* * *
“What about Carlyle Firentium?”
Elyrion strode into the terrace where Melody was and spoke.
It seemed he had followed her after seeing her chasing after Helid.
Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to have heard any more of Helid’s mumbling.
“Those guys aren’t what’s important right now. Uncle is seriously going to die if this continues.”
“I don’t think they’re completely unrelated, Brother.”
“What does that mean?”
“I think Viscount Yulta might know the Count’s location.”
Elyrion’s gaze followed Melody’s, which was fixed on Helid’s retreating back.
Elyrion’s eyes narrowed at the muscular back, which seemed somehow excited compared to usual.
‘That perverted muscle pig? Surely not…’
“That bastard didn’t—”
“I don’t think so.”
“…How do you know what I was going to say?”
“You were wondering if Viscount Yulta might have kidnapped Count Nefendis, weren’t you?”
Elyrion was speechless at the answer that perfectly matched his thoughts.
He cautiously glanced at his sister’s face and asked.
“Could I not be right…?”
“Viscount Yulta is a simple person, Brother. Foolishly, his true feelings are displayed entirely on his face.”
“What are you talking about all of a sudden?”
“Why did he bother to come and get my approval this time, when he always does as he pleases? Especially at this time when Count Nefendis has disappeared.”
The timing was perfect. It was unlikely that he had truly hidden the Count himself.
There was no reason for him to intentionally cause a carriage accident to kidnap him.
In the first place, he was a man who acted as he pleased even when Melody, the Princess, was right next to him, so there was no way he would have specifically used his brain this time.
The higher probability was…
“It’s highly likely that someone else has hidden the Count, and for some reason, the Viscount knows about it and plans to go find the Count.”
“And it’s highly likely that the person who took the Count is Carlyle Firentium, right?”
Melody nodded slightly at Elyrion’s question.
Nothing was certain, but in the current situation, not even the slightest clue could be overlooked.
Suddenly, Melody recalled the memory of the last day she met Eren.
The bitter smile he wore, looking as if he was about to leave when she asked him to stay by Ashard’s side.
‘…Did the Count leave Uncle’s side willingly?’
She briefly entertained the thought, but soon realized it was wrong.
She vividly remembered how he rushed, thinking of nothing else, when he heard the news that Ashard was injured during the hunting competition.
A person who cried uncontrollably almost to the point of fainting upon seeing a wound would never intentionally cause an accident just to leave.
‘If we’re only talking about probability, it’s more likely that someone else caused the accident and the Count voluntarily allowed himself to be caught by that person…’
“…What in the world are you thinking?”
Melody ran her hand over her dry face because of the strange thoughts that kept coming to her, even though she knew they were wrong.
She pulled out the paper with Eren’s title written on it, which she always carried, and stared blankly outside.
“It should be about time for him to show up.”
It had been two days since Eren used Carlyle’s communication orb to contact Helid.
During that time, everything had been incredibly peaceful.
It was as if all potential incidents had been completely blocked; truly nothing at all happened.
In other words, the original plot, which should have been unfolding, had stopped, just like when he followed Ashard and ran away to the Trovien Empire.
The throbbing pain from the accident gradually subsided, and he had recovered enough that daily life was not difficult at all.
Carlyle still remained by his side, impersonating Ashard.
Eren had tried to figure out his intentions for two days, but it was all useless.
Carlyle treated him exactly like someone who truly wanted to live as Ashard.
He acted as if that was genuinely all he wanted.
“I think I’ve recovered completely now; wouldn’t it be alright to go out?”
“It’s still too soon. Although your injuries aren’t severe compared to the accident, you must rest sufficiently.”
It was the same excuse.
However, one thing Eren realized was that it was an excuse born out of worry, not just to keep him confined.
Whenever he was called by Ashard’s name, the light of disappointment was clear in Carlyle’s eyes, yet he still smiled as if he was satisfied with that much.
“…Since Ashard-nim is so worried, I suppose I have no choice.”
