Chapter 19. The Prelude to Tragedy

“To not only slander Princess Agnès but also a poor maid…”

“What’s the difference between her and an ungrateful beast?”

Mine could no longer stand upright. There wasn’t a single ally in sight. Although she was surrounded by people, every one of them carried a dagger in their words. Even the slightest misstep—no, even a single breath—would be seized upon as a reason to condemn her.

Amid the tense atmosphere, Agnès spoke.

“Take Mine to the ‘Chamber of Truth.'”

The ‘Chamber of Truth’ was just one of many rooms in the imperial palace. But to Mine, who had been branded a liar, it felt like a deliberate act of torment.

“…Let’s go.”

The chamberlain who obeyed the order stiffened his expression, as though escorting Mine was a disgraceful duty.

Mine slapped away his outstretched hand with a sharp sound.

If she allowed herself to be dragged away like this, it would solidify the notion that she had tried to usurp Agnès’ role and humiliated herself in the process. She knew her place far too well. If word of this reached her father, he would cast her aside without hesitation.

That could not happen, Mine thought.

“I never asked to wear such ridiculous clothing.”

She tore the coarse fabric draped over her shoulders.

“…!”

Faces turned pale with shock. Several gentlemen averted their eyes, coughing awkwardly. The fabric had ripped to reveal much of her chest.

Mine threw the laurel crown to the floor with a crash. Her disheveled hair, caught on the branches, fell loose, leaving her appearance in complete disarray. As she grabbed her skirt to tear the rest of the fabric—

Slap!

Her face snapped to one side. Her cheek burned as if scorched, and the metallic tang of blood spread in her mouth.

Agnès had struck her. From her lips came a voice as cold as ice.

“…Wretched creature.”

Three or four attendants rushed toward Mine. Stunned, she was dragged away like a criminal. When she was finally locked in the ‘Chamber of Truth,’ she felt a strange sense of relief—at least no one could come in to mock her.

She stepped out onto the balcony connected to the chamber. Though it was spring, the wind brushing her neck was as sharp as a blade. She let her pinned-up hair fall loose. Only then did she realize she was barefoot. It truly felt like she had become a condemned criminal.

A hot lump of emotion rose in her throat. Gripping the stone railing, she shouted into the void.

“What did I do so wrong?”

Was it her fault she had been born a bastard? No, the blame lay with her father, who couldn’t control himself. The fault lay with the man who seduced an innocent country girl under false pretenses. So why was it her and her mother who had to suffer?

“Is it my fault I was born like this? Why do I have to be hated by everyone, scrambling to prove my worth… h-hic…”

In the end, tears like pearls rolled down her cheeks. She gripped the stone railing so tightly it felt like her nails might come off. Her voice cracked as she muttered.

“I… I didn’t do anything so wrong…”

“You’ve done no wrong, Your Highness.”

The voice was thin yet melodic. Startled, Mine glanced around as if hearing an echo in her head. The voice seemed to have fallen from the sky.

“Haha. Over here.”

She was right. The voice had come from above. A figure dropped onto the balcony.

“…!”

It wasn’t a fall. It was a controlled landing. Mine’s tear-filled eyes widened.

“Who… who are you?”

“Forgive me for visiting Your Highness in such an impertinent manner.”

“…I asked who you are.”

Mine was so tense that she didn’t even realize the man had addressed her as “Your Highness.” No one in this palace had ever called her that.

His honey-gold hair shone even in the dark, shimmering with luster. His long, slyly shaped eyes held sapphire irises that sparkled like jewels. The arrogance of a man who had tasted success at a young age made his roguish smile all the more captivating.

The man knelt before her. Then, to her shock, he boldly pressed his lips to her bare instep.

“Count Neumonte Acarlipto greets Your Highness.”

❖　❖　❖

I distinctly remember this scene—the day Mine Molière met Neumonte Acarlipto. Perhaps Mine herself will never forget it.

The man’s lips were unbelievably soft, like flower petals. The kiss tickled so much that Mine wiggled her toes. A low chuckle followed.

