* * *
The next day, news articles began to appear, certain of Cynthia’s death.
「Successive Tragedies Plague the Bariesa Royal Family.
Count Queensguard Confirms Princess Helene’s Death, Even Mentions Princess Cynthia’s Will.
Death Effectively Acknowledged. Suicide and Terrorist Involvement Suspected…
Will the Inheritance and Succession Rights Now Pass to Prince Edford?」
「Marriage Law Enforced: Dowry to Be Returned to Bride’s Family if Spouse Dies Within One Year.
Inevitable Return of Nox Territory…」
Perhaps to protect the final pawn, Edford, no articles emerged suggesting Cynthia was a fake.
「Brigadier General Masera del Vicente Refuses to Acknowledge Princess Cynthia’s Death.
Sources Claim His Denial Stems More from Rejecting Reality Than Concerns Over Returning Nox.」
Amidst the widespread acceptance of Cynthia’s death, only Brigadier General Masera del Vicente was acting like a madman over his wife.
“Brigadier General Vicente, I understand your feelings, but there is no longer any justification or reason for the military to support the search for Princess Cynthia.”
Lieutenant General Lev of Headquarters laid it out.
From the military’s standpoint, royalty was no longer considered so special as to warrant a national emergency. More importantly, with her death all but confirmed, further searches would be futile.
Lieutenant General Lev issued a firm order:
“The Intelligence Bureau will investigate the masterminds behind the terrorist attack, so stand by and await further instructions. If you act without authorization, even this investigation will be suspended.”
Masera stared intently at him before slowly turning away and leaving Headquarters.
‘Why does everyone keep saying she’s dead?’
Masera’s lifeless eyes lifted to the gray sky.
“Brigadier General.”
Diego, who had been waiting for him, reported cautiously.
“A Priest from the Cathedral came to the official residence. He says he has urgent news to deliver.”
* * *
Masera fixed the priest who had come to see him with a sharp, cutting stare.
Even under that fierce wariness, the priest’s wrinkled eyes curved as he gave a gentle smile.
“Do you remember me? I’m one of Princess Cynthia’s pen pals. I came to Rutemia upon hearing the news. Another pen pal, the Bishop, is also deeply concerned and praying for her.”
This was someone Cynthia had made a pen pal with during their honeymoon, with her frighteningly good social skills.
“Have you come to hold a funeral service? My wife is not dead.”
The priest lowered his eyes and nodded at the threatening rasp in his voice.
“She is a person blessed by God. I, too, believe she cannot be gone. But realistically, shouldn’t we resolve the royal inheritance issues first? I hear the Count is already demanding the return of Nox.”
Masera was currently indifferent to the matter of Nox’s return or any inheritance issues.
He would give it all away if it meant he could get her back.
This was precisely what Cynthia had always feared, one of the reasons she had never revealed the truth to him.
The priest retrieved a scroll wrapped in cloth embroidered with sacred symbols.
Masera’s eyes widened as he stared at the document bearing the Bishop’s seal.
“Her Highness prepared this will in advance. Under God’s name, this is an official document of the highest legal authority—utterly impossible to falsify.”
Masera stared blankly at the will.
“Why…?”
Why would she prepare something like this?
A sudden tremor ran through his body, and his vision flickered white.
The first in line to inherit all assets shall be my spouse, Masera del Vicente; with the second in line, the ‘Spencer Royal Family’ of the Kingdom of Medea.
The round, bouncy handwriting—unlike her usual playful self—contained stiff, businesslike content.
Seeing Masera grip his hair, the priest spoke on, calm and measured.
“It’s common for wills to be forged amid inheritance disputes, but it’s rare for someone so young to have an official will prepared. It seems she meant to safeguard the royal family’s legacy for the future. Her Highness entrusted you with the mission of a ‘guardian’ because she believed in you, Brigadier General.”
Though no one dared voice the possibility that she had taken her own life, something deeply etched in Masera’s heart was already shaking him to his core.
