A Rude Promise
A Rude Promise
The journey to Fran flew by.
It was never dull.
Because Isabella had prepared so thoroughly.
Along the way, they stayed at fine lodgings, and she refreshed their spirits by stopping briefly in various villages on the road to Fran to look around—things like that.
And by the end of today, they would reach Fran. The sunset was beginning to fade, and in the twilight, the party browsed the market street of a village holding a year-end banquet.
This, too, was Isabella's plan. The villages in this area often held festivals when winter arrived. She had racked her brain to look up the festival dates for each village, wanting to share with Rosaria the romance she had felt on the road from Fran.
The moment they entered the village, the bright festive mood embraced the dying sunset, making it shine even more brilliantly.
The sounds of people laughing and chattering reached their ears.
The smell of food cooking deliciously filled the market.
Merchants calling out to customers, boasting of their fine wares, were visible everywhere.
In the bustling market, Canaria said she wanted to enjoy the lingering festival atmosphere with Rosaria. She asked Zeke and Isabella to accompany them, so that the two of them—Zeke and Isabella—could enjoy a festival outside the Holy Kingdom for the first time, just the two of them.
Of course, she didn't send them off empty-handed. Isabella was a precious friend, after all. She bestowed upon them a sum of money that was almost too generous, and the divine power to understand and speak the foreign tongue.
And lastly, she said to Zeke,
-Do not hurt Isabella.
Canaria had noticed they had grown much closer. But she did not think that was a good thing for him or Isabella. It was a warning to maintain appropriate boundaries, so that when Isabella one day recovered her memories, she wouldn't suffer.
-And, do not forget your past.
Canaria emphasized the chain around his neck. And Zeke was fully aware of it. So he touched the nape of his own neck, which felt chillingly cold.
Zeke and Isabella were indeed in an ambiguous situation.
This had happened because Isabella had no memories, but thinking conversely, wasn't coldly pushing the current Isabella away also the wrong thing to do? No matter what happened, Zeke's very existence might already be a wound to her.
Nevertheless, Canaria had brought him here.
He could guess her intention.
It was meant to remind him of his own position. She had attached Isabella—the very embodiment of his guilt—to him, to constantly make him remember that he was a sinner who must never be happy.
Because guilt loosens over time.
She was fastening the leash tightly again so it couldn't be severed. And that leash was a binding that would never break, even after a lifetime passed.
Canaria, who knew best what happened when love became a chain, had chosen that method.
Because Isabella would be hurt no matter what.
She was a person who had already festered deeply.
She couldn't even treat the wound, and instead had asked for her memories to be erased, choosing to flee beyond unconsciousness.
In the end, from the moment her memories were erased, it was clear that Isabella would return to unhappiness no matter what she did.
So, now that she'd lost her memories,
Canaria wished for her to be happy, even just a little.
Because that day, she had realized how the current Isabella felt about Zeke. To Canaria, the existence called Isabella was precious whether she had her memories or not.
She hoped Isabella, even without her memories, would be happy.
She simply wanted to let her feel the false warmth that a counterfeit happiness could provide. Even if it became a painful flame later, it was to help the amnesiac her be happy for the sake of present happiness rather than a future misfortune that might never come.
"...Is it because of Isabella?"
Seeing Canaria's expression darken, Rosaria, who had guessed the reason, asked.
Canaria nodded.
"...Don't worry. I'm sure she'll be fine."
It was comfort without certainty.
Though it was not without reason.
"Isabella is strong, you know."
Canaria gave no answer to those words.
Because sometimes, not knowing was better. If she had seen Isabella when she had come to the Holy Kingdom after Rosaria's death, she would never be able to say such a thing.
-...I'm sorry I wasn't beside you when you were unhappy.
From the image of her weeping in guilt,
-I'm sorry, it doesn't go down easily...
To the image of her suffering from anorexia, constantly throwing up,
-...Please, say something, curse at me, Canaria. Why were you the only one happy? Why were you the only one who didn't suffer while we were in such agony?... Can't you just scold me like that?
And even to the image of her pathetically begging to be scolded, with those broken eyes.
