Chapter 7
Monday afternoon. The academy was in shock.
A body had surfaced in the lower Hudson River at dawn, and it was identified as Gilrota, a fourth-year student in the literature department. What was once a simple absence could no longer be dismissed as such.
Investigators from the security force came and went, and Gilrota’s belongings were taken from her dorm room as evidence. The academy’s headmaster and professors entered an emergency meeting.
The investigators interviewed students for eyewitness accounts. The last confirmed sightings of Gilrota were a week ago during class, and two days ago when she came to submit a leave of absence. However, Ayla and Damian knew she had died even earlier than that. But they couldn’t testify. Nothing had been revealed yet, and they didn’t know how deep this went.
The students were trembling with fear and dread. The cause of Gilrota’s death was still unknown, and the uncertainty made them feel that it could happen to any of them.
“No. I won’t burn it. I must leave a trace. If more than one person is involved, they need an example to be shown.”
“That’s probably it. A warning—to show that this could happen to you too.”
Damian had been right. Someone unknown had killed Gilrota and deliberately left evidence behind. They could have cleaned up neatly, but instead, they threw the body in the river for all to see. It was a warning.
Ayla’s fingertips went cold. Goosebumps rose on her skin. Morality and ethics as a human being had been shattered. Perhaps Gilrota had been nothing more than a tool. Then suddenly, a question struck her: if she was just a tool, why discard her? Why had she lost her value?
Would the investigation really yield any results?
From the looks of things, the academy seemed inclined to cover it up. Gilrota wasn’t a noble, just a commoner student. Even with excellent grades, there was no need to make a fuss.
The academy, with its long history, traditions, and—above all else—its symbol of power, was a place where many genuinely came to study, but it was also where the country’s noble cartel was formed. Ayla knew that better than anyone, which is why she expected the cause of death would be officially recorded as a suicide due to academic stress. Rare, but not unheard of.
Besides, Gilrota had ties to invisible strings. Whoever was pulling those strings wouldn’t want her death to spread too far.
The investigation ended quickly. It didn’t go exactly as Ayla had predicted, but the result was the same. There was no evidence of foul play. It was officially concluded to be an accidental death while intoxicated. Witnesses even claimed to have seen her drinking near the Hudson River. They had no choice but to believe it.
But Ayla didn’t believe it. Neither did Damian.
During the days it took for the investigation to conclude, Ayla couldn’t focus on studying. Even when she sat in Kailum with a book open, her mind felt like it would explode. In the end, she dragged Damian—who had naturally followed her as always—to his room.
Damian wasn’t sure whether he should be glad Ayla had come to his room uninvited.
Ayla sat in a chair like it was her own and stared at Damian with a stern expression.
“Was it the work of that mage?”
“Who knows… but you don’t need to be a mage to kill someone.”
It wasn’t wrong. Murder didn’t require magic. More importantly, they couldn’t be sure the incident involved only one mage. Still, Ayla found Damian’s calm reply strangely unfamiliar.
She silently watched Damian. His gaze wasn’t on her—it was directed elsewhere again. Ayla waited for him to finish his thoughts.
After some time, Damian finally spoke.
“Ayla. You said it then, didn’t you? That you trust me.”
“Huh? Uh, yeah… I did?”
“Then you have to keep trusting me—until the end. Got it?”
It was a random thing to say. And it gave her an uneasy feeling. Why was he saying that? What was he planning?
“Ayla. Aren’t you going to answer me?”
Damian’s eyes drooped pitifully. Ayla didn’t want to argue, not with everything else weighing on her.
“…Fine, I trust you. I do.”
She replied reluctantly.
That was her second mistake.
Even after giving that answer, the uneasy feeling didn’t go away. Still, she trusted him. She really did. But she never imagined things would turn out like this.
After class, she just wanted to rest, but Damian stopped her and said they were going somewhere. When she asked where, he said she’d know when they got there. She should have run away right then.
It had been four years since Ayla Dürman enrolled at the academy. That meant it had been four years since she left behind the social world and stopped being “Lady Ayla.” Four years of rejecting countless invitations.
Ayla stared at Damian, disbelief written all over her face.
“You didn’t… no way, right?”
A radiant white building. A golden-gilded gate. Guards bowing in greeting. A vast garden beyond the entrance.
It was the Imperial Palace.
“…I’m sorry, Ayla.”
Damian apologized with a sheepish expression. Ayla was furious. So this was what he meant by “trust me till the end.”
“You… you insane—!”
She yelled, but quickly lowered her voice. This was the palace. Too many eyes were watching. They hadn’t even formally greeted the knights yet. Ayla wanted to turn and leave immediately, but she couldn’t ignore the stares. She was the Duke of Dürman’s eldest daughter, and her face was well known.
Grabbing Damian’s sleeve, she marched inside and scanned the palace with a hawk’s eyes for a private spot. She knew the layout well—she used to come here often. Finding a forgotten palace built by Emperor Ashtian for a beloved concubine, which was now unused and hidden, was easy.
The old building, worn down by time and wind, was overgrown with weeds. Ayla, trying to calm her rising anger, glanced back at the damned puppy of a boy. Damian avoided her eyes.
A stone, carried by the wind, rolled to their feet.
Ayla composed herself.
“…Are you crazy, Damian?”
Her words weren’t pretty, but they were the result of careful restraint.
“This was your condition? Huh?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“What didn’t you have a choice about?! Why do I have to get engaged to you?!”
He’d rejected her outright when she proposed before! The words nearly escaped her mouth, but she held them back with tremendous patience.
The day the crown prince coldly turned her down, she cried her heart out until the palace walls shook, and again at home with her pillow. From that day, her little sister Aileen, ever precocious, told her that there were other men in the world besides the crown prince. So she tried meeting other men—but none compared. It was deeply frustrating.
Even now.
Damian, who had avoided her gaze, looked back at her. His water-colored eyes were like a bottomless lake. Ayla felt herself getting pulled in again.
“You know it. There’s no name better suited to protect you than ‘the Crown Prince’s fiancée.’”
“….”
Foolish Ayla.
“Just until we uncover the truth about this case.”
“….”
“So can’t you just help me until then, Ayla?”
Gullible Ayla.
She fell for it again.
“Well, well. I was wondering why you both showed up together after so long… and now you’re getting married? When did you decide that behind my back? I’m offended, Ayla.”
“I apologize, Your Majesty. It just sort of… happened. Haha…”
Ayla gave an awkward smile. She’d often dined with the Emperor before, but never had it felt this uncomfortable. The Emperor looked delighted. Damian, seated beside her, was smiling as well. Under the table, Ayla moved her foot and pressed down hard on his. Damian’s lips twitched slightly as he smiled—only she noticed.
“It’s fine. I was just teasing. Still, I’m happy to hear such good news. Feels like only yesterday when Damian dumped you flat. Hahaha.”
If she could, she would have stuffed food into his mouth to shut him up. Why bring up that buried black history again?! The Emperor knew nothing. Neither did Damian.
Ayla pressed down on Damian’s foot again. The hand holding his fork trembled slightly—again, only she saw it.
Damian turned to her. He stabbed a piece of steak on his plate and shoved it into her mouth. Sauce dribbled down her lips. Surprised by the ambush, Ayla’s foot loosened its hold, and Damian used the chance to escape.
With a focused stare, Damian wiped the sauce from the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
“Oh dear, Ayla. How clumsy of you, getting it all over yourself.”
“….”
Ayla’s hand, holding her knife, trembled slightly.
For a brief moment, she truly considered stabbing him with it.