‘As if she were preparing for her own death…’
Was this why she always felt like someone who could disappear someday?
She had been brutally thorough—enough to leave behind a merciless edict telling him to use her death to move forward.
Masera pressed a hand to his face and bowed his head. Layer upon layer of emotion crushed the air from his lungs.
The priest approached and laid a cautious hand on his shoulder.
“When you’re outside the sea, you cannot fathom its depth; when you’re within the sea, you cannot grasp its vastness. The human heart is the same, which is why faith is so crucial. From now on, Brigadier General, trust in the Princess you know.”
* * *
Masera sat at the edge of the bed, not even bothering to turn on the bedroom light, staring out the window.
‘Did she leave because she couldn’t trust me?’
He knew it wasn’t true, but pointless thoughts kept filling the void.
The fierce sleet hammered against the windows of the official residence.
Sitting upright, his face was expressionless, but every exhale seemed to carry away the grief pooling in his chest.
In the silence that consumed the room, only the ticking of the wall clock’s second hand persisted.
He neither ate nor slept, simply remained frozen in place, doing nothing.
“Are you just getting in?”
He could almost hear her cheerful voice, the way she would rub her sleepy eyes and wait for him no matter how late he came home.
His fingers toyed with a hairpin, his gaze fixed on the empty air. He was lost in memories of the past, far removed from the present reality.
“You have to eat.”
Despite his orders to keep everyone out, Captain Carlton barged into the room, dragging him back to reality.
“Say ‘ah‘?”
Carlton held out a spoonful of soup, blowing on it gently, but Masera remained motionless, like a statue.
“Buzzt—requesting permission to land.”
With an expressionless face Captain Carlton pushed the spoon closer, Masera finally broke his silence.
“Get out.”
Carlton, still holding out the spoon, responded in a stern voice.
“Diagnosis: refusal to eat due to grief and stress. If you won’t eat, I’ll hook you up to an IV. I swore an oath to save lives, that comes before any orders.”
“……”
“Want me to wrap you up in a manly hug and give you some comfort?”
Captain Carlton set down the soup bowl and sat beside Masera, who immediately shifted away in irritation.
“I get how you feel. Not completely, but enough.”
Carlton recalled when he first volunteered as a medical officer.
The feeling of throwing himself into danger because facing tomorrow was too heavy to bear.
Just as he had felt after losing his fiancée, Masera must be feeling the same way.
He knew all too well the feeling of slowly dying that came from the guilt of failing to protect your person.
Captain Carlton, ever mindful of his duty as a physician, said,
“There’s still hope. Unlike me—doctor to a fiancée I couldn’t save—you still have a lot you can do.”
When Masera didn’t respond, the Captain, now resolute, pushed the spoon toward him again.
“I’m not leaving until you finish this. We’ll do everything together side-by-side—sleep together, bathe together…”
Masera understood his concern about him harboring dark thoughts, but he wasn’t about to do any of that, so he grabbed the soup bowl and downed it all in one go.
“Good job. I’ll be back later.”
After clapping in praise, the Captain finally left the room wearing a satisfied smile.
Masera clutched his throbbing head, and glanced at the piano bathed in the afternoon’s golden sunlight.
“Do you remember the song they played at our wedding?”
He remembered her speaking to him.
Cynthia, sitting at the piano, smiled faintly before beginning an awkward rendition of ‘Liebesträum.’
“There’s also a song version of this song, and the lyrics say, ‘Love as long as you can love.'”
Her notes began to falter, and in the end she failed to finish the piece, turning to him with an embarrassed look.
“In your country, it was called ‘Anemoia,’ wasn’t it, Brigadier General? Longing for something you’ve never experienced—that sure feels a lot like love to me.”
Yearning for emotions you’ve never felt, and clinging to experiences yet to be had.
“That’s probably why it’s also called ‘Dream of Love'”
He ached for every moment he had shared with her—and for all the moments they were meant to share in the future.
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Carlton is such a legend
Absolute unit. I adore him.