What Remains in the Damaged Place - Chapter 64

His gaze slowly slid downward.

Below was just as gloomy as above. The nobles, gathered together at the same time and place under the pretense of a “funeral,” were all dressed in deep black.

Gone were the brilliant outfits they would don during their drunken revelry, the dazzling attire nowhere to be found. It was a final show of respect for the emperor who had just left the world.

Valderion was similarly attired, though he typically favored somber, neutral tones, so his appearance wasn’t much different from usual.

The only indication that today was unlike any other was the pristine white boutonniere he wore. Below, other nobles also wore the clean white flower, stark against their dark attire.

A funeral marks the transition from life to death.

When this is layered with the status of “Emperor,” the scale of the ceremony is incomparably larger than that of ordinary people.

A noble’s funeral is typically a private affair, with guests offering their condolences, but in the case of the imperial family, it is a national event encompassing the entire empire.

For the first three days, the funeral is held in the grandeur of the imperial court, with the upper class gathering to mourn. For the next four days, the emperor’s corpse, anointed with oil and dressed in fine clothes, is paraded through the capital in a coffin, receiving the empire’s collective tribute.

Thus, for a week, the entire empire is submerged in a wave of mourning.

Today marked the second day of the nobles’ portion of the funeral.

Leaning against the railing, Valderion felt an urge to smoke a cigar.

Seeing nobles furrowing their brows in feigned grief or wiping away nonexistent tears with handkerchiefs was only tolerable for so long. After two days of the same scenes, it had grown tiresome.

Moreover, even at a funeral, the nobles used every opportunity as a continuation of social maneuvering. Valderion found their eager posturing to strengthen ties rather tiresome.

He couldn’t say for sure, though, whether this irritation stemmed from the nobility’s tedium or something else.

Perhaps it was more accurate to say that he simply felt this time was being wasted.

Recently, he had developed a new interest.

Unlike the blackness that surrounded him here, the soft, white flesh that fit so perfectly into his hand… The sweet, delicate sounds of a woman’s voice curling around his ears, and the slender legs that wrapped around his waist, seemingly ready to break at the slightest pressure.

Yes… rather than standing here, it would be much more satisfying to bury himself deep in that warm, moist space, enveloping himself completely.

Though he had always found these events tedious, his newfound interest made the minutes crawl by even more excruciatingly.

He tapped his fingers lightly on the polished marble railing.

Given that he had just shared his bed with Lirette a day or two ago, it wasn’t as though anything significant would happen if he left her alone for a short while. He knew this, but the nagging worry of something happening to her twisted his nerves.

‘She’s always so fragile, constantly collapsing or getting hurt.’

Her history of showing signs of weakness in front of him wasn’t insignificant, making his concerns somewhat valid.

He took out a cigar, only to remember he was outside and lowered it again. His mind was restless, unable to focus despite his body being present here.

He crushed the long cigar in his hand.

His position required that he not stay away too long.

With that in mind, he stepped out of the balcony to descend to the funeral hall.

As he descended the spiral staircase, he crossed paths with someone below. Their eyes met at the same time, and both stopped in their tracks.

“Lady Froiden.”

It was Valderion who resumed moving first.

Elegantly finishing his descent, he approached Camile, who was dressed in black velvet gloves and a gown.

In the past, Camile would have rushed up to greet the duke with a bright smile upon spotting him, but now she merely stood in place, fidgeting, showing none of her former enthusiasm.

“Oh, Your Grace.”

Realizing her delayed reaction, she quickly gathered her skirt with both hands and bowed slightly.

Valderion, uncharacteristically, was the one to act with more initiative this time.

He extended his hand gracefully.

Realizing it was a gesture to take her hand, Camile hesitated before offering it to him. With a smile more suited for a banquet than a funeral, Valderion lifted her hand and kissed the back of it.

“I sent a gift to your home, my lady. I wonder if you received it well.”

Though he had already been informed that she had, he spoke as if unaware, his tone smooth.

Camile stared at his face in a daze.

In the past, whenever he smiled at her like that, it felt as if a pebble had been dropped into her heart, sending ripples of excitement through her entire body, from head to toe.

But strangely, today was different.

Instead of excitement, his sculpted smile brought to mind something else entirely.

The red-eyed mouse that had jumped out when she opened the box the other day.

