TRL 23

Chapter 23

As soon as Richard returned home, he wanted to bombard Lillietta with questions about the gun. But he was stopped by the firm will of the Duchess, who insisted on letting Liri rest.

Leonhardt was busy investigating why a wyvern living deep in the mountains had suddenly appeared in the city, so he couldn’t come see Lillietta either.

Thanks to that, Rita was able to take her time, enjoy a bath, and relax while sorting out her thoughts.

At her simple remark that she wanted to bathe, the maids filled a marble tub with hot water, added bath salts, sprinkled gold powder, and even floated flower petals on the surface.

For Rita, who hadn’t taken a warm bath in twelve years, this was a shockingly luxurious experience.

But in Liri’s memories, it was nothing out of the ordinary—it was just the kind of bath she had every day.

As she soaked deeper into the water, Lillietta realized once again how stark the contrast was between Rita’s and Liri’s lives.

Her tense body slowly relaxed in the warmth. Leaning against the edge of the tub and breathing deeply, she looked down at her reflection in the violet-tinged water caused by the bath salts.

A face so beautiful it was unforgettable at a glance. Shimmering golden hair, lashes like pure gold, and amethyst-colored eyes that made her look like a fairy.

‘This is my face…?’

It still felt unfamiliar. The face Liri remembered was that of a child, and the one she had grown used to over time was certainly not this.

‘…It’s so different.’

And it wasn’t just the face. “Riri” and “Rita” were entirely different people.

“No, Riri. You should be angry. You should feel outraged and wronged over what happened to you. You should be crying, shouting that it was hard. That would be normal. But right now… you’re being far too calm. It’s strange.”

Seeing Leonhardt’s reaction made her realize just how much she had changed since childhood. And with that realization came fear.

She thought of Pascal—someone who died after being used by their family, who was never truly acknowledged as one of them even in the end, despite dedicating their life to them.

She remembered the adults who once cared for a child on the battlefield, only to later scream that Pascal’s child was a monster and raise their weapons.

‘What if my family is like that too…?’

Cowering with this fearful thought, Rita—no, Lillietta—coldly analyzed her own state.

‘I’m afraid.’

After that, she tried her best to act just like she had as a child.

She pretended to enjoy shopping she didn’t want, struggled to hide her growing sharpness, and did everything she could not to show anything that resembled “Rita Pascal.”

“Riri, just now—”

She had instinctively shot her gun when she thought a child was about to be taken by a monster, and then flustered, she glanced nervously at the shocked Duchess.

“Ah, um, that is, well…”

While she was desperately trying to come up with an excuse—though she hadn’t even decided what she was making excuses for—Hannah stepped in and checked the situation outside.

“Wow! The young lady took down a wyvern in one shot! And the child is safe too! That was amazing!”

A maid fussed with excitement, and the Duchess blinked in stunned silence.

If it had been Rita, she would’ve brushed it off casually. If it had been Riri, she would’ve proudly bragged about her skills.

But at that moment, Lillietta wanted to hide the gun. Even though she had just used it in front of everyone, she wanted to conceal what she had done—as if it wasn’t her.

Because she was scared of how her mother looked at her—like she was a stranger.

“It’s, um… it just sort of happened…”

She stammered, flustered. After a moment of silence, the Duchess quietly spoke.

“It’s all right, Riri. It’s okay.”

Lillietta didn’t understand what that meant at the time. But after returning home, the Duchess had let her be alone.

Reflecting quietly on it later, she understood. She realized why the Duchess had said it was okay.

‘I’ve… become a complete coward.’

Her mother wasn’t simply misunderstanding something. In fact, her mother had seen her clearly.

She truly was scared—of being seen as strange.

‘This isn’t like me.’

Lillietta flicked her fingers at the surface of the water, scattering the reflection of her face.

‘This isn’t like Riri, and it’s not like Rita either.’

Rita Pascal didn’t care what others thought of her. She knew she wasn’t a monster, so why would it matter what people said? She had resolved her identity crisis long ago.

Riri never doubted her family. She always believed they would support her no matter what, that she was loved unconditionally.

But Lillietta now was neither of them. She was afraid of how her family would see her and, at the same time, doubting them.

