* * *

Carlisle, unfazed by Luke’s heavy tone, was rolling tobacco leaves into paper, inhaling deeply.

The disheveled maroon silk robe clinging to his muscular frame hinted at a restless night.

Carlisle leaned back, muttering:

“It’s strange, isn’t it? Jerome seems to be regaining his sanity bit by bit.”

Luke’s gaze fell to a bottle lying on the floor.

It contained paju poison, a deadly venom that caused vivid hallucinations in even minute amounts.

Nobles discreetly indulged in this dangerous pleasure, smoking tobacco to counter the poison’s effects.

“But I feel like I’m losing my mind more and more. It’s unfair.”

Carlisle, still under the poison’s influence, slumped on the sofa.

Luke turned his gaze away, remaining silent.

In public, Carlisle always appeared composed and benevolent, but he had a serious flaw—an addiction to these hallucinatory indulgences.

Whenever he experienced severe chronic pain, he locked himself in his room, lost in this dangerous ritual.

It was a habit formed long ago from spending time with Jerome.

Every time Luke found traces of Jerome’s influence on Carlisle, he felt an intense wave of jealousy.

There had always been a world that existed between the two, something exclusive that no one else could enter.

Luke resented Jerome enough to scheme to drive them apart.

He nudged the poison bottle away with his foot and spoke.

“I chose you because you have the qualities of a good ruler.”

“…”

“If you ever lose those qualities… I’ll abandon you without hesitation. The future of the Aileen children matters more than anything else.”

“You’re unusually irritable today. Fine, just leave.”

Thud!

Luke’s fist crashed into the wall, sending plaster dust cascading down.

He glared fiercely at Carlisle, voice trembling with anger.

“This isn’t a tantrum. I’m not asking for your attention. I’ve staked my life on making you a king. Sometimes, I forget I even have emotions.”

“…”

“So do your part. I’m doing everything I can.”

Luke spun on his heel without waiting for a reply, slamming the door behind him.

Silence fell.

Carlisle, still sprawled on the sofa, pressed the back of his hand to his forehead.

The pain wouldn’t subside, and Jerome’s innocent face, so full of questions about the past, haunted him.

‘Jeanne, how can you…?’

He had turned his back on Jerome, even though he faced monsters daily.

It comforted him when others ignored Jerome too, as it validated his choice.

But Jeanne, who defied everyone’s rejection to run toward Jerome, felt like a rebuke.

Since meeting Jeanne, Carlisle often wondered if he had made the wrong choices.

Her relentless pursuit of Jerome unsettled him. Hearing of their engagement had only deepened his resentment.

Despite their broken bond, Jerome had been like a brother to Carlisle.

They had fought, sometimes viciously, over the smallest things, but back then, they had only each other.

He remembered that time in the library, when Jerome had run after Jeanne, the boyish face reminiscent of the one that had once lifted Carlisle from his knees at a funeral.

That moment had made Carlisle realize they could never return to their past.

Jerome no longer saw him as a friend or brother. Carlisle let out a bitter laugh.

“In the end, I’m the one still stuck in the past.”

✽ ✽ ✽

Boom!

The iron door slammed shut behind me, locking me in the solitary cell.

It was clear that, as a suspected serial killer, I wouldn’t be treated as anything close to an esteemed guest anymore.

I sank to the floor, gasping for breath, then abruptly shot up, grabbing the metal bars and trembling with rage.

“Jerome, that bastard…”

For a moment, I had forgotten, lulled by his recent submissiveness.

Jerome had always been someone who prioritized his own amusement above everything else.

No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that he’d deliberately set me up to get caught in this trap.

But why?

He’d claimed to enjoy being with me.

‘Did he find being with me boring all of a sudden?’

The realization hit me like a punch to the head.

When I’d once asked if he liked me, Jerome had said he couldn’t feel such romantic sentiments.

Even if he didn’t love me, surely if he had any affection at all, he wouldn’t have done this.

It was a bitter confirmation that I meant little to him.

Lowering my head, I muttered emptily.

“I-I want to kill him… Maybe even summon ancestral spirits through voodoo and command them to murder him.”

At that moment, while murderous rage surged within me, someone banged the cell bars with a club.

A rough-looking prison guard, clearly irritated, opened the door.

“Out.”

Following the guard down a dimly lit corridor, I found myself shoved into a pitch-black room of uncertain purpose.

The door slammed shut behind me, and as dread crept in, I wondered if they were about to torture me.

Narrowing my eyes, I tried to make out a vague silhouette in the darkness.

“Remember? Back then, I was the one sitting where you are now. You tried so hard to look composed despite being scared out of your mind, and it was… so damn cute.”

My eyes locked with Jerome, who sat with his chin resting on his interlaced fingers, observing me.

His face was polished and radiant, a stark contrast to my haggard appearance.

He flashed a subtle, almost amused smile.

“How does it feel to be a suspected serial killer?”

Scowling, I approached and kicked at his chair, my hands bound and unable to do more.

Taking a seat on the chair opposite him, I spat out my frustration.

“It feels like hell.”

“Tsk, such crude language.”

“And whose fault do you think that is? How am I supposed to use nice words when I’ve been framed for murder?”

“That’s unfair. I wasn’t the one who made you a suspect.”

Jerome remained composed, even playful, despite the seriousness of the situation.

His attitude only infuriated me further, given that I might soon be executed.

My eyes glared at the floor as I snapped.

“I’m sick of this. I really thought we’d gotten close. Using me for fun—it’s infuriating. Even if you don’t know what love is, you must understand decency.”

“…”

“Am I wrong? Answer me. You took this guild mission intentionally, didn’t you? You left so the real culprit could corner me. Why would you do that?”

I felt a dam break, letting out grievances I’d long held back.

Fear of being executed as a falsely accused serial killer mingled with all the resentment.

Jerome’s smile froze as he watched me rub my eyes, tears slipping out.

The echo of my quiet sobs filled the room. Jerome, looking astonished, moved closer.

“Wait, you’re crying over this?”

“It hurts, damn it!”

“…”

“I really thought we’d become friends. But here you are, joking while I’m facing execution. I don’t even understand what I mean to you…”

I realized, as I poured out my feelings, that I’d rarely expressed my grievances this openly.

Even when wronged, I usually laughed things off.

Yet, with Jerome, it always stung deeply.

He studied me for a moment and sighed.

“I don’t mind being called a bastard, but can you at least hear me out first?”

“…”

“You know how much I had to bribe that guard to see you? He even demanded that I kiss him sensually first to satisfy his whims before he’d agree…”

“That part’s a lie, right?”

“Yeah, it’s a lie.”

Smack!

I tried to throw a punch, fueled by fury, but Jerome caught my fist before I could land a hit.

He gently lowered my clenched hand onto my lap, speaking softly.

“Outside, everyone’s convinced you’re the ‘Witch of Sacre,’ a serial killer. The methods match, the witnesses’ descriptions line up, and, unfortunately, there’s been another victim.”

“…”

“So, there are only two possibilities. Either my beloved is a bloodthirsty murderer, or…”

Jerome pulled a handkerchief from his coat and offered it.

Reluctantly, I sighed and accepted it.

Anger still simmered, but I needed to clear my head.

Watching me compose myself, Jerome continued, propping his chin on his hand.

“Or someone set up an elaborate trap to eliminate you.”

* * *