle found her attractive enough. He remembered mention of someone with her description in the file. San was her name, if he wasn’t mistaken. She belonged to Princess Alexandra’s camp in Faris and went around with a woman named Eularia. He knew they had met with Kendall Levine several times, but Kendall had already left the kingdom. Most likely, they had remained in Adelbide to search for Ulysses Faris, the half brother Alexandra doted on. “And what can I do for you?” Randolph asked. San frowned, distorting her clean, powderless face. “It’s a little complicated. I don’t know quite where to begin…,” she said, staring up at the ceiling before mumbling crossly, “Eularia’s so much better at this sort of thing.” “Then shall we call for her?” Randolph asked. “Can’t do that,” San answered. “She’s serving as carrier pigeon right now.” “A carrier pigeon…?” Kyle asked, completely lost. “Does it have to do with your secret meeting with the king?” Randolph asked. “Huh?” Kyle blurted out idiotically. San raised one eyebrow in amusement. “Me? Meet with King Ernst?” “Yes. The day before he left for Melvina. The official records say he met with Kendall Levine, but Kendall wasn’t at the palace that day.” “How do you know that?” “I had him followed. I believe Kendall was meeting with Eularia in the castle district. They shook off our man eventually, but he said you weren’t there. Which means you were probably meeting with the king in Kendall’s place. As a proxy for the third princess, I’d venture. I can’t say for certain, but my guess is you were talking with him about her imprisonment. As evidence, immediately after you met with the king, Kendall took off for Faris like he had urgent business there.” “If you know that much already, it’ll be easy to tell you the rest,” San said with a grin. “Alexandra is against going to war. And she detests roosters. Don’t you think it would suit Adelbide’s interests if she took the throne?” Kyle scratched his head, irritated by how presumptuous she was being. “What are you saying? That we’ll be rewarded if your mistress becomes queen, so we ought to help you? That’s pretty brazen of you.” San gave him a confused look. “I’m just suggesting you make an investment in the future. I don’t think it’s such a bad proposition.” “But the third princess doesn’t have much of that royal blood you all care so much about, and not much support in high places, either. Plus, she’s locked up right now. I could see your point if she had some kind of trump card up her sleeve, but as it is, her chances are slim to none.” “That’s what King Ernst said,” San replied with a casual shrug. Figures, Kyle thought. “But he believed you,” Randolph interrupted in a low voice. “I’m right, aren’t I? I don’t know what magic you used, but the king believed you. That’s why no one’s seen Duke Castiel lately. I know that man, and there’s no way he would sit by and watch a situation like this unfold. But he’s stayed in the background, insisting he was caring for Enrique. I was suspicious from the start, but now it all makes sense.” Randolph turned his cerulean eyes toward San. “It wasn’t the king who went to Melvina, was it? It was Duke Castiel.” What was that? Kyle glanced at the two of them, his arms crossed over his chest. Randolph’s face was blank as always, but San was grinning from ear to ear. “Then where is King Ernst? Don’t tell me he’s playing hide-and-seek in the palace,” Kyle interjected. “No, His Highness did go abroad,” Randolph answered. “Just not to Melvina. His grand departure was staged to make Daeg Gallus think he was going there. But I can guess where he went instead.” San smiled. “Once again, you’ve saved me the trouble of explaining everything. It’s really not complicated. A few things are at play. For instance, Faris is broke.” “…I know that much.” “No, you don’t. You don’t know, and you don’t understand. Oh, don’t take that the wrong way. I’m not blaming you or trying to push you away. It’s just, I don’t think you can imagine what it’s like, coming from such a wealthy place.” The Faris native gazed out the window at the city below. “But I do,” she said. “That’s why they’re making the first move, and why they’ve hired a large organization to help. Bluffing is the only hope they have of winning. Do you know what that means?” Randolph must not have had an answer, because he frowned slightly. “They are completely terrified of this country.” Faris, terrified of Adelbide? It ought to be the other way around, Kyle thought, given Faris was trying to start a war. It was a little hard to believe, and he took a minute to digest it. Randolph’s expression was equally stony. “…What in the world did you propose to His Highness?” he asked San. “The same thing I just told you. The hawks are afraid of Adelbide, so…” San narrowed her lapis eyes and smiled blithely. “…bluff right back.” It was cramped and hot and unbearable. Squeezing his large body between the bookshelves, Hamsworth sighed softly. Money, connections, and a little help from the gods had gotten him into the room in city hall where official records were kept. Even staff were normally forbidden from entering, so