Chapter 89
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 89
Antenor left the dungeon, the gentle promise of a future meeting still ringing in his ears. Once outside, he saw Polus—whose neck he’d seen snapped only moments ago—acting as if nothing had happened. It made the entire experience in the dungeon feel like a dream.
Had it all been a dream? As Polus approached, Antenor flinched. Polus slung a heavy arm around his shoulders, just as he always did. But unlike the usual bruising grip, his touch today was incredibly light.
“Hey, Ante. You’re late.”
Hearing those words, Antenor relaxed, a wave of relief washing over him. It wasn’t a dream. The real Polus would never call him by such an affectionate nickname. Sir Ante. Ante. That was how Evangeline Rohanson addressed him.
Just as the other knights had accused, Antenor had truly become one of Evangeline’s collaborators.
Just then, a sweat-drenched servant ran up to them with a message. The captain’s face grew grim as he took the scroll and read it.
“Knights, fall in!”
At the commander’s shout, the knights who had been laughing and joking, Polus included, snapped to attention.
“His Majesty has ordered the capture of the traitor who assassinated His Highness the Crown Prince.”
At his words, a few knights glanced toward the dungeon. The person named next, however, was someone else entirely.
“The assassin of His Highness the Crown Prince, Tenebrae Reverdi, is on the run. A minimum guard will remain at the dungeon; all other units are to be deployed in the search for Princess Tenebrae. Prepare yourselves!”
Antenor adjusted his sword, shifting his weight onto his bad leg. A fellow knight eyed him with disapproval and raised an objection.
“Captain, Antenor is limping. He’ll only slow down the pursuit.”
“He’s right. Antenor, you’ll stay behind and guard the dungeon.”
In truth, the order was a thinly veiled attempt to deny him a chance to earn merit, but Antenor accepted it without protest. It was far more convenient for him to remain here and deliver a message to Lady Rohanson. He decided he would head straight back down to the dungeon as soon as his comrades departed.
*
Backtracking in time, around the moment the Emperor and Bishop Marik decided to frame Tenebrae, a contrary rumor was already circulating among the people: that Princess Jeremia had killed her own father. The source was unknown, but many speculated it began with Sir Gabriel, who had voiced his suspicions about her.
The story, spreading rapidly by word of mouth, eventually reached the ears of the princess herself. Princess Jeremia was so deeply shocked by the bizarre rumor that she had taken to her bed, sick with grief. Her twin sister, Tenebrae, stayed by her side to nurse her.
“Tenebrae, have you heard? They’re saying I killed Father… How could they say something so horrible?”
Princess Jeremia squeezed her twin’s hand, her face a crumpled, tear-stained mess. She tried to look at Tenebrae, but her vision was too blurred by tears to make out her sister’s expression.
“They say it started because Sir Gabriel finds me suspicious.”
It was said that Sir Gabriel was the origin of the rumor that she had murdered the Crown Prince. In that moment, Jeremia felt a burning hatred for the knight she had once admired.
“That knight is just trying to shift the blame to you to protect Lady Rohanson. No one else believes it, so don’t worry yourself sick, Jeremia.”
“Really? But the rumor has gotten so big.”
Tenebrae watched her with disgust. How ironic that Jeremia, who always preached about ignoring rumors, was so completely undone by one targeting her. Unable to see Tenebrae’s harsh expression through her tears, Jeremia kept talking.
“Tenebrae, you were right beside Father. Did you see Lady Rohanson do anything suspicious? If you testify, everyone will know she’s the culprit.”
“But we can’t, Jeremia. It’s a secret that we swapped necklaces that day.”
“That’s true…” Jeremia nodded in agreement.
Just before the Crown Prince’s birthday banquet, Tenebrae had come to Jeremia and begged to swap necklaces for a short while.
That day, Tenebrae’s face had been more lively and sparkling than usual as she pleaded her case. She, too, wanted to share the first dance with their father, but since the Crown Prince only ever asked Jeremia, she wanted to pretend to be her just for that one dance.
The Crown Prince’s favoritism was an open secret to everyone but the clueless Jeremia herself, who had blindly believed his excuse that Tenebrae’s dancing was simply not up to par.
“He probably just thinks your skills are still lacking,” Jeremia had said. “Let’s have you dance pretending to be me, and then we can secretly tell Father it was you. He’ll see how much you’ve improved and ask you himself next time.”
