A Useful Piece
That was simply who "Titania" had been.
A child starved of affection, who had realized by sheer instinct that she possessed no worth beyond her face. Even when she heard that the Young Duke of Castrein was the object of longing and ardently pursued by most of high society's young ladies despite having a fiancée, she had never considered turning her eyes to another man to spite him.
Now, however, things were different. If necessary, she could sell her imperial pride a dozen times over. She could beg before anyone, shamelessly pleading for help with whatever needed doing. Dressing in drab, unadorned clothes and staining her hands and feet with dirt and ash was the least of it.
She almost parted her lips to protest that she was no longer that fragile girl, but swallowed the words the moment she caught the gaze of the crowd. Everyone was staring at them as if watching a valiant knight rescue a princess in distress. A devoted fiancé arriving in the nick of time to save his imperiled lady. The Imperial Princess and the Young Duke of Castrein. It was an image straight out of a fairy tale.
Only then did the hushed whispers of the onlookers break through the lingering tension.
"Good heavens, is that the renowned..."
"It's the Young Duke of Castrein!"
"What a perfectly matched couple."
It was everything "Titania" had once desired more dearly than her own life. The irony drained the strength straight out of her limbs.
Titania stared blankly as Raymon gathered her in his arms, barking orders to the surrounding knights and handling the crowd. Debbie, Barbara, and Lisianthus seemed to be mouthing words in her direction, but their voices failed to register. No one dared challenge the word of Castrein's heir, and the chaotic scene was brought to order with ruthless efficiency. When she tapped his forearm to signal that she wanted down, his grip only tightened.
Satisfied that matters were settled, Raymon carried her straight into the waiting carriage.
The interior was spacious and quiet. With utmost care—like a mother bird settling a fragile egg into its nest—Raymon finally set her down upon the cushioned seat. For a fleeting second, his hands lingered as though reluctant to part. He had wrapped his dark cloak tightly around her shoulders just as he had before, treating the garment as completely non-negotiable.
Titania swallowed hard. Her throat felt as raw and stinging as if she had swallowed a mouthful of sand.
"I was under the impression that you rarely wore cloaks, Sir Raymon. You always said they were cumbersome."
"Did I?"
"What brings you all the way to the southern border? You were supposed to remain in the capital."
"I had an investigation to commission nearby. High Priest Ilian also required an escort."
"Did it ever occur to you that you might have shattered my plans at the most critical juncture?"
The smooth, effortless flow of Raymon's answers abruptly broke.
"I received word that you would be in danger."
His voice was calm, yet the sound of it made something boil violently in the pit of her stomach. As if she had ever enjoyed a single day of safety in this life!
"And so what? I had Sir Lisianthus himself right beside me. You, Sir Raymon, are far too exalted and useful an asset to waste as my personal bodyguard."
"My brother is formidable in battle, certainly, but..." Raymon's brow furrowed, his expression souring as though tasting a bitter memory. "...He is not someone capable of shouldering responsibility. Whatever Your Highness sought to accomplish, it could not have been a simple matter. He is entirely too careless to consider the broader context. I feared unforeseen peril would strike where neither of you were looking."
In other words, he thought Lisianthus was an impulsive brute who couldn't navigate political warfare. She knew that better than anyone. It was precisely because she knew Lisianthus couldn't lie to save his life that she had slipped off to Hecate's Tavern while he was away!
"Even with Sir Lisianthus, I could have handled it perfectly well."
"I know."
"You know?"
A hollow laugh escaped her lips. Titania wrenched off the heavy cloak and flung it aside, revealing her filthy, soot-stained garments.
"Was my appearance truly that unbearable to look upon? In the pristine eyes of the noble Young Duke of Castrein?"
Caught off guard, Raymon averted his gaze.
"That is not what I meant. It is only..."
"My plans... the ones I labored over, wracking my brains with others to execute to the best of my ability... Did they seem so reckless to you? So utterly trivial that you felt compelled to drag yourself all the way down here just to intervene?"