of course it wasn’t heated or cooled. One false step would turn him into a plate of boiled pork. As Hamsworth searched, panting, for the document, he suddenly felt a breeze. He turned around and saw that the door was open. A man entered. “My, my, if it isn’t the Earl Uls—” Randolph’s stern glance cut off his words. “Any progress yet?” he asked coldly. “Nothing much yet.” Hamsworth had already told him Rufus May was a member of Daeg Gallus. He was here at city hall to dig into the man’s affairs, but considering Randolph could come and go in the record room as he pleased, headquarters must have already known that. “If you find anything, send a message to me or Deputy Hughes at once,” Randolph instructed him curtly before leaving the room. Hamsworth watched him go, blinking. “…Did you do something to offend our favorite blockhead?” Even Scarlett seemed suspicious as she gazed down on him. Unfortunately, Hamsworth couldn’t think of anything. After racking his brain for a moment, he clapped, having finally come up with one possibility. “I did do the paperwork to dissolve Miss Grail’s engagement to him.” Without Randolph’s permission. “Ah, so he’s resentful.” Hamsworth’s goddess gave a casual shrug, as if to imply she found the whole thing idiotic. Hamsworth smiled wryly. It seemed His Excellency the Grim Reaper had a surprisingly childish side. Of course, that would have been unthinkable just a few months ago. What a strange girl, Hamsworth thought, narrowing his eyes. She was plain and ordinary, with nothing to distinguish her. But somehow, she’d changed not only Scarlett Castiel but the infamous Randolph Ulster. “So did you find out anything about Rufus?” Scarlett asked, breaking Hamsworth’s reverie. Now back in the moment, he hurried to answer her. “It seems the real Rufus May died over ten years ago. He was the last child of a noble branch family without much wealth. Seems they all but disowned him for bad behavior. Whether someone targeted him or it was a coincidence, I have no idea, but poor Rufus died shortly after arriving in the capital.” “And that was when the new Rufus took on his identity? Did you find out why a powerless low-ranking noble was able to get a job at the Finance Bureau?” “Earl Tudor seems to have been his guardian. They’ve always had connections with the Finance Bureau.” “The Tudors?” Scarlett frowned, but a moment later, her lips turned up in a suggestive smile. “The man Teresa Jennings was having an affair with was a Tudor, too. Linus Tudor. Rumor had it that when she committed suicide, he returned to his native country heartbroken over his departed lover. He’s from Faris. Coincidence?” Teresa’s husband, Kevin Jennings, was the one who had uncovered the secret of Princess Cecilia’s birth, and evidence suggested someone had hooked him on drugs in retaliation. Maybe Linus had been the one to take down Kevin, using his lover, Teresa. Even though Linus was a foreigner, he was heir to the Tudor family. It was bizarre for him to go to Faris and not come back. Hamsworth brought his hand to his chin. “Hmm,” he muttered. “Maybe I should look into the Tudor family as well.” “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I’ve decided.” Cecilia was on her way back from a perfunctory visit to Enrique’s room when she ran into Krishna playing Rufus May. No one else was in sight. The lady-in-waiting with her was from the organization, and for security reasons, Cecilia’s visits to Enrique were strictly scheduled. Krishna’s presence there was no coincidence. Cecilia had a bad feeling about his words but nevertheless returned his sunny smile. Even if someone saw them, they would likely conclude the pair were only exchanging a few standard greetings. “What did you decide?” “I believe I mentioned before that I was going to kill the O’Brian girl? I’ve decided on a day.” I knew it. Cecilia held her breath and gazed at Krishna. “I thought it would be perfect to do it on the day of Constance Grail’s execution,” he whispered in a singsong voice, his thin lips curling sadistically. “The day after tomorrow.” “Oh?” Cecilia whispered back, lowering her eyes. She said no more. Morning had come again. Connie hugged her knees on the moldy pallet. Every time she felt like she couldn’t go on, she told herself everything would be fine. Crying like a baby won’t make anyone come rescue you. She was sure that’s what Scarlett would have said. She could almost hear her exasperated voice. She rubbed her eyes. Then she thought of Randolph’s knobby hands. They were so big and strong, and yet so gentle when they wiped away her tears. She stared up at the stained ceiling, wondering if the date of her execution had been set. Was there still time left? Or— She knew she had to stay strong, but she constantly bumped up against the hopelessness of her situation, and it drained her energy. Her weakened mind dwelled incessantly on awful thoughts. What if everyone had given up on her? What if they had forgotten all about her? Maybe that’s why no one is visiting me. