Chapter 35 — What She Truly Liked
Sevtina paused, unsure how to answer Dante’s simple‑sounding question. In truth, it was anything but simple.
She searched her memory the way one rummages through an old attic, trying to recall what July had ever liked. There weren’t many options; July’s life had been narrow and constrained. After a long silence, Sevtina finally gave a small, almost wistful laugh.
“She liked weeds.”
Dante studied her quietly while she spoke.
Telling July’s story now—as Sevtina—felt less like speaking of herself and more like sharing a friend’s secret.
“She said the little weeds around a grand flowerbed looked like her.
Real companions were hard to find, so seeing those hardy, overlooked plants gave her comfort.”
As Sevtina’s quiet voice spilled out, Dante found himself picturing July: the steady tone, the way she used to pronounce every word with careful conviction. It was strange—Sevtina was clearly a different person, yet in that moment he saw July in her.
Do friends grow to resemble each other? he wondered. Perhaps he missed July more than he’d realized.
“She didn’t enjoy reading,” Sevtina added with a faint smile, “but she loved the smell of books—unlike you.”
“I didn’t even know that,” Dante admitted with a bitter twist of his lips. For all July had known about him, he could count on one hand the things he truly knew about her.
Dante arrived at July’s room that night and hesitated—someone was already inside. A single silhouette sat in the gloom. Realizing it was Wyatt, Dante bowed quietly.
“Aren’t you due to leave for the festival, Your Highness?”
“Tomorrow. My scrolls are ready.”
“You must be exhausted.”
Dante knew Wyatt had begun his own investigation. Outside the small circle of successors, there was no one they could blindly trust; multiple noble houses could be complicit. Yet every evening, Wyatt still came to sit by July’s bedside.
“Whether I’m tired hardly matters,” Wyatt murmured, eyes never leaving July’s face. He caressed her cheek as if she were a delicate carving. “I made this mess myself.”
Dante said nothing. Instead he lifted the new bracelet.
“I’m here to put this on.”
Wyatt nodded. As Dante approached the bed, he sensed a trickle of fire mana flowing from the crown prince into July’s body—Wyatt’s futile attempt to share warmth.
“You’ve used your power again,” Dante chided gently.
Channeling elemental energy into a person without harming them demanded perfect control; the caster often felt as though their own body were burning. Wyatt, however, betrayed no sign of pain.
“Reckless,” Wyatt dismissed, fingers still resting against July’s temple.
When Dante fastened the bracelet, Wyatt’s brow creased.
“It feels different.”
“I added another barrier,” Dante explained.
“No, beyond that… the wind itself.” Wyatt narrowed his eyes. “Is there a second Wind successor?”
“There isn’t.”
The prince’s gaze sharpened. Dante was trapped—confirming would break his contract with Sevtina; denying meant lying outright to the crown prince. His fist clenched.
“There… isn’t,” he repeated, voice low.
Wyatt laughed softly at Dante’s tense formality.
“You’ve signed some devilish contract with Lady Sevtina, haven’t you?”
Dante’s head snapped up, but he feigned ignorance.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Your Highness.”
“Then I’ll simply ask her myself when I’m in Artera,” Wyatt said mildly, rising to leave. “That festival visit just became far more interesting.”
Dante’s shoulders sagged with relief the moment the prince was gone.
Wyatt departed at dawn; Dante returned to the capital the same day—he could stay no longer.
Back in Artera, the couple whose shop had burned down moved into a new home. Sevtina had given them choices, and they’d selected the place themselves. To show her help wasn’t mere pity, she also funded their participation in the upcoming art‑and‑music festival, even supplying new instruments.
There would surely be others who’d suffered sudden disaster. Together with Anna, Sevtina began drafting a relief program for Artera’s victims; she’d need her father’s approval eventually, but for now it was only a plan.
And the Artera Festival was almost upon them.
That meant July’s final day was drawing close, too. Sevtina felt curiously light. Once it was over, she would finally sever herself from her old life.
Word arrived that the crown prince would attend the festival’s opening.
“He only stays a few hours every year,” Anna assured her, afraid Sevtina might be nervous.
Sevtina thought otherwise: Wyatt would never pass up a chance to speak with her. And she didn’t intend to avoid him. If she hoped to understand the power of fire, this might be her last chance.
Klazen would return as well, bringing final invoices and samples for the castle renovations. Sevtina almost laughed.
They’re all coming here, she thought, yet haven’t the faintest idea the person they’re desperate to save is standing right in front of them.
And no one suspected a thing.