She scooped up handfuls of the violet water and splashed her face. She wiped away the dripping water and brushed her wet hair back.

Then, looking down at her wavering reflection in the rippling water, she laughed quietly.

“How foolish.”

She remembered her eldest brother, who broke down holding her in his arms.

She remembered her second brother, who wept while embracing her.

She remembered her mother, who had looked directly into her lying eyes and gently said she knew how hard it had been.

Liri thought to herself:

‘My family isn’t the kind of people who would treat me like a monster, no matter how I change.’

Her mother, father, and brothers would love her no matter who she became. They would always be on her side.

Rita thought:

‘Why should I care what others think of me? As long as I’m not ashamed of myself, that’s enough.’

I like who I am now.

I’ve lived with all my strength, and I’ve never done anything to be ashamed of when it comes to my beliefs and values.

There have been painful, terrible times—moments I still can’t bear to remember—but those are part of me too. I don’t want to pretend they never happened. I want to overcome them, accept them.

Lillietta thought:

‘I won’t hide anymore.’

I’ll show myself just as I am.

And I’ll accept whatever reaction my family gives me.

‘I am Riri, Rita Pascal, and Lillietta del Nisa Laskail.’

Her once-turbulent heart settled.

She stood up, no longer caring about her reflection, parted the water, stepped out of the bath, washed herself clean, and walked away with light steps.

* * *

The next day.

The Birch Castle was bustling. The Duchess, who had been staying in the annex, moved back into the main house. The Princess’s room, preserved for ten years, was finally being renovated. And, most of all, the Duke had returned from the capital and caused a stir.

“Father is back. He must’ve rushed here without sleeping. He wants to see you.”

So said Leonhardt, guiding Lillietta to the garden.

“He’s probably at your grave. He ordered it to be dug up as soon as he arrived.”

“My grave?”

At her question, Leonhardt gave her a half-laugh, half-sorrowful expression and nodded.

“Yes, your grave.”

He stopped at the door leading to the garden. Lillietta stepped through the door he opened.

Several servants were gathered, digging up the ground. Flowers and soil were carefully piled in mounds around them. And standing tall over a white marble tombstone was the Duke of Laskail.

Wearing a sharp black suit, a black mahogany cane, and a silk hat, he looked like a man at a funeral.

She approached and called out.

“Dad.”

His broad back flinched. Slowly, he turned around.

The golden hair she had inherited. The signature purple eyes of the Laskail family. In those eyes, her reflection appeared.

A heavy silence. His gaze trembled.

The silk hat fell. The mahogany cane dropped to the grass.

Discarding his hat and cane, the Duke ran toward her and embraced her tightly. His large body shook as he began to sob uncontrollably.

He didn’t speak. No, he couldn’t speak. Only a beast-like cry echoed through the air. All dignity and pride were thrown aside in his wailing.

The servants who had been digging froze. Some removed their hats and held them over their hearts. Some wiped their eyes.

Lillietta said nothing. Words weren’t necessary now. She simply stretched out her arms and embraced her father back.

The empty coffin was dug up, and the tombstone removed. The disturbed earth was replanted by a gardener with fresh flowers. Daffodils, tulips, and colorful crocuses—bright spring blooms. The old gardener planting them wore a wide, joyful smile.

From a sitting room overlooking that garden—

A private space deep in Birch Castle, reserved for the Laskail family’s direct bloodline.

A round room where hallways from each of their bedrooms converged, filled with soft carpets and dark cushions strewn everywhere. One wall held a fireplace, another had a large window facing the garden.

As children, Richi and Riri had sprawled there playing chess.

Leon would lean against a cushion nearby reading, occasionally offering suggestions, bickering with Richi, and ending up playing chess himself. Riri would laugh and draw her brothers in a sketchbook.

The Duchess would sit by the window, knitting or doing embroidery, watching her children fondly.

The Duke would walk in carrying mugs of hot chocolate and coffee in his large hands, handing them out, sitting beside them, sometimes placing a kiss on his wife’s cheek and chatting warmly.

They were small but precious memories.

That fireplace had been cold for ten years.

Today, for the first time in a decade, the fire was lit again.