Isabella had been shattered then.
But then, Canaria was hardly in a position to speak of others.
"...I hope so."
Regrettably, both of them were greedy. She wanted the Isabella who had lost her memories, and the Isabella who would regain them—everyone—to be happy. So perhaps she had placed a rather heavy burden on her.
Hoping that the sweet past would guide her in the future.
"...Because Isabella is strong."
She said this, and recalled the Isabella of that day one last time.
Her hair, torn and disheveled by her own hands. The deep tear tracks and the unceasing tears still flowing over them. That gaunt body from continuous vomiting, and the hollow eyes of a person with a broken mind... And finally,
the fake smile she'd forced herself to wear.
That was the Isabella Canaria remembered.
*
Isabella checked her own condition.
Her hair was well-brushed and glossy. A clean face without a single blemish, carefully chosen clothes and shoes, her physical condition at its peak, eyes she'd tried her best to hide her embarrassment with, and lastly, a smile restrained so as not to be too wide.
It was perfect.
In the first place, even if Isabella wasn't on the level of Rosaria and Canaria, she was the next most beautiful girl.
Isabella was the kind of person who, with just a moderate amount of grooming, looked as good as any other noble young lady. So much so that her seniors had always teased her with compliments like, 'Don't dress up until we're all married.'
But that was just what they thought.
Isabella felt a bit differently.
Having always watched Rosaria and Canaria, and due to an artist's particular pursuit of beauty, Isabella didn't think of herself as being all that beautiful.
Besides, wasn't Zeke an Emperor? He must have lived seeing the peerless beauties of countless noble houses and foreign royal families. Thinking this, she tensed up, considering herself a frog in a well.
Of course, that was also Isabella's misunderstanding.
Zeke was already in critical condition.
'...Calm down.'
To the point of hypnotizing himself.
Just looking at the current Isabella made his heart pound so hard it was difficult even to breathe.
He had always been weak when it came to Isabella.
If only she smiled, the world seemed brighter.
If only she looked happy, he was satisfied.
Because he simply liked the existence called Isabella.
Even he recognized it was a twisted affection.
An abnormal love born of guilt.
It was a love built on a flimsy pretext, created by a broken mind and body and a heavy oath—because he had protected her, because she had become happy.
And yet, over time, it had become complete.
He knew it was more than he deserved.
He knew it didn't suit him, and that it would eventually shatter.
Surely, it would be painful for both of them.
Nevertheless, Zeke chose the present happiness woven from lies
over future suffering.
Even if she had lost her memories,
she was still Isabella.
If she was happy,
he would simply follow.
When she regained her memories later, if she made a different choice, he would just follow that choice again. That was all.
Zeke helped the current Isabella be happy.
Because he intended to make the future Isabella happy, too, somehow.
He condoned the immense backlash that the counter-reaction would bring.
"...Kreed."
At that moment, Isabella called out to Zeke.
"...What is it, Isabella?"
Calming himself down somehow, he answered her question.
"Um, do I have any weird parts, or anything like that?"
Isabella was paying excessive attention.
Besides, Zeke hadn't been able to meet her eyes since earlier.
Wondering if there was a problem, she asked him.
"...How could there possibly be."
He didn't have the confidence to answer honestly about the reason.
Because whatever he might say, it would all be the wrong answer.
The truth was embarrassing, a lie would be regretful.
"...You are perfect, Isabella."
So he glossed over his suppressed intention.
"...Is... Is that so! That's a relief then."
Isabella was intensely embarrassed.
Then she kept approaching Zeke's side.
Isabella approached with a face that looked like it was about to burst.
Zeke was in a position where he could neither do this nor that.
Approaching first made him feel guilty.
But running away felt the same.
He merely stayed still, as if in a book of neutrality.
"...Kreed."
A blushing Isabella opened her mouth.
Her figure, silhouetted against the sunset, was beautiful.
Her glistening lips, her brightly shining irises, her glossy hair capturing the sunset—all of it.
It was lovable.
"...What do you think of me, Kreed?"
Isabella opened her mouth, trembling.