Her original plan had been meticulous. With Phlux's assistance, she was going to take up residence at the Cortez estate under formal pretexts. Operating from there, backed by the intelligence network of Hecate's Tavern, she intended to dig up every shred of evidence regarding the conspirators pulling the strings in this city. The temple was their stronghold. It was suffocatingly insular and held near-total authority over the Offering Festival. She had known that remaining within its walls guaranteed that the danger would eventually spiral beyond her control.
That was why she had set fire to the temple herself.
Lisianthus's absence had been an unexpected stroke of luck. Had he been present, the blaze would have been dismissed as an act of Castrein sabotage; even without proof, their enemies would have twisted the narrative that way. Cronen and Gregory were hardly amateurs. Even when she claimed she had nearly burned to death, even when she revealed her sacred sword had been stolen, and even when Gregory had abandoned his post as head of her escort during her hour of greatest need, the two men had remained brazenly unrepentant.
It was only after she closed off every avenue of retreat and Phlux cornered them before a crowd of witnesses that they began to sweat. Yet the instant Raymon stepped onto the scene, both of them had clamped their mouths shut without another word.
In that moment, an overwhelming emptiness had washed over her. All the tension coiled within her had simply evaporated into thin air.
"It is not like that," Raymon insisted, his voice laced with uncharacteristic urgency. "I only wanted to assist you. In any way that I could."
"......"
"You... Your Highness..." Raymon gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening until the muscle ticked. "...You hold yourself far too cheap."
"......"
"If you possessed so much that any choice was trivial to you... If I were among those choices... I thought perhaps you might cherish your own safety a little more. I was told you set the fire yourself. Even if it was not Lisianthus's flame, and even if you kept it contained to prevent casualties, the fact remains that you placed yourself in mortal danger. Why on earth would you..."
His voice carried a strange, desperate weight. Titania could not fathom why this unyielding man was displaying such raw vulnerability before her.
"...Because it is efficient."
Only when the princess's life hung in the balance, only when her sacred sword was stolen, would the imperial court and the common folk listen. Unless she staked every last thing she possessed, she had never been able to obtain a single victory. Did this man truly not comprehend that? This man who threw her heart into turmoil without even trying?
There were truths that struck her at the most unexpected times.
It would have been better had I never been born.
It would have been better had I never loved.
There were lives, and ways of living, that inevitably led one to such bleak conclusions. The original "Titania" had been living proof.
She did not wish to pour misplaced resentment and fury onto a decent man. The world was already overflowing with engagements and marriages that were colder than strangers. Strictly speaking, the imperial family was an enemy to the House of Castrein. Who would welcome an assassin's blade planted in their home by a sworn foe? Especially when that blade was dull, rusted, and fated to draw blood and rot wherever it struck?
She wished she could wipe away all personal sentiment. She wished she could treat this man with cool, detached indifference. If only the novel she had read had been a sweeping romance—a tale where this man experienced a pure, complete love with someone worthy, rather than being bound solely to his sister Bibi. Then her heart would have been at peace. She could have told herself that his heart was reserved for someone else, that she had no reason to waver, no excuse to harbor pathetic hopes.
So why did he persist in shaking the ground beneath her feet?
"I had no intention of ruining your plans."
Raymon gathered the cloak she had discarded and carefully draped it over her bare feet. The gesture rendered her completely speechless.
"I only ask that you use me. Wield this useful piece named Raymon well..."
He leaned forward, pressing his lips against the fabric wrapping her feet.
"...and claim everything you desire."
His voice was low, heavy, and thick with an emotion as unyielding as deep mud.
Raymon's arrival had been nothing short of a tempest.
Just as people hunker down during a violent gale and only dare look around once the wind has passed, the moment he departed, the eerie silence shattered into a roar of overlapping voices. The carriage bearing Raymon and Titania had already rattled away from the temple gates.
"Was that truly...?"
"What is the heir of Castrein doing all the way down south...?"
"Are you blind? He came to rescue his fiancée, of course!"
"Good heavens... Then what becomes of the festival...?"
Amidst the clamor of the murmuring crowd, Cronen jolted back to his senses. As he raised his head, a bead of cold sweat broke free from the nape of his neck and trickled down his spine, leaving behind a chilling shudder of dread.