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a guard came to tell her she had a visitor. Her heavy heart grew a little lighter. But when she heard the name of the visitor, she was perplexed. “…Brenda?” The door to the bleak meeting room swung open to reveal a chestnut-haired girl. She looked uneasy. Her shoulders twitched at the sound of her own name. She nodded, clearly on the verge of tears. Brenda Harris was a baron’s daughter and a member of Pamela Francis’s clique. She was the one who had set Connie up at the Grand Merillian by pretending she’d stolen her hair ornament. Connie had heard she became estranged from Pamela after that, but— “Um…why are you here?” Even after they’d sat down facing each other across the table, Brenda remained silent. Connie was puzzled. She had never been especially close with Brenda. Of course, if they saw each other, they would say hello and sometimes chat for a while. But they hadn’t been close enough for her to visit Connie like this. That meant she must have a reason for coming. Visiting time was limited. When Connie lost patience and asked again why she was there, Brenda flinched, then reached into her purse and took something out. She placed it gently on the table. It was a newspaper clipping. She must have wanted Connie to read it. Connie reached out hesitantly and skimmed over the article. When she’d finished, she bit her lip. The article was about everything her friends were doing to rescue her. “Mylene, and Kate…” “It’s not just them,” Brenda said, glancing nervously at Connie. It seemed she had finally made up her mind to speak. “It’s also your former fiancé—Neil Bronson—and the shipping baron Walter Robinson, and I’m not sure why, but the viscount, Dominic Hamsworth, too.” “…What?” “Oh, and Earl Ulster, of course.” Connie clammed up. Her eyes felt hot. She’d known. She’d known they would all try to help her. But all the same, at the bottom of her heart, she’d felt anxious. The strength suddenly drained from her body. She let out a long, long sigh. The anxiety and fear seemed to flow away with her breath. That was when she made up her mind to ask. “Brenda,” she began. “When is my execution?” Brenda flinched. Her eyes darted around uncomfortably. Connie smiled wryly at the obvious reaction. She already knew she didn’t have much time left. Otherwise, Brenda would never have gotten up the nerve to come see her like this. The silent battle of wills ended with Brenda giving in. “…Tomorrow, I heard.” “Oh.” Connie smiled. All sorts of emotions crashed down on her like waves in a storm. But strangely enough, the core of her heart stayed calm. “…Constance Grail,” Brenda said as she looked into Connie’s smiling face. “Yes?” “I…” She paused for a moment, evidently unsure whether to go on. “I’ve decided to speak out against Pamela.” Connie stared back at Brenda, blinking slowly. The fright from a moment ago had vanished from her eyes, replaced with firm resolve. There was no sign of the girl who used to take her cues from Queen Pamela. “About everything she’s done. About what happened to the people she targeted, and what kind of person she is. About whether evidence from a person like her is reliable. I plan to speak out about it all.” Connie was speechless. Brenda looked down guiltily. “…I know it’s late. If I had spoken out sooner, maybe things would have been different. But I was too scared.” She stopped talking for a moment and bowed her head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you.” Connie rushed to place her hand on Brenda’s thin shoulder. When she looked up, Connie said simply, “I don’t think you have anything to apologize for.” Pamela was the one at fault, and the real villains were Daeg Gallus. Brenda frowned. “There’s something…I’ve wanted to say to you for a long time.” She looked as if she might burst out crying any moment. “Thank you for saving me back then,” she choked out. Connie caught her breath. Memories of the Grand Merillian came flooding back. Pamela was trying to lay all the blame on Brenda. But Connie wasn’t the one who had rescued her so dashingly in her time of need. “But it wasn’t me, Brenda, it was—” Brenda raised her hand to interrupt. “No, it was you,” she said, almost proudly. “Your sincerity is what saved me.” I’m not alone. When Connie returned to her empty cell after meeting with Brenda, she brought her clenched fist to her chest. Everyone is fighting for me. The despair that had been eating away at her heart was gone now. Of course, that didn’t mean her hopeless situation had taken a turn for the better. But— But I realized something. Never give up. That’s what Scarlett would say. After all, she might have been a pampered duke’s daughter, but she hated giving up. Scarlett was a haughty, insensitive devil of a girl who treated people like they were less than human. And more than anything, she hated to lose. That was why she’d refused to give up until the last moment, no matter how difficult the circumstances. Of that, Connie was sure. Just who do you think I am? Connie felt like she could hear Scarlett whispering in her ear. Lying on her pallet, she smiled and reached her hand toward the abyss pressing in on her. Before Hamsworth knew it, the deep indigo of the