Ignoring the Emperor’s warning that they must never take off their necklaces, Jeremia had readily swapped them, convinced it would be fine as long as they kept it a secret.
“My beloved daughter, may I have this dance to celebrate your father’s birthday?”
A simple necklace swap, and the way he treated her was night and day. Love? He couldn’t even tell his own daughters apart without their necklaces. What a joke.
Tenebrae patiently suppressed the urge to choke the life out of the naive girl right then and there. There was no need to be jealous. The golden life Jeremia had known would soon belong solely to her.
“Get some sleep. When you wake up, everyone will have realized the rumor is false, and it will all die down. You’re the princess everyone adores, aren’t you, Jeremia?”
Soothed by Tenebrae’s words, Jeremia nodded and closed her eyes. Exhausted from crying, she fell asleep almost instantly. Once Tenebrae confirmed her sister was sound asleep, she secretly unfastened the necklace and placed the black one she always wore around Jeremia’s neck.
Was her sister’s inability to suspect anyone a product of stupidity and naivete? Or was it arrogance, born from a life of being loved, a belief that no one would ever dare to harm her?
Leaving the sleeping Jeremia behind, Tenebrae left the room, a maid with a covered mouth following silently behind her. She walked deeper and deeper into a secluded part of the palace, eventually arriving at a room far too shabby for an imperial grandchild. The contrast was even starker after coming from Jeremia’s chamber, which was filled with every imaginable luxury.
Jeremia had once dismissed Tenebrae’s room by saying, “You really do like frugal things.” Frugal? This room was a gift from the Crown Prince. The furniture was sparse and cheap because he had never given her enough funds to furnish it properly.
Remembering that innocent voice, Tenebrae could no longer contain her rage. She began throwing and smashing the furniture, her fury echoing in the small room. The maid with the covered mouth simply watched, not moving to stop her.
Only after the room was in ruins and she had exhausted herself did Tenebrae finally stop. She stood still, allowing the maid to undress her. As the maid removed the dress, she glanced at the green necklace that had changed owners.
“Lady Tenebrae, the necklace has changed.”
Instead of scolding her, Tenebrae simply nodded. “Yes. Because you, Saraka, said you could heal the last of my wounds today.”
“How admirable. You have done well.”
Saraka inspected Tenebrae’s body. The only wound left was the massive whip scar across her back. Because of its size, they had saved it for last.
Saraka retrieved the holy water and the knife she had brought earlier. Then, with a steady hand, she began carving into the scar tissue on Tenebrae’s back.
“Ugh…!”
Holy water was immediately poured into the freshly cut wound. As members of the blessed imperial family, many had constitutions that responded exceptionally well to holy water, and Tenebrae was no exception. New flesh began to knit together the moment the water touched her skin.
Though she and Jeremia looked identical on the outside, Tenebrae’s body was a canvas of accumulated wounds: knife cuts, marks from falls, bones that had healed crookedly, bruises, and whip scars. The Crown Prince had treated her so harshly, and because she had never received proper care, the scars remained.
But old scars could not be erased by holy water alone. The only way was to reopen the wounds, carving them deeper, and then pour holy water over them to heal them cleanly. With every slice of the knife, Tenebrae was filled with a fresh wave of murderous intent. Even though she had already killed her father, she wanted to kill him again. Had stabbing him once in the heart been too merciful?
Perhaps sensing her anger, Saraka gently stroked her back.
“Do not suffer. Instead, enjoy this. Is the process of becoming another not a delightful preparation?”
Just as Saraka had burned her own face and hands to serve as Bishop Marik’s double, Tenebrae had to erase every old wound to possess a flawless body—Jeremia’s body. Only then could she truly replace the twin who had grown up receiving nothing but love.
“I think I understand.”
Saraka’s words were a strange comfort. Thanks to her, Tenebrae had enacted her revenge on the father who had abused her for so long. Tomorrow, Jeremia would die as Tenebrae, and she would take her place.
With that thought, even the agony of a knife carving into her back felt sweet. They had already confirmed it at the banquet: as long as they swapped necklaces, no one could tell them apart. There would be no problems.
“Meeting Bishop Marik was the greatest blessing of my life.”