Good Heavens, My Fiancée Is Missing? (2)

Libido nearly let a sound escape him. Before he knew what he was doing, he had shoved Psyche away. His hand trembled in fine, helpless spasms. He had pushed her. He had.

It was only because her words had made him so furious— He started to scrape together an excuse, then let his head fall.

This was something that should never have happened. His heart lurched. He loved Psyche. You did not hurt the person you loved. That much was obvious.

Why am I doing this?

"...It hurts."

A thin moan threaded through her voice, and something charred black in Libido's chest. Had he injured her? For no reason at all, his hands kept clenching and unclenching.

He drew closer to check her for wounds, and the candle he held threw her face into sharper light. Beautiful. Even now. He could see her clearly.

She was terrified. Her eyes would not stop shaking; she could not bring herself to meet his gaze, and her lips kept parting and closing. She was holding back tears. Forcing herself, with everything she had, to look strong.

He knew. No one had ever known Psyche better than he did. Without thinking, he reached out to soothe her.

"Get away! Don't—don't touch me! Touch me and I'll kill you! I swear I'll kill you!"

Smack. She struck his hand aside, hard. He started to reach for her again, then carefully drew back. Her resistance was fierce.

If they kept scrapping, he might only hurt her worse. Once he was sure she was unharmed, he let out a small sigh and took a step back.

With the paper and pen he had brought, he wrote a short line.

No—he wrote, tore it up, burned it, and wrote it again. Psyche would know his hand. He wrote the whole of it with his left and held the page out for her to see.

"That handwriting is hideous. I can't read a word of it, so say it out loud."

"I told you to use your mouth. Are you mute?" Psyche's tone was sharp as a pin.

Inwardly, Libido snorted. He had heard abuse like that from her every single day; he was long past being provoked by so little. But he was underestimating her. Abruptly, she spoke to him.

"You. You know me."

When he only looked at her, writing nothing, a small smile touched the corner of her mouth.

"You're using your left hand on purpose to hide your script, you're hiding your voice, and you've covered your face and your build. You'd have to be an idiot not to see it. So, you pathetic little creep—what's the problem?"

"Did you do this because you couldn't have me? Or is it politics? Some plan, some conspiracy? ...Whichever it is, the lot of you are going to fail completely. The kingdom is strong."

Had she realized he was listening? She stepped closer, her face bright, as if she thought they might actually be able to talk. Then she whispered.

"L-listen. If you let me go, I'll see to it that you, at least, escape punishment. I have that much discretion. All I'd have to do is testify that you helped me. Isn't that right?"

"This kingdom is stronger than you or your little group ever imagined. So instead of playing games until you ruin yourselves, help me, and take the reward. W-well? What do you say?"

"Hey! Where do you think you're—"

Libido fled up out of the basement. He thought he might vomit. The moment it occurred to him that Psyche might realize who he was, the nausea he had been swallowing surged up ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his throat.

Do I have to do this?

Why am I doing this?

It's hideous.

A dizzying revulsion swept over him. Her voice, desperately trying to persuade him to help her, kept ghosting at his ear—that voice, frightened, and straining so hard to sound all right.

He loved Psyche. Of course he did not want to torment her. There was nothing good about this, driving her into a corner out of his own selfishness.

He let his back fall against the wall with a dull thud.

...No. It doesn't matter anymore.

...Because that was what Psyche thought of me.

Pathetic, and a loser, and a complete idiot. She was right. His present self was proof enough. Kidnapping her in secret because he could not bear to be cast off—the situation itself proved it.

But being right did not mean it failed to wound him. Even so, he had harbored a vague hope that she might like him, even a little. That they might, in truth, love each other. That someday she might come to care for him. That she might at least prefer him to anyone else...

How stupid.

The corner of his mouth lifted. With the mask pulled off again, his face looked somehow gaunt, and cold. A business ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠arrangement. Had a promise struck between their parents been the whole of what they were to each other?

"She said I'd only make a show of looking for her a few times, for the sake of appearances."

He smiled bitterly. The way a person laughs emptily when the hurt runs too deep, he laughed, hollow. What hurt most was that Psyche did not trust him.

In all the time they had spent betrothed, he had failed to give her even that much faith. He loved her this much, and still she did not trust him at all. She believed he did not love her.

"...Right. I'll have to make a show of looking."

What depressed him was that she had not been wrong.

From now on, publicly, he would make a show of searching for Psyche. Just enough that no one else would think to suspect him. A few performances of looking, and then he would come back.

"Damn it."

His stomach churned. He had no idea what he was doing, or what he was supposed to do. What good was kidnapping her, if he could not keep her bound like this for the rest of their lives? It solved nothing at the root.

He was sitting in his study, nursing a splitting head, when a servant handed him a letter from the Royal Castle.

Sent in the king's name, it informed him that Psyche had stepped away for a short while, that it was nothing serious and most likely a rather mischievous little escapade, and that he needn't worry. Should anything actually have befallen her, champions would be recruited at once to bring her back, so the engagement would suffer no disruption.

"A solution at the root..."

