Lady Declamen, who had barely grasped the situation, was furious.

“You, you, rude and insolent…”

“Can you divorce us right now? Then I’ll kneel and apologize.”

“…”

That was impossible.

Lady Declamen, Charlotte, and he all knew. As long as Ashel was alive, this marriage would never be broken.

This person just didn’t want to return the duchess’s ring, so she chose the tactic she used once before at his parents’ funeral.

Stubbornly making unreasonable demands.

“No matter how much you squawk about opposing this marriage, you didn’t oppose it more than I did. Don’t do something disgusting and step aside.”

Charlotte’s transparent green eyes were filled with contempt.

Lady Declamen silently opened and closed her mouth a few times before freezing.

Too proud to step aside, but unable to refute. Her greedy intentions laid bare before everyone in Chelsiers.

Charlotte looked at her briefly, then gestured to the lined-up servants.

“Seize her and drag her out.”

A short, cold command.

The servants hesitated momentarily, glancing at him for approval.

He hurriedly nodded.

Whether he nodded or not behind her, Charlotte walked away with a now cold and dry face, her last bit of heat gone.

Then she suddenly turned her head.

“Oh, wait. Didn’t you say that woman had a ring? Bring it here.”

The servants had just grabbed Lady Declamen.

The duchess’s ring glittered in her hand.

When one of the maids reached out, Lady Declamen struggled more desperately.

“You oppose this marriage, you hate it! So why take it! This is the duchess’s ring!”

Charlotte’s voice was cold.

“First, I already don’t want this marriage, so I have to enjoy what I can to endure it. Second, because I don’t want to see you. Third, because you don’t know your place and won’t leave quickly.”

He almost laughed.

Behind him, he faintly heard Louis’s trembling laugh.

Louis had far more troubles than he did. It must have been hard for him to endure.

His aunt’s bloodshot eyes managed to glare in his direction. She seemed to have heard Louis’s laughter.

A vengeful scream erupted.

“No matter if you’re the new duchess, I’m Ashel’s aunt. I raised Ashel! Do you think a witch can sever the ties of blood? Once Ashel regains his senses…”

A voice cracking with rage.

Suddenly, Charlotte smiled strangely.

Slowly, like a blooming flower in spring, her face blossomed into a bright smile as she looked at him.

His breath caught.

“Ashel. Do you love me?”

He couldn’t be sure. He still didn’t know if this was really love.

No one had ever taught him what love was, and the love he understood in common sense wasn’t this.

He chose to remain silent rather than give Charlotte an uncertain answer.

Charlotte didn’t mind.

“I have a wish.”

“… what kind?”

“If you really love me, cut ties with your aunt. Can you do that?”

Smooth, dark red words. A request to do so if he loved her.

It still didn’t feel like love to him.

But if Charlotte called this hell love, wouldn’t it become love?

If he could cover this painful longing with such sweet, soft, warm, and glittering words…

Then wouldn’t Charlotte stay by his side?

His eyes slowly turned to Lady Declamen. She was looking at him too.

With eyes that firmly believed he would abandon her.

So, he did.

For Charlotte’s love.

… maybe to Charlotte, it was just a trivial vent of anger.

But it didn’t matter. Charlotte was his entire world.

From the beginning, the weight of feelings was never fair. And it would stay that way until death.

If it was unfair, he shouldn’t have started. He shouldn’t have proposed again after being rejected hundreds of times.

But as long as they could live together until death, it was fine.

Unfair feelings, breath stopping at one meaningless smile from Charlotte, a future with no hope of success.

It was all fine. As long as Charlotte stayed by his side.

“… Your Excellency, I’m sorry. I lost her.”

But Charlotte ultimately escaped.

From that moment, he was prepared.

For the possibility that Charlotte would say she loved someone else, dream of dying with someone else.

Every day for ten years, he etched anew the possibility that everything he wanted with Charlotte, Charlotte might want with someone else.

Sometimes, he wanted to kill her.

He always wanted to die.

Mostly, he felt like he was going crazy.

Then one day, Charlotte was finally tracked down.

With two little girls.

“Both are no older than ten. They seem to be twins. One has black hair, and the other has platinum blonde. And the platinum blonde one seems to resemble Madam…”

The reporting man hesitated for a moment before confessing.