And the suffocating feeling she had experienced at that moment came rushing back.

“Your Grace.”

As soon as Valderion released her hand, someone approached him, bowing respectfully.

It appeared to be his aide, whispering something discreetly into his ear. Valderion, listening without expression, gave a slow nod. From the aide’s demeanor, it seemed like an urgent matter, but the relaxed air around Valderion made it feel as though the report was hardly pressing.

“Well, it seems I’m in demand elsewhere, my lady.”

“Of course. I understand. You’re always so busy…”

Valderion responded with an even more charming smile.

Camile clearly sensed the thorns hidden beneath his kind words.

There was clear reproach in his eyes, as if to say, “Did you come to me so rudely last time while fully understanding this?” Oddly enough, the implication seemed especially blatant today.

“Well then, I’ll be off.”

Valderion departed with every bit of grace intact, not missing a single fragment of composure.

Camille stood there, watching the duke’s retreating figure.

It had all started like this, hadn’t it…?

Even when she had felt those surges of unknown emotions, it had been the same.

Camille had wanted to possess the side of the duke that no one else had seen, the side he didn’t readily reveal to others.

That effortless, innate grace that was inaccessible to most.

But now, at last, she realized with perfect clarity that it was something she would never have.

Look at this scene.

It’s far too bleak for a couple on the verge of marriage.

Of course, she had never expected an overflow of affection or love in their formally arranged relationship.

But this… this was too much…

“It’s miserable.”

Camille also cherished her own life too much to continue waiting, endlessly hoping to see a side of him that he would never show.

Living with nothing but false expectations wrapped around her was something that would never bring her peace or happiness.

With that thought, the relationship she had maintained for two years suddenly felt like a shadow of grey.

Worthless. Empty.

As if she had wasted her time and effort on something that led nowhere…

This relationship, both now and in the future, was merely an act. A performance.

She had known it all along, of course.

That it was nothing more than a superficial, formal arrangement.

But now, a recent event had forced her to confront this truth with painful clarity.

How could she possibly hope for sincerity in a relationship after… that had happened?

This was now merely a waiting game, a battle of who would strike first while hiding a dagger behind their back.

The realization left Camille’s heart steeped in bitterness.

Had her love been nothing but a chase after an illusion?

Like desiring a piece of fruit that looked deliciously ripe from the outside, only to realize the inside was crawling with disgusting worms?

Her love was exactly like that.

The feeling of the tenuous string between them snapping was so vivid, she could almost hear it.

‘Your Grace, we have a problem.’

Moses’ whispered words echoed in Valderion’s ears.

As he walked from the main palace, where the funeral was taking place, toward the palace where the crown prince resided, his pace quickened. It was noticeably more hurried than the calm demeanor he had shown in front of Camille.

Even on the day his father, the emperor, had died, the crown prince had managed to cause trouble, much to Valderion’s exasperation.

What was more distressing was the thought that this fool was slated to become the next emperor.

Of course, for the sake of maintaining control within Justitia, it was beneficial to have an incompetent figure ascend the throne. But the thought of dealing with the growing responsibilities of state affairs made his head ache.

Unable to hide his frustration, Valderion raised his hand to his cravat, loosening the perfectly tied knot, and inhaled deeply before letting out a breath.

By the time his slightly agitated gesture had passed, he was already standing before Dylan’s palace. He made his way toward the largest chamber, the one Dylan frequently used as his sleeping quarters.

Crossing the gilded frame of the door, made from melted and molded gold, Valderion stopped briefly to take in the chaos inside, which resembled the aftermath of a storm.

“Ugh… ughh…”

A groan came from somewhere.

He turned his head.

There, curled up pathetically, was a woman. She was so pitifully twisted that she couldn’t even be said to be hiding. Upon sensing his presence, she trembled like a child about to be beaten, likely mistaking him for Dylan.

Valderion’s eyes carefully scanned her.

Her clothes were in tatters, and her silver hair, as though hacked apart with a pair of scissors, was uneven and jagged at the ends… The culprit was obvious.

Valderion was about to step past her when he paused.

He bent down from where he stood.

“P-please! I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

She stammered in a desperate attempt to escape, but he grabbed her chin, fixing her face toward him.

Her pupils dilated in fear.