Ever since the day she was first embraced,
Isabella had been agonizing alone.
Why on earth did Zeke act that way toward her?
To her, a mere maid who was nothing special, why did he bring up and ask such things, thank her, and hold her?
"...I know you're hiding something."
Enough that even a fool would notice.
Zeke had something weighing on his conscience toward Isabella.
But Isabella didn't know what it was.
And she didn't try to find out.
Because her intuition told her so.
Trusting her intuition, Isabella
did not want to learn the truth, as it felt like it would drive him away.
Because she was a coward.
"...So, you don't have to tell me that."
But she was also greedy.
Even without knowing the truth, she wanted to know his true feelings.
"...Only, please tell me what you think of me."
Everything was unfamiliar to Isabella.
Harboring these kinds of feelings for someone,
someone harboring feelings for her,
even spending time with someone who had such mutual feelings—
it was all unfamiliar to Isabella.
So, she might be mistaken.
She wanted him to say it clearly with his own mouth.
"...How do you wish for me to answer?"
But Zeke could not easily open his mouth.
Because every action he had taken was already a deception.
These were actions he could never take toward the original Isabella.
So he couldn't bring himself to—his last shred of conscience refused him.
"...I don't wish for anything."
But Isabella refused that.
Not knowing much, she wanted to know.
Whether he, too, had the feelings she was feeling.
Or if it was merely her own misunderstanding.
Whether it was just the kindly him obliging her.
She wanted only the truth or a lie.
She wanted to know if it was a misunderstanding, or his true heart.
Isabella began to tremble.
Because many thoughts raced through her mind, thanks to Zeke's silence.
'...Right, it was only a few days.'
It was an incredibly short period.
Besides, the difference in their status was severe.
Wasn't it just that his personality was too kind?
That feeling of him just going along with her, at the Saintess's request.
...Well, that wasn't bad.
What was bad was her own self for not being able to distinguish that.
But it was because it was the first time, so she hadn't known.
That when her heart raced, his would too.
Had she made a delusion only a child would make?
Being so presumptuous toward the Emperor of the Empire...
It was just as she was blaming herself that way.
"...Isabella."
Having finished his deliberation, Zeke opened his mouth.
Words that would make his own burden heavier,
that would make the future to come more painful.
Nevertheless, words that would make the present happy.
"...I love you. I have loved you, and I will love you. I swear it."
He conveyed his heart indirectly, according to the etiquette of the Holy Kingdom.
Though it would not reach the Isabella beyond.
He opened his mouth for the sake of the Isabella before his eyes.
"......Are you satisfied now?"
Zeke's cheeks reddened.
Guilt and embarrassment kindled a fire.
It was intensely hot, even in midwinter.
"...Uh...aah...so, so...hgh..."
It was the same for Isabella.
She was trembling so much she couldn't even complete a sentence.
Just then, Zeke unfastened the pendant from his own neck.
"...Then, Isabella, may I, quite rudely, ask you for one promise?"
He then placed it around Isabella's neck, making his request.
It was the etiquette of the Empire.
"...It is an exceedingly rude request: that you would, for now, refrain from loving me too much."
Because right now, it mustn't happen.
He lacked the qualifications.
Isabella lacked self-awareness.
Because for now, it was a relationship built on falsehood.
"...Still, I will tell you everything one day."
He promised that moment when he would reveal the hidden facts.
"...And then, for the first time, I will ask."
Isabella's expression held many things.
Question and intention, budding bewilderment, curiosity and happiness, love and doubt, belief nonetheless, but unease in the process.
Even so, what remained at the end was love.
Reading this, Zeke smiled bitterly and spoke.
"...Please return this pendant at that time. Along with Isabella's true feelings."
Though it would surely differ from now.
Because he did not want to cross the line any further than this.
He made a promise for an uncertain future.
"...I refuse."
But Isabella refused.
"...There's no way I could return it."
It was an item received from the person she liked.
Isabella wanted to keep holding onto it.
She was indulging her greed.
And her reason had been paralyzed.
The subtle pleasure, resembling the sense of achievement of knowing it wasn't just her own misunderstanding, numbed her brain.