Neumonte straightened, maintaining the decorum expected toward royalty while his hyena-like gaze swept over Mine.

His eyes brimmed with raw desire. Mine was no stranger to the lecherous stares of common thugs when she lived with her mother. But it was her first time being the object of lust for a noble of such refinement.

“What injustice have you endured? Your beautiful face tells a sorrowful tale.”

“If you leave now, I’ll overlook your intrusion.”

“In fact, I was present at that gathering earlier.”

Instead of withdrawing, Neumonte spoke those words. The nightmare replayed vividly in Mine’s mind, and her body grew cold. Neumonte took a step closer, the overwhelming scent of cologne filling the air.

“If you intend to condemn me…”

“I believe in you, Your Highness.”

“What… did you say?”

“Princess Agnès is truly heartless. How can she turn her back on her own blood and trust the words of strangers?”

“…”

“There is nothing in this world thicker than blood.”

“Watch your words.”

“There’s no one here but you and me, Your Highness.”

“…”

“Will you report me? For the crime of siding with you instead of Princess Agnès?”

Neumonte slipped through the cracks in Mine’s wounded spirit with the ease of water seeping through a fissure. His cunning tongue offered the words Mine had been desperate to hear. No one had ever believed her, but Neumonte’s words of comfort and admiration melted her defenses.

I understand Mine Molière’s heart. At that moment, she was so lonely, fighting an uphill battle. Neumonte, who appeared like a comet, almost worshipped her like a goddess. And he whispered like a serpent.

“If it were me, I would cut out the tongue of the maid who spread the rumors and poison the garments of the maid who assisted with your attire.”

“How can you suggest something so cruel…”

“It’s only what they deserve. Just wait and see.”

“Life doesn’t work so simply.”

“Of course, Your Highness. But speaking of attire, don’t you find it a pity to be in such a state?”

Neumonte smoothly shifted the topic and carefully took hold of Mine’s wrist. She gasped in surprise, suddenly aware of how exposed her neckline was.

Neumonte led her into the room. A wide velvet sofa stood in the center, and he gestured toward it.

“This is an altar.”

“…?”

He drew an ornate dagger from his belt and placed it in Mine’s slender hand.

“You are the priestess, and I am the king.”

It was blasphemy beyond belief for a mere noble to call himself a king. Yet Mine did not blink as she watched his actions.

Neumonte lay down on the sofa, clasped his hands over his stomach, and closed his eyes.

“Now, stab me with the sacrificial blade!”

“What are you doing?”

“I am reenacting the ‘Spring Martyrdom,’ Your Highness. Surely, you know how it’s done. I am the martyr king now. A sacrificial offering must remain silent, Your Highness.”

Mine’s heart thundered violently.

“This… this is utterly outrageous…”

“…”

“Neumonte, I’m speaking to you!”

“…”

“This is…”

Mine muttered like a madwoman, yet she stood before the sofa, dagger in hand. Words she had practiced countless times slipped from her lips.

“O heavens, great sun god…”

Slowly kneeling, she clasped her hands in prayer and recited her lines with increasing fervor.

“Here I offer the blood of the most precious among men. Grant us prosperity and abundance in return.”

“…”

“May this blood soak the land of the sun god and bring forth all that grows!”

Consumed by the ritual, she completed the prayer. Then, with trembling hands, she stabbed Neumonte in the chest—or rather, she pretended to.

At that moment, Neumonte’s eyes snapped open. He grabbed Mine’s wrist and plunged the dagger deep into his own chest.

“Ah!”

Mine squeezed her eyes shut. Yet no agonized groan reached her ears. When she reopened her eyes, Neumonte was gazing at her with playful laughter, his expression brimming with affection.

“It’s a fake dagger.”

The blade was false, designed to retract when pressed.

“You… you dare mock me?”

“Ahaha. How radiant you look when you laugh.”

Neumonte still held her wrist. The pulse under her skin thumped loudly. His intense gaze drew closer, the angle of his face tilting. Their breaths mingled.

This was the true prelude to tragedy.