The Saintess Hates the Grand Duke — 3
There wasn't a soul in this room foolish enough not to know what the word beloved meant. Not I, not Adrian, and certainly not Adele—the moment it was spoken, all of us had no choice but to grasp what that word implied.
My first reaction, naturally enough, was bewilderment, though at the same time Adele seemed to be rather enjoying herself. The faint smile playing on her lips was the very expression she wore whenever she was teasing someone.
"Beloved... you say."
"In other words, a fiancé, I suppose. I can't imagine why such a rumor should be circulating, but as my subordinates saw it, Robert and I simply appeared that close to one another. And between mere 'friends' and 'beloved,' surely the latter is the nearer word?"
"I-It's only a rumor. I hardly think you truly meant it that way."
The question came out oddly desperate, and I met Adele's eyes before letting out a small sigh. There was no doubt in my mind she had said it purely to needle Adrian. If I so much as took Adele's side here, Adrian would plainly fall to pieces, so I gently clasped the hand that trembled around its teacup. At the warmth of my touch, Adrian calmed a little and let out a soft breath.
I didn't think it warranted quite this much alarm... but then, perhaps it was only natural to be shaken when the title of beloved was pinned on someone you had feelings for. Maybe it was the obvious reaction—and maybe it was karma of my own making.
"It was merely a jest. You needn't concern yourself."
"Right? It—it isn't, is it?"
"It's barely been any time since I annulled my engagement—would I go saying such a thing? I'm not so thoughtless as that."
Whether she found the reasoning sound, Adrian frowned faintly as she regarded Adele. Of course, from Adele's standpoint, it was no lie. I myself had heard the talk from her adjutants, so perhaps she, too, had caught wind of it somewhere along the way. Even beneath Adrian's gaze, Adele simply smiled, unbothered.
Then, shrugging at me as if to say well, what of it?, Adele spoke.
"Well, it is only a rumor. What I wished to make clear, though, is that I don't treat Robert as some mere object. You're aware, aren't you, of how I feel about Robert."
"...I do know. I've heard the reports that came from the North, after all."
Was she referring to the time I was wounded? Even though Adele treated me with a certain casualness, I had never taken issue with it—that was simply the kind of person she was. Rather than handling someone like a possession, this kind of treatment arguably signaled the closer bond. That was the only reason I had let it be; Adrian had simply read a little too deeply into it.
As she listened to my explanation at her own pace, her expression gradually eased, until at last Adrian smiled faintly and, releasing my hand, parted her lips.
"It seems I misunderstood, somewhat. Even so... hearing you speak of Robert that way is a little uncomfortable, from where I sit."
"I'll be careful. I shall mind myself in the Saintess's presence."
At Adele's words, Adrian favored her with a smile of her own, then rose slowly from her seat.
"Then I believe the two of you may speak freely now. I only came out to greet you together in the first place, so I'll go on inside. Ah—there's no need to see me off. One of the priests is waiting just up ahead."
"Will you be all right?"
"I'll be fine. Besides, it's been some time since Robert last saw the Grand Duke, hasn't it? We'll be together tomorrow anyway."
Adele chuckled at how pointedly Adrian stressed the words together tomorrow, but the Saintess merely dipped her head to the two of us and walked on. Her departing steps, unburdened by any lingering attachment, looked remarkably light.
I swallowed drily as the door thudded shut. One Adele was already more than enough to keep track of—if Adrian started in as well, my head had begun to ache out of sheer exasperation.
"That was a bit much."
I said it once Adrian had vanished into her room, to Adele, who stood quietly staring at the spot where the Saintess had been. I'd expected her to push back against Adrian's words—I just hadn't expected her to blurt out something so blunt. In any number of ways, I was in just as awkward a position. When on earth had Lotos caught on? I'd had a rough sense of things myself, but I had been deliberately careful in case Adele overheard.
"You're one to talk about going too far. You sent that letter all but ordering me to come alone, and here you are, glued to the Saintess's side. I rather thought you'd have some idea of why I came."
"...I couldn't help it. That's simply how it was, the whole time we were in the South."
Adele held my gaze for a long moment, then huffed a laugh and settled into her seat. No doubt she had arranged to keep me behind for precisely this: to ask about the letter. I had steeled myself to a degree, but face to face with her now, the truth was my nerves were taut.
Adele was unchanged. Her temperament, certainly—but even her appearance hadn't shifted so much as a hair from when I'd left the North. Granted, how much could anyone change in a mere two weeks? Still, the past few days had kept me busy in every direction, and it would be no exaggeration to say those two weeks had felt like two months to me.
Adele toyed with a strand of her snow-white hair and simply watched me in silence. Perhaps she was sorting through which words to say. After all, my letter had held far more than one or two matters, and every last one of them demanded careful thought.
"...When I look at you."