"...Of course, I don't mean I'll just take it, either."
With a slap, Isabella snatched Zeke's hand.
"...Please follow me."
It was the first hand she had held.
The leather was very cold,
and his hand was so large it couldn't be grasped in one hand.
Nevertheless, Isabella considered herself fortunate.
Because she wasn't ready to hold his real hand.
"Where do you intend to take me?"
Zeke followed her lead.
"......I'm going to buy you a new one."
From behind, only her reddened ears were visible.
But even with that alone, Zeke could roughly read Isabella's expression, and he obediently followed her guidance.
"I... I will... Hic—!"
At that moment, Isabella hiccupped.
"...Really pretty... Hic—! I'll buy... you one... so."
Her trembling voice and hiccups blurred the end of her words.
Her ears grew even redder, perhaps from greater embarrassment.
Now, even the sunset was less red by comparison.
That day, Zeke saw Isabella's back for the first time.
It was the back of a girl who looked small and fragile.
Her reddened ears and the back of her styled head were pretty—like that.
It was the back the Empire had tried to erase that day,
and the back his own obstinacy had barely managed to protect.
His chest throbbed and pounded.
He was sorry, but it was only fulfilling.
She would hate him, but he would only love her.
To show what is written on one's palm, you must turn that palm over to reveal it—is that why
they say someone changes their words as easily as flipping their hand?
Then, when apologizing, let's show the apology written on the back of the hand. Because it had changed, the flipped palm must be turned back. In order to hold that feeling only in one's heart.
Zeke wanted to turn over his own palm.
Of course, not now.
Because Isabella was holding it, so he couldn't turn it.
Nor would it be tomorrow.
Because this lingering feeling would continue.
Then when would he hold this feeling only in his heart?
As expected, when he received that pendant back.
When Isabella, having regained her memories, loathed him.
The moment for apology, when he turned the back of his hand.
Let's hold the feeling he had shown inside his heart.
Thinking this, he did not refuse Isabella's lead, entrusting himself to the end that this current wished for.
The place they arrived at was a small accessory shop.
In any case, it was not an item to be bought with someone else's money.
Isabella was seen stuffing the embarrassingly large allowance into her pocket, then agonizing to buy a pendant matching the salary she had saved up all this time.
"...I'll take this one."
A pendant with a silver chain, the form of a forget-me-not made of a blue gemstone and gold was beautiful.
After purchasing it, Isabella came right outside.
Probably because it felt awkward to put it on him inside the store.
"...Kreed, it's a gift."
Though she had spent most of her saved money, it didn't matter.
Compared to the pendant Zeke had given her, it was nothing.
Rather, Isabella even apologized as she gave it.
"...I'm sorry, that this is all I can give you."
How shabby it must look to royalty.
But again, that was just Isabella's thought.
"How could that be? To me, this pendant is now more precious than gold, Isabella. So please, do not blame yourself too much. For it is the greatest gift of my life."
So answering, Zeke knelt according to the etiquette of a knight.
It was a relief.
That there were hardly any people here.
If anyone had seen, she felt she wouldn't be able to even breathe.
But it was the same even without that.
"Hic—!"
The hiccups didn't stop, due to her tension.
"S...sorry... Kree... Hic—!"
Her hands trembled and her legs quivered.
It was hard to move her hands toward his neck.
Looking into those eyes that met hers from his lowered posture was difficult.
Yet, because she wanted to repay him,
Isabella, her body trembling, managed with difficulty to place the gift around his neck.
As she did so, she repeated self-brainwashing inwardly.
That it was because she was cold.
Thinking this, she placed the pendant around his neck.
The clicking sound was exceptionally loud.
"...Does it suit me?"
And Zeke, caressing it, asked.
"...Y...yes... it suits... you."
Isabella answered, stammering.
Silhouetted elegantly against the sunset,
smiling so kindly while speaking like that—it was unfair.
Thinking this, she recalled the promise from a moment ago.
'...Don't love him too much?'
She didn't know if she could keep it.
Because she was already beginning to waver.