night sky had separated into a layer of blue and another of orange, slowly blending together as the light grew. It was almost dawn. The day of poor Constance Grail’s execution had finally arrived. Needless to say, the prospects for rescuing her were nonexistent. Nevertheless… “You seem quite calm,” he noted in surprise. Scarlett threw him a silent glance. Then she snorted. “Do you expect me to scream and yell? Or maybe to curse you? You useless pig! Like that?” Hmm, that was rather nice. Almost like a reward. “Listen to me, you nouveau riche pig.” His anticipation must have been obvious, because she sneered down at him. “The gods aren’t the ones who save people.” Scarlett pointed to the window. Or rather, to the expanse of sky outside it. “Take a look at that. We still have plenty of time. Did you think I had given up? Hurry and get to work, you dullard.” A humble servant had but one choice in the face of such a lashing from his revered mistress: obey. He returned to his task. When the sky began to turn white, Hamsworth let out a happy cry. He had found the register for Earl Tudor’s company. “It seems the House of Tudor was involved in the city hall’s renovation.” He read out the contents of the document excitedly. “Remember the lightning that set the building on fire just before you were executed? —Oh, I’m so sorry.” He scrambled to apologize for his insensitivity, but Scarlett just shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t remember anything from the day of my execution.” “You don’t?” Hamsworth looked puzzled but quickly realized it made sense. The human mind defends itself. Who would want to remember the moment of their own death? “No, not at all… Wait, that’s not quite right.” Scarlett narrowed her amethyst eyes, as if she were watching a distant scene unfold. “…I remember when the executioners came to my cell that day. One of them gave me some fruit water before they put the manacles on me. I don’t remember anything that happened after I drank it.” Hamsworth nodded. The pieces were coming together. “There must have been a tranquilizer in the water.” “…What?” “I’ve heard stories like that before. Public executions are shows. If the accused resists too much or shouts back, it spoils the fun. That’s why it’s common to give them something to numb—or rather calm—their emotions. If you can’t remember what happened, whatever they gave you must have affected you too strongly. Usually the church is the one to prepare it, but the ingredients are similar to the hallucinogen that Daeg Gallus uses—” As he spoke, Hamsworth plumbed his memories of that day ten years ago. Scarlett had awed the jeering crowd with her beauty and elegance, plunging them into a swirl of terror with her curse-like words. Her wits had not seemed dull in the least, but… Hamsworth glanced at her. She looked as if she’d accidentally poured salt into her tea. “Am I wrong? I recall that Jackal’s Paradise never sat well with you. Just smelling it seemed to turn your stomach.” “You’re right, but why do you know that?” she asked with deep disgust. Hamsworth changed the subject. “Anyway, the tranquilizer used by the church comes from a rare fruit called the ‘thread of the Moirai.’ People say that, when consumed, it can scramble a person’s sense of time.” “…And how is that relevant?” It wasn’t. He’d just gotten carried away talking about the past. Brushing over it with a smile, he turned to the next page in the register, which contained plans of the reconstructed city hall. His eyes widened, and he chuckled. “Well, lookee here. I’d say this would be an ideal place to hide someone.” According to the drawing, sprawling underground passages snaked beneath the square. If the hostages were in the capital, this was most likely where they were. He chuckled again. “Very nice,” Scarlett interrupted in a voice accustomed to giving orders. “Tell the Royal Security Force immediately.” Hamsworth brought his hand to his chest and bowed theatrically. “As you wish, my lady.” But would he make it in time? He silenced the worries that swirled in his mind. Whatever happened, his only choice was to keep going. He pulled the documents together and rushed outside. Just before he climbed into a carriage, he paused to look up at the sky. The sun was slowly climbing toward its peak. Dazzling light poured onto the earth like a new beginning. “This time, I really will have the last laugh,” Scarlett muttered. “And I’ll make sure to rub their noses in it.” Whatever the outcome, there was nowhere to go but forward. After all, a path had finally opened up before them. Hamsworth squinted at the strong light and stepped into the carriage. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Suddenly remembering the events of ten years ago, Cecilia frowned. That day had started out bright and sunny as well. No one had suspected a storm would suddenly blow in. Cecilia pulled a chair to the bed and looked down at her handsome husband sleeping so deeply, he seemed dead. Constance Grail’s execution was scheduled to take place before sunset. She had about half a day left. As she gazed absently at Enrique’s even features, she saw his eyelashes twitch. Then his eyelids slowly lifted, revealing the brilliant magenta of his irises. “…So you’ve come to finish me off?” he asked casually. Cecilia sighed. “If I genuinely meant to kill you, you’d be long dead by now.” “I see…” Perhaps he hadn’t fully regained consciousness, because the focus of his eyes wavered slightly. “I was dreaming,” Enrique said, pulling himself up sluggishly. “About something that happened just after we met.” He spoke falteringly, as if he were talking to himself. “…Do you remember? Once, we slipped away from the palace and went to see some street performers who were supposed to be all the rage. On the way back, I was stupid enough to be pickpocketed. You caught the boy right away and said, ‘Whatever the reason, you shouldn’t do such things. You need to live life so you can keep your head held high.’” Cecilia listened silently. “I thought you were so wonderfully honest. Was all that a performance, too?” His somber gaze made her catch her breath for an instant, but she quickly put on a wry smile. “Naturally.” She shrugged, snorting. It really was a stupid question. Ridiculous, even. She had no right to say something so grand. “Those were Cess’s words.” It was easy to play a saint. After all, Cecilia had known a real one. All she had to do was think about what Cess would have said or done, and the answer was instantly obvious. “…Cess?” “Yes. She was the most beautiful person in the world, and the kindest, and the bravest.” It was only natural that Enrique had fallen for her, and that the commoners loved her. After all, she was pretending to be Cecilia, but not this Cecilia. She was copying the most beautiful creature she had ever encountered. “She hated anything that wasn’t honest or just—” Suddenly, she fell silent. She had been pretending not to notice this whole time. But the answer had always been there right in front of her nose. Just like now. “…You know, Enrique.” She let out a quiet breath. “I’ve always hated how careless you are.” If he’d known Cecilia was deceiving him from the start, he shouldn’t have left himself so open to attack—let alone continue this meaningless conversation with her. He’d always been like that, all these years. He knew the answer. He was simply careless. She glanced down for an instant and muttered, “But just for today, I’m going to praise you for your carelessness.” Ten years wasn’t a short amount of time. It was more than enough to start hating a man she had at first neither liked nor disliked. She looked up and smiled brightly. Yes, ten years was plenty of time. Enrique must have realized something, because his face tensed. “…Cecilia?” She pushed him back as he tried to resist, landing a blow on the nape of his defenseless neck. Consciousness slipped easily from the ill man. His upper body toppled over listlessly. Cecilia sighed. Such a careless man. Careless, and yet, that was what had saved her. Though she had hated it. She drew in a deep breath. “Help, somebody!” she shouted. A chorus of footsteps ran toward them. She slipped quietly into the hallway, leaving the now noisy room behind. Glaring sunlight poured in through a high window. Sharp-eyed maids and guards were chasing after her. Ignoring their attempts to speak to her, she hurried down the covered passageway. “Greetings, Rufus.” “Oh, Your Highness. There seems to be a commotion in the palace; has something happened?” “Actually, His Highness’s condition has taken a turn for the worse—” Pretending to have suddenly become dizzy, she slumped against Rufus’s chest. “I’m sorry, I felt a little faint.” “That won’t do,” he answered, wrapping a solicitous arm around her before lowering his voice. “Today is the execution. It would be a bother if he died on us.” “Don’t worry, it was only an asthma attack.” “Then that’s fine.” He released her. They chatted for a moment, and he continued on as if nothing had happened. Cecilia watched silently as Rufus May—no, as Krishna—walked away from her. When he’d disappeared from view, she quietly opened her clenched palm. On it lay a key. It was brass and exquisitely wrought. She jangled it playfully. It made a pleasant clinking sound. Cecilia smiled. The child was universally known as a thief. “Your Highness, where in the world—” a maid called out to Cecilia as she strode quickly away from the palace. Cecilia beckoned for her to come into the shadows of the hallway, then knocked her unconscious. She swiftly exchanged the maid’s clothes for her own, and when a guard approached to see what had happened, she pierced his neck with a pin coated in a fast-acting tranquilizer. His body stiffened abruptly and slid to the ground. That should knock him out for a while, she thought. Outside the villa, Cecilia made for Saint Mark’s Square. Behind city hall stood a row of statues of famous people installed to commemorate the construction of the history museum. Concealed among them was a tarnished brass plate. She grasped the handle and pulled it up, revealing a staircase leading underground. The cavern was cool and dark. After she had walked for a few minutes, she encountered a guard. He