CHAPTER 60……………
That evening, the pre-wedding ceremony ended without incident.
Etisha was still avoiding Cayenne, but Cayenne seemed calmer than before. Or rather, he wasn’t calm so much as lost in his own thoughts.
He was brooding alone, like someone trapped in a labyrinth, or burdened with a problem that could never be solved.
Either way, the wine glasses were emptied as planned, and the night before the wedding seemed to pass without trouble.
Just one more day.
After a single night, the long-awaited wedding would arrive.
“…No.”
At that hour, a lonely sob echoed in the Tower of Stars.
The desolate tower, once filled with treasures, now resembled nothing more than a prisoner’s cell.
The only furniture was a wooden chair and a hard bed. A plain, prison-like garment was tossed on the floor. There was no wardrobe, no hangers, nothing but emptiness.
“I don’t want this…”
On the bed sat Dite, thin and wasted, huddled and weeping. Her tears fell onto the rough sheet.
She had cried so many days that she had lost all sense of time.
Her frail fingers clawed at the sheet. The malnourished nails ached as though they might rip off, but she could not stop.
Otherwise, memories of that day would return.
The day Lady Cyrilleze swung her sword.
The flash of the blade, the black hair falling away in chunks…
“As I cannot forgive you, I cannot forgive myself.”
Slash.
“Yudite, you are no longer my daughter.”
Slash. Slash. Slash.
Dite’s hand stopped. She lifted her arm, grabbed her own golden hair.
Hair as radiant as the sun, her greatest pride, proof of a nobility unfitting for a commoner. But since the moment Lady Cyrilleze’s hair was severed, she could no longer bear the sight of her own flowing locks.
Rip.
She began tearing strands out. One by one, they piled at her feet like golden threads.
It wasn’t the first time. Since her imprisonment, she had unconsciously torn at her hair every day.
Her once-glorious hair now looked gnawed and uneven, like by rats. It was a reflection of herself.
Just as Lady Cyrilleze cut ties by cutting hair, Dite tore out her own, severing her heart from Lady Cyrilleze and House Wintel.
Bit by bit. Strand by strand.
Her hair was now too short and ragged even to be called a bob. But in the tower, stripped of possessions, there was no mirror to see herself.
So she withered alone in isolation.
“I said I don’t want this…”
Rip. Rip. Rip.
All night, she tore away her own hair.
Her once-beautiful crown was gone.
No soft locks brushing her shoulders—only skin and bone remained beneath her touch.
“…Ah.”
At last, she straightened from her crouch. She stepped down from the bed, standing blankly, gaze fixed on the ceiling.
No longer Lady Cyrilleze’s foster daughter. No longer Cayenne’s sister-in-law.
No longer the girl who wanted to be a duke’s lady or mistress.
That Dite had burned away, leaving only ash.
Her golden eyes gleamed.
After long hesitation, she was now certain.
She walked to a hidden crack in the tower wall. Pulling free a loose brick, she revealed a secret space.
Her private vault, known only to her since childhood. She once hid candies, diaries…
Who could have guessed it would save her now?
She reached inside and pulled out a letter and a crimson magic stone.
The letter was from Countess Montmadre. The stone, a gift from Marquis Hexion.
*“My dear Dite,
Do not grieve too much over what happened at the Spring Festival. And should you ever need help, come to me without hesitation. I can be a better mother to you than Lady Cyrilleze ever was.”*
Dite lowered her eyes, rereading.
But she no longer wished to be anyone’s daughter.
Not someone’s daughter. Not someone’s mistress. Not someone’s anything.
She wanted to be something else, beyond the need to lean on others.
Clutching the red stone tightly, she suddenly smashed it against the stone floor.
Clang!
The crystal shattered with a scream-like crack.
Fragments pierced her feet, but she did not notice.
She did not feel the pain of wounds—but she knew exactly what she must do.
She would think for herself. Act for herself.
Her golden eyes gleamed sharp as a poisoned blade, ready to strike.
On the morning of the wedding, birds cried in the north.
An old saying claimed that a bird’s call from the north foretold meeting someone important. Perhaps it was true.
Guests flocked to Wintel Castle: royals, nobles, archmages, high priests. Even the east and west gates, normally closed, were opened wide.
White cloth draped the walls, red carpets lined the grounds, the chapel bells rang. It was a wedding grander than a royal one.
…So it’s today.
Etisha gazed calmly into the mirror.
She saw herself in the Wintel family’s heirloom wedding dress.
At last… today.
Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. All preparations were finished. It was time to step into the chapel.
“My lady… you look perfect.”
Maid Marinne made a final check. The high collar and graceful folds of the gown matched Etisha’s hair styled neatly up.
She handed her the bouquet.
“Here, my lady.”
“Thank you, Marinne.”
Not cut flowers that would wilt, but a jeweled bouquet, forever radiant.
“I’m so glad I followed you to the north. I’m far happier here than I ever was in the capital.”
“Really…?”
“Yes. Back then, I only tended an empty villa. Sweeping, cleaning, every day in a house without its master. Of course, as a villa, it was expected to be empty… but still.”
“Oh…”
“Here, with you, I feel joy and purpose.”
She smiled sweetly, eyes curved. Etisha forced a smile back.
But I will soon be dead.
Suddenly, Etisha spoke.
“Marinne. If… if I were to fall sick, or be hurt…”
“My lady?”
“And if I…”
“My lady…?”
“No, nothing.”
She shook her head. She could not speak of her wasting illness.
“I should go now. The ceremony is about to begin.”
“Yes, my lady. But what were you about to say?”
“Just nerves. Wedding jitters.”
Etisha lifted the bouquet to her chest. Marinne arranged the gown’s train in a fan behind her.
“Let’s go.”
With the tolling bells, Etisha appeared at the chapel entrance. At her side, Cayenne, in black ceremonial uniform, cloak flowing behind.
Etisha avoided looking at him, as always. But her eyes betrayed her, glancing toward him on their own.
…My lord duke.
Her chest tightened. Instead of joy, she felt only suffocation.
Then Cayenne reached out his hand.
“Lady Etisha. Your hand.”
His low whisper carried only to her.
“After the wedding, I have something to discuss with you. Just the two of us.”
“…What matter?”
“Concerning what happened at the cabin.”
She hesitated, extending her hand. Though she told herself it was just for escort, her mind was unsettled.
“If it’s about then… I’m sorry. But as you said, I’ll behave better, so there’s no need to…”
“No, Lady Etisha. Not to scold you. I think I misunderstood.”
“Misunderstood what?”
“That day, I thought you had a lover—”
Suddenly, trumpets blared.
The signal for bride and groom to enter.
Cayenne fell silent, grasping her hand firmly, as if never to let go.
“Now is not the time. I will see you after the ceremony.”
The trumpets sounded eight times. Then the orchestra began the march.
Knights lining the aisle raised their swords like spears to the sky, while dried flower petals rained down from the chapel’s round windows above.
