COTP 11

Chapter 11

His brows furrowed at my sarcastic remark.

Though his face openly displayed displeasure, the hand that held mine gently pried apart my trembling fingers, one by one.

Clicking his tongue at the sight of my now bloodied palm, he let out a disapproving sound.

— That person, Bi…

He muttered, chewing on his words, while wiping away the blood with a handkerchief.

— I still can’t understand her.

He bandaged my wounded palm tightly with the same handkerchief, mocking in the same tone I had used.

— She claims she discarded herself, and yet… you still defend her.

Staring down at the neatly tied knot, he continued,

— How noble of you.

“……”

— So this is what it means to be a ‘Watcher.’ I wouldn’t dare presume to understand.

As I remained silent, he continued to sneer.

— It’s all quite strange.

It felt endless. I finally managed to force out a response.

— …If anything, Your Highness, I’d like to ask you instead. What else do you find so strange?

— Bi is mine. And yet, she still seems to carry feelings for you. Ah…

As if the thought had just occurred to him, his voice dropped to a cold whisper.

— Perhaps… it’s because there’s no child.

The moment he spoke, the world seemed to tremble—and I finally understood.

In the past, I feared the vague burden and responsibility of new life.

— Set aside such foolishness and consider bearing a child. You have a duty as the Queen, do you not?

But now, I simply couldn’t bear one.

The time granted to me had been far too short.

What was once possible, was now impossible.

What I could do, I no longer could.

What had been permitted, was now denied.

No matter how deeply I chewed on regret and remorse, no matter how desperately I whispered that I wished to turn back time—

There was nothing I could hold on to.

The vast chasm of loss blurred my vision.

At last, I couldn’t hold it back. A tear slid down my cheek.

That nonexistent sound of a tear scraping against skin echoed in my ears like thunder.

— That you still don’t have one… what that must mean…

His gaze changed as he trailed off, unusually so.

A hand gently wiped the tear running down my cheek.

But there were no words to comfort or console me.

— …You reacted the same way before. Yes, the same expression as now.

To me, his murmured words made no sense.

He let out a hollow laugh.

— You despise me that much, don’t you?

— …Excuse me?

— Is it that the Western Princess of the Kingdom cannot bring herself to carry the child of a lowly frontier king?

His words sliced with icy sharpness.

For a moment, I was completely lost for words, only staring up at him.

And then, I wondered—did he even understand what Western Princess meant?

— Did you really need to hear that from my own mouth?

— I… I would never dare to think such a thing.

The reply escaped my lips a moment too late.

When it came to status, I was the last person qualified to speak.

To people as noble as them, I was barely even human.

— I am… merely a product denied by the heavens. That’s why His Majesty discarded me.

Speaking of myself hurt far more than expected, and I clutched my chest.

My throat closed up.

I looked up at him, choking back my breath.

Something inside me had finally burst.

All the inferiority I had buried deep within.

My rejection of myself.

The injustice, the anger, the sorrow, the pain.

Everything poured out in a single breath.

— Was that what you wanted to hear, Your Highness? That I am more worthless than you?

At my bitter question, he arrogantly lifted his chin.

— You certainly have a talent for twisting words, Bi.

— And Your Highness keeps deliberately misconstruing what I say.

— I’ve never once thought you were beneath me.

I couldn’t believe it.

Because it was true—I was far beneath him.

His gaze, staring down at me, felt cold as ice.

— Rather, it’s you who look down on me, isn’t it?

— I… do?

— Then deny it. Can you?

— Of course I can.

The tears that began with a single drop turned into full sobs that burst from me.

— I think I understand now, how Your Highness truly sees me.

His hand, which had been resting gently against my cheek, flinched at the sound of my sobbing.

Everything hurt.

The relentless march of time, the still air of night, the flickering lamplight, your quiet breath, even your gaze upon me—

— It’s never-ending.

He muttered under his breath at my tears.

His hand, still resting on my cheek, began to move again.

Your fingers wiping away my tears only deepened my sorrow.

But you said no more.

Held only in your arms, cradled in the darkness, I wept like a newborn child.

Time, which is fair to all, did not spare me.

Bound by the trap named Time, I was slowly stepping toward the gaping pit of hell.

I had denied, raged, bargained, and despaired over the prophecy that was placed upon me.

Now, at last, I had begun to let go.

My desperate struggle to bring some order to my ending had been bleached white in an instant, into the emotion called resignation.

And yet, the more my heart was bleached, the more I began searching for the meaning behind the life I had walked.

If God had decided to bring me back into His arms, then surely there had been meaning in my life until now.

Even if it hadn’t been beautiful—no, even if it had been hideous—surely not only lives that sparkle brilliantly are meaningful.

Then maybe, just maybe, the little time I had left could also be meaningful.

So when the number carved on the back of my neck reached 120—

Largo, I began writing you.

Because the only one who could leave a trace of the life I had lived was me.

Largo. Lento. Adagio.

Very slowly. Very slowly. And again, very slowly.

With every minute, every second too precious to waste—

It was only natural to name you, who would record my last steps, Adagio—very slowly.

My only friend, the only one I could fully open my heart to. That was you, this small notebook of barely a few pages.

I decided to fill you with every word granted to my short life.

Even if the whole world forgot me once I returned to dust—

I wanted you, who would carry all my secrets, to remember me.

For the longest time, I didn’t know where to begin.

Only once the ink soaked deep into your pages, staining them black, and dried thickly on my pen—

Was I finally able to whisper my first words to you.

He was always cold to me.

There must be a reason why I began not with my mother’s story, but with his.

Perhaps the size he took up within me had grown larger than that of the mother who once ruled my childhood.

Perhaps I could no longer explain who I was without telling your story.

Even I found it strange.

There were no moments I could call truly happy, no time I ever thought of as joyful.

My world had always been achromatic, even in the past.

And yet, strangely enough, only my time with you—I wanted to preserve it.

Like sugar candy, I wanted to crystallize it, to gently cradle the hardened memory with my fingertips.

To occasionally take it out and whisper, That happened too, didn’t it?

To greet it with a faint smile.

And so perhaps, you, at the very least, remained to me something tinted with a special color.

Now that I had roughly laid out the life I’d lived, I began to write down my wishes to you, one by one.

First: To greet my mother.

Second: To see the ocean.

…

Last: To hear someone call me “daughter.”

“……”

Maybe it was because my fingers trembled.

Staring down at the crooked, tear-stained words, I had to gently stroke you.

I was grateful the ink had stopped bleeding.

How could this…

How could this even…

Is it because I know it can never come true that I call it a wish?

I traced the aching words once more with my fingertips.

Every living being in the world sees light through their parents.

Born from the life of a mother and father, each human was someone’s son or daughter.

Then why… why did I have to make being called a daughter into a wish?

In truth, I knew I would never hear those words from the person I longed to hear them from.

Even so, I could not give up, nor could I speak them aloud.

So instead, I entrusted everything to you, whom no one else would see.

I pulled out the truth buried deep in my heart—the secret I couldn’t even admit to myself.

Because even to you, I had no reason to lie.

With a bitter, self-mocking smile, I finally rose to my feet and began to walk.

To fulfill what little I could now from the wishes I’d written in you.