seemed surprised to see her. Cecilia smiled calmly. “I was told to bring out the hostages. Didn’t you receive the message?” The man shook his head in confusion. “I haven’t heard—” “That’s odd,” she said, stepping toward him. In a fluid movement, she pulled out a knife and sliced through his carotid artery. He fell wordlessly, blood spouting from his neck. One down. Glancing around warily, she continued on until she caught sight of the man guarding the hostages’ cell. He must have been bored, because he was lounging against the stone wall. Cecilia wiped the blood and grease off her knife with her dress, then threw it at him with a flick of her wrist. The metal cut through the air with a swish, followed a second later by a scream. The man fell to the ground. It seemed she had hit his thigh. As he groaned in pain, she circled behind him, grabbed his jaw, and twisted with all her might. He expired with a dull, garbled moan. “…Your Highness, the Crown Princess?” a voice said breathlessly. It was Lucia O’Brian. She was standing protectively in front of Ulysses, whose hand was pressed to his mouth. Without answering her, Cecilia approached the cell. She took the brass key she had stolen from Krishna and inserted it into the lock on the iron bars. The latch snapped open. Lucia stared at her, eyes wide. In the distance, Cecilia could hear footsteps rushing toward them. She would have welcomed some support, but unfortunately, the possibility they were here to help was slim. She had known from the start that it wouldn’t take that high-strung man long to notice his key was missing. They probably wouldn’t be able to go back the same way she’d taken. “If you go straight down the passage to the right, you will come to a staircase leading to the square,” she said. The pathways in the underground cavern were as tangled as a spiderweb. For that reason, there were a number of exits. The way she had come led to a dead end, but just to the side was another route. The children remained as still as if they’d been struck by lightning. They seemed unable to process this sudden turn of events. “Didn’t you hear me? Hurry, go now—” As she spoke, a wave of déjà vu surged up in her chest. The scene played behind her eyelids before she could stop it. The red flames roaring like living creatures. The charred smell. The painfully hot wind. The horrible sound that drew closer with every second. And— Go, hurry! If they see you, they’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. Before she realized it, Cecilia was screaming. “Go!” Just like Cess had done so many years ago. Lucia was the first to move, of course. Spurred by Cecilia’s scream, she grabbed Ulysses’s hand and took off running with a force out of scale with her small body. Soon, they had vanished into the shadows. Cecilia burst out laughing. How full of life the girl was! After slowly bringing her breath back under control, Cecilia glanced over her shoulder. As she had predicted, she saw the grim face of Krishna—and a pack of armed companions. She recognized some of their faces, but fortunately, Salvador was not among them. Even if he discovered the escaped children aboveground, he would most likely let them go. Krishna glanced past Cecilia into the cell, then raised one eyebrow in displeasure. “What the hell is this?” Cecilia shrugged at the idiotic question. “What else could I do?” “What did you say?” Krishna raised his eyebrows. Cecilia snorted. “I said, what else could I do? I had no other choice. We were doomed to failure from the start, from the moment Scarlett Castiel was executed.” Ten years ago, destiny had changed course. That woman had changed it. Scarlett Castiel had changed the course of destiny. Krishna opened his mouth in evident irritation. “…Where is the young prince?” Cecilia smiled. “To hell if I’ll tell you, you low-life scum,” she said, turning her thumb toward the ground. Cecilia gazed at Krishna standing dumbfounded before her and laughed. The heavy, stagnant fog that had been suffocating her heart for so long cleared away, leaving a lovely, fresh sensation in its wake. She felt very calm. Smiling peacefully, she stepped forward. In the center of her field of vision, Krishna cut his hand downward through the air, his face blank. “Shoot.” His frigid voice echoed through the cavern. An instant later, a barrage of gunshots pierced Cecilia’s body. She didn’t even have time to shield herself. The force, strong enough to shatter her skull, made her feel for a moment as if her whole body were burning. But then all sensation vanished. She fell forward onto the ground, arms spread wide. Blood spilled from her mouth. I’m glad, she thought. So glad. This means— This means it will all be over. She let out a slow breath. I wonder if I managed to do the right thing in the end. If I haven’t, then I won’t be able to face them—to face her. Whose voice do you want to hear? As her consciousness faded, she recalled the serious face of the girl who had asked her that question. At the time, she had it brushed off as idiotic. But she hoped in the end, just once— So the fire has come for me, too.
Chapter 50
30 min read