Carlyle’s eyes narrowed faintly, as if thankful that Eren was listening to him.
That appearance was so identical to the real Ashard that Eren instinctively looked away sharply.
‘How annoying.’
The human he hated the most was wearing the mask of the person he loved the most.
His fists clenched automatically.
“Then, could you bring me a fruit tart from the kitchen?”
“Tart?”
Carlyle questioned him with a strange expression.
He had no choice.
Eren Nefendis did not like fruit tarts.
That was a fact known not only to Carlyle but to everyone who knew him well.
So, asking for a fruit tart out of the blue was naturally suspicious.
Eren, reading his thoughts, smiled sweetly and answered.
“Ashard-nim likes tarts, don’t you? Because Ashard-nim likes them, I’m going to try liking them too, from now on.”
When he answered with a bright smile, Carlyle’s eyes shook slightly.
It wasn’t an expression of confusion, but one of something like hurt.
Eren almost frowned, unable to understand why he would make such a face.
‘Don’t make that expression in front of me with that face.’
The words he wanted to say reached his throat, but he managed to hold them back.
It seemed better to get him out of the room quickly rather than continue looking at that expression.
When Eren asked again, Carlyle stood up without a reply and walked outside.
The gentle smile that had been directed at Eren instantly vanished.
Carlyle gnashed his teeth and slammed his hand against the wall.
Cracks slowly began to appear in the wall, centered around the point where his hand made contact.
Skin must have torn on the cracked surface, as red blood flowed down his wrist and into his sleeve.
“Damn it.”
Carlyle clenched his teeth and quietly cursed.
He had prepared himself for this since bringing Eren here.
He knew the attitude Eren held toward him and Ashard would be different.
But what was this behavior?
He was grinning and laughing as if he couldn’t be happier, and said it was fine even though he was forbidden from going outside.
Not only that, he was saying he’d try to like things just because that bastard Ashard liked them.
An emotion he had never felt before lingered.
Despair circled with a heart-wrenching pain.
What could he call this feeling?
Yes, wretchedness.
A word that seemed completely unfitting for him was now consuming everything.
At first, it was good.
The fact that he could keep Eren, whom he had longed for, by his side made everything else fade away.
The smile Eren gave him.
The soft voice, not the cold one that used to push him away.
It felt like a dream.
Even if he was in the guise of another person, he was happy.
But that happiness only brought misfortune.
The thought that all those things were for Ashard, not for him, suddenly passed through his mind constantly.
The more enchanting the dream, the more miserable the reality that followed.
‘He is not Ashard’s. He is mine now.’
He repeated this to himself alone, but it was useless.
It was no different from when he alone attached meaning to Eren’s actions before.
He was the first to fall for Eren, and the first to be by his side.
It was clearly so.
Yet, the word ‘first,’ and the fact that he had harbored feelings for the longest time, meant nothing.
What he considered precious seemed not to be precious to Eren at all.
A relationship that would end the moment he let go.
Even disguised by lies, the reality of that relationship did not change.
“Haha…”
It was disappointment. It was rage.
It was sorrow. It was frustration.
A complex mix of unspeakable emotions rushed over him.
At that moment, he heard something breaking inside his heart.
A cry of anguish from the heavens seemed to pour down and ruthlessly crash onto the floor.
‘Thump, thump—’
Carlyle’s footsteps weighed heavily on the stairs, resonating loudly in the quiet mansion.
He carried the fruit tart Eren had requested and headed for the second floor.
Reaching the door, he stopped.
A smile once again spread across his expressionless face.
After practicing curling the corners of his mouth once or twice, Carlyle gently knocked on the door.
‘You can’t go back anyway, Eren. Just live by my side like this.’
That was better than sending him back to Ashard.
It didn’t matter if he was wretched.
With Eren by his side, he was the winner of this contest.
A victory that no one could deny.
A perfect victory that no one could dare speak ill of, no matter how dirty the means.
“You are mine.”
* * *