As her crimson lips parted, Adele's eyes could not hold mine. She looked faintly lost—as though she were overlaying something onto me, and yet could not quite be certain of what she saw. Then Adele swept the hair back from her brow and added quietly:
"I don't know what I'm supposed to say to you."
"Whatever you say, I can bear it. Even if you simply raged at me, I could accept that."
"Why would I rage at someone who's done nothing wrong? ...No. I can't say you've done nothing wrong, can I."
Perhaps it was all right to meet my eyes now—her ice-blue gaze curved gently. But the wavering remained. What was she thinking? What words had driven her to race here from that barren, brutal frontier? After a moment of holding my gaze, Adele spoke.
"Throwing a person into confusion—that much deserves to be called a sin. And not just any person: the Grand Duke who holds the North. Do you have any inkling how grave a sin that is?"
"Because of the letter I left you?"
"Yes. Because of it, strange memories surfaced."
That word—memories—never failed to pull a reaction from me. If I had to name the single most unusual thing about this cycle, it would be the memories. Theresia had recalled everything from the previous cycle, and Adrian, too, had alluded to my past lives through her dreams. Hadn't Adele said much the same? Something that had never once happened before—and yet in this, my 101st life, it was unmistakably happening.
When my gaze turned grave, Adele straightened in her seat and studied me in silence. If anyone would, she had likely already noticed that I knew something about these 'memories.' But I had no wish to speak first. Listening first was to be my part—if I talked too freely of memories, she might only have been thrown into confusion.
"...I have a memory of meeting you, two years ago."
The instant those words reached me, what surfaced was the memory of the first time I had ever laid eyes on Adele in any of my lives. The time I had cast off the name Taylor and run. That of all moments, that one should come to mind—and when I laughed at the fact, Adele regarded me with puzzlement.
"I was probably crying. Begging you to spare my life, and asking you to take me with you."
"And how would you know that? You've never told me anything like this before, have you?"
"Please, go on for now."
It was still too early to answer how I knew. Explaining my regressions on the strength of so thin a sliver of memory would be a stretch. When I urged her to continue, Adele knit her brow briefly, sighed, and picked the story back up.
Her account did not run long. The memory she had recovered was brief to begin with, and so fragmentary it scarcely amounted to a single life. But the emotions within it seemed to be working on her all the same. The way she looked at me had changed—and I was not so dull as to miss it.
"Is that where the memory ends?"
"Yes. It ends with what happened in that forest we were in together, back then."
She did not seem to remember my death. Neither the warning I had given her, nor the words with which I had clung to her, begging her not to go. It would have been a mercy if she were simply hiding it, but at this point I couldn't imagine Adele concealing anything from me.
Her eyes, fixed on me through my long silence, were strikingly vivid. They were the eyes of someone holding a question. I had filled in the gaps of her memory with explanations, so it was a natural reaction enough. After studying me a moment, Adele spoke with a thoroughly grave expression.
"So now I need explanations. How you know of this memory at all—and why the letter you wrote me warned of the Crown Prince's death. I can't make head or tail of any of it."
"I expected you would come and ask, once you'd read my letter. That's why your arrival didn't much surprise me."
"...I'd rather you not brush this off as another secret this time. If you do, I think I'll be sorely disappointed in you."
When I smiled faintly at that, Adele shot me a sidelong glare, brow furrowed. I had never intended to hide it—not from the moment I set pen to that letter. If she came to me carrying more than idle questions, I meant to tell her my secret.
I could not tell her of every regression. After all, would it not take an eternity to speak of these hundred and one lives? But the time I had spent at her side—calling it the happiest of all my lives would be no exaggeration. And so, I could explain that much to her.
"The reason I know the Grand Duke's memory is that I was there. Didn't you say so yourself? That you saw me."
"But as I remember it, the first time you ever came to the North was last winter. Even if my memory has failed me—"
"It is not a memory from this life."
Adele went still. Perhaps she needed time to grasp my words; after staring at me, she asked quietly:
"...What?"
"A memory from a time the Grand Duke cannot remember—one that exists only within my memory. It follows naturally, then, that I would know it, and that you would not."
A strange emotion welled up in me. Perhaps because this was the first time I had ever put the story of my past cycles into words myself. They had always been memories I alone remembered—memories and feelings that only I had ever carried.
I turned over a hundred possibilities for how she might react. Would she look at me as though I'd gone mad? Might she decide it was all delusion? But it didn't matter. So long as she listened—so long as even one other person remembered these memories that only I had carried—that alone would be enough.
I held my breath for a beat, and then I spoke. That instant of stillness felt like an eternity, as though my voice, opening toward Adele, had briefly ceased to exist. And still, the words left me. Words that perhaps could never be taken back—spoken on the timeline of this cycle, words that would surely change a great many things.
Only now, in this my 101st life, had I finally been able to speak it.
"For far longer than you imagine, Grand Duke—far, far longer. I have been watching you."