His lips moved. Perhaps a way was opening after all. Champions, come to bring Psyche home—

Tap, tap. He rapped the desk twice. The most fundamental problem, in the end, was that Psyche wanted to break off the engagement. Was that not why he had kidnapped her—because he could not stand to be cast off?

Then, to solve the problem at its root, all he had to do was make her want to take it back. Make her want to be with him again.

"Psyche always did like her fairy tales, in that quiet way of hers. The classic ones. A hero on a white horse, or a prince, riding in to save the kidnapped princess..."

He swallowed, quietly.

It was a little sordid. But.

"What if I were the one who saved her...?"

Then she would fold away the thought of breaking things off.

No. Even if she threw a tantrum and insisted on ending the engagement, the king would slap her across the cheek and roar at her to come to her senses. How dare you speak so rudely to the fiancé who saved you.

"Ha. Haha."

Libido laughed, covering his eyes.

Yes. Growing a little sordid—that was nothing now. If only he could have her. If only he did not have to be parted from her. Nothing else mattered.

Sometimes there are things you can only understand by taking a step back to look at them. Especially the things you believe you know best, the things you believe you understand best. For Psyche, that thing was Libido.

She had thought he loved her.

And so, every time she looked at him, she felt stifled. It infuriated her, the way a man who claimed to love her could be so clumsy about it. If you love me—if you want me—shouldn't you try harder? The thought made her want to burst.

"...I was the fool, wasn't I. Libido."

She did not mean that he had failed to love her. He had shown her love enough. She could still see him plain as day: at the smallest sulk, the smallest complaint, his face going white, beside himself, circling her in helpless little loops.

What Psyche had not known was herself.

The moment it occurred to her that Libido might be in danger, her heart dropped with a heavy lurch. Learning she had been kidnapped, realizing a stranger was watching her from beyond the dark—of course her heart had jolted then, too. But when she thought they might be aiming at him, her mind bleached white, and she could not move at all. Her teeth ground. Her blood boiled. A chill sank through her gut until thought itself went still.

She had wanted to scream. But the fear that one rash act of hers might only put Libido in greater danger clamped her mouth shut and would not let go. Like a marionette hung on strings, she had to think, and think again, before a single ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠word could leave her.

Strange. She let her head fall against the pillow with a soft thud.

She had never imagined she could speak and act that way. And she had never realized he occupied so large a place inside her. The fool had been her. Break off the engagement? Don't make her laugh.

I could never endure ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠something like that.

Even now, she missed him this much.

She wanted to bury herself in his arms and sob—you idiot, you moron, I missed you—to snap at him and hit him and pinch him and torment him, to kiss his cheek and press her face to his chest. This time, she wanted to be the one to kiss his lips first.

What had she been thinking, saying they should break it off?

It was so foolish she could almost laugh.

"Hic... hnn..."

She cried quietly. Afraid someone might be listening, she could not weep out loud. Her tears might be someone else's pleasure.

"I miss you. I miss you, Libido. I'm so scared... Come save me..."

She wanted him. She wanted him to come for her quickly. No—but it might be a trap. So he must not come. ...And yet he was not the sort of man who would do nothing when she vanished.

He was the sort who would do anything to save her.

"Hah... what an idiot I am..."

The thought settled her stomach a little.

Libido would come.

She wished he wouldn't. She wished he wouldn't be hurt. Even so, he would come. He had never once abandoned her. And he was terribly, terribly capable—and when a thing concerned her, he became desperately, ferociously so.

So she had to hold on. Because he was coming. She would take heart, and endure.

"......"

Her stomach growled.

Perhaps because she had steeled herself, the bodily needs she had forgotten came crashing in a beat too late. But the man from before was nowhere to be seen, and she could not sense another presence. She called out, small.

"Hello...? Are you there?"

Ugh.

"My stomach hurts a little, and I'm thirsty... I need the washroom... I ought to wash... and I want to change my clothes..."

I have to pee.

She felt along the wall.

A corner. The farthest corner...

"...You found Psyche?"

"Yes. So there is no need to worry overmuch. We have located Her Highness Princess Psyche. Yes. It was only a light little outing. She says she was curious to see how the people live."

"What a... relief. I was terribly worried."

"I am sorry to have caused you needless concern. Yes—worry for nothing, in the end..."

Evening. The official from the Royal Castle who had come before returned to Libido's estate. Sweat poured off him as he avoided Libido's eyes; he did not look particularly skilled at lying.

The lie itself, though, was plausible enough. The princess had caught a slight cold wandering the streets, and since it might prove contagious, she would be keeping to herself for the time being...

And yet that very Psyche is right here.

He could guess what the royal house was thinking. Keep it secret outwardly, and search for her as quietly as they could. He nodded and sent the official on his way, but inwardly he was in a bind.

If he was to rescue her, she had to be publicly missing. He could hardly turn up out of nowhere, claiming to have saved Princess Psyche, while the palace was telling the world that their Psyche was perfectly well inside the Royal Castle.

In other words, he had to wait until the royal house acknowledged her disappearance and launched a full-scale search.

"If I'm to become the hero who rescued her."

...Until then, he had to keep her kidnapped.