“I couldn’t confirm it properly.”

“Why?”

“… Madam is extremely wary, and the black-haired child is very sharp. I’m sorry.”

Even with a silent reproachful gaze, Georges couldn’t make any further excuses.

He murmured something under his breath and just bit his lip.

He seemed to have more to say, but in the end, the subordinate just bowed his head again.

“… I’m sorry.”

He thought it was strange at the time.

Others would have gone beyond finding it strange to suspicion.

A child who wasn’t even ten years old. An organization that had experienced a coup and gathered information.

There was no way a child could be a match for them unless she had some kind of <special power>.

But… his reason, slowly crumbling while Charlotte was gone, finally shattered upon finding her.

He had no time to seriously consider the strange aspects.

“Enough. Where are they moving to?”

“Near Listar.”

“Will they be moving soon?”

“They seem to move frequently in short intervals, but with the children being young, long-distance travel is unlikely.”

He then ordered Louis.

“Find a mansion near Listar. I’ll go myself.”

The answer, which should have come immediately, was delayed, so he turned his gaze. A peculiar expression was on Louis’s face.

Perhaps, surely, if…

A look with all sorts of assumptions and logic tangled.

“Why?”

“… nothing. I’ll do as you say.”

Thus, they departed.

Meeting the children before meeting Charlotte was purely coincidental.

Georges, who mentioned the children were playing outside, hesitated before speaking.

“… would you like to confirm?”

Honestly, he wanted to see Charlotte first.

But he was curious about the platinum blonde child who resembled Charlotte, and the black-haired child who made Georges give up approaching.

“Sure.”

He impulsively agreed.

Looking back, it would be one of the best decisions of his life.

Although he didn’t know it then.

As he got off the carriage and took each step, the child who was lying down suddenly stood up and called out to the other.

“Eciel!”

The child had sensed people approaching without looking.

As Georges had said.

The black-haired child was sharp. Sharper than the word could properly describe.

‘… this isn’t at that level.’

This time he found it odd…

The black hair glittered as it fluttered in the wind.

It was brilliant.

The black hair, carefully combed and tended to by Charlotte, was dazzling under the May sun.

The thoughts shattered into fragments by that light stabbed at his mind, causing a headache.

He stared blankly at the child’s black hair through the dull pain.

Then the child called <Eciel> appeared on the hill.

“Claire! Why did you call?”

He let out a short laugh.

‘Just the same.’

That face, just like Charlotte’s at that age. As he thought that, the black-haired child turned around.

Amidst the fluttering hair, the first thing visible was the pure white face.

And… purple eyes.

Clear amethyst eyes blinked as if in disbelief.

Then once more, blinking.

The finely crafted face of a young girl was vividly in his sight.

A cold, expressionless face, prominent amethyst eyes, skin so pale it seemed untouched by sunlight even on this warm day.

“Look alike.”

He muttered, as if entranced.

A small face, slowly spreading with confusion, resembled him.

His mind, which hadn’t functioned properly since Charlotte’s escape, began to turn slowly.

One child resembled Charlotte. One child resembled him. Keen senses.

Most of all, the children’s names.

Claire. Eciel.

… Clarice. Ashel.

‘Charlotte…’

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His mind went blank, and one desperate sentence echoed.

I want to see Charlotte.

Charlotte. My world, my life, my hell.

His vision flickered as it was overwhelmed by a flood of love.

He had cursed her countless nights, wishing she had killed him.

Every morning, he begged to die rather than live in a world without her.

He would have gladly died if she had asked.

If she had given him poison, he would have swallowed it. If she had raised a knife, he would have placed it in his heart.

Knowing he would chase her to the ends of the earth, it angered him that she hadn’t killed him.

Hating him enough to flee, but sparing him out of thin kindness—what did it mean? They would have both been better off if she had killed him.

He was already in the abyss, so why? Why make him fall endlessly into deeper despair…

Why be so cruel?

He spent ten years deciding what he would say when he met Charlotte again.

He planned to ask her to kill him.

If Charlotte couldn’t kill him, he intended to take her and lock her up. Whether it was Charlotte or him. Until one of them died.

Until he saw the small hands of the children, holding each other, looking at him intently.