9. In the Darkness
Meanwhile, the Countess of Campbell was having a thoroughly unpleasant time. She had been eagerly waiting for the day to present April to the Marquis of Grey, but meeting him had proven to be no easy feat. She had attended every banquet he was expected to be at, yet each time, the marquis canceled his appearance citing “health reasons.”
“At this rate, that old man might just drop dead before he even sires a child. Achoo!”
Grumbling with complete disregard for grace or decorum, the countess tore apart a few flowers from the drawing room arrangements with reckless abandon.
“When on earth is the doctor arriving? This house is full of useless riffraff coming and going. The stench of these flowers is giving me a headache…”
The “useless riffraff” she referred to were April’s suitors. Though they were always turned away by the countess at the entrance, never even glimpsing a strand of April’s hair, the predictions made by Lachlan—back when he had pretended to be Dominic—seemed to be coming true.
“Once the mourning period ends, gentlemen with flowers will line up at your doorstep. I guarantee it.”
April put down the book she had been reading and looked up at the countess, who continued to tear at the flowers while complaining.
“Mother, may I attend the memorial service this evening?”
“What?”
The countess turned to April with an expression of sheer disbelief.
“Are you mad? Do you think mourning a dead prince will bring him back to life?”
He… has come back, Mother.
April resisted the sudden urge to reply with that truth, choosing instead to calmly explain.
“The memorial is an important event hosted by the royal family to honor all those who gave their lives for the nation.”
“Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with you. We didn’t lose any family.”
“But Mother,”
April smiled.
“The marquis lost his precious son, didn’t he?”
The countess blinked, startled. Come to think of it, April was right. There was a high chance the marquis would attend a ceremony honoring his son. Though it wasn’t a banquet—no chatting or dancing—the least April could do was make her presence known.
“You.”
But then the countess squinted suspiciously.
“You’re not up to something, are you?”
It was odd how cooperative April was suddenly being about marrying the marquis.
“It’s just that…”
April hesitated before quietly answering,
“If it’s not Prince Lachlan, then I don’t care who it is.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Achoo!”
The countess blew her nose into a handkerchief and nodded. Thinking back, April had never insisted on anything other than Lachlan. It was natural, in a way—someone who had lost the one and only thing they cared about might well give up on everything else.
“I’m glad to see you’ve finally come to your senses. It’s comforting to know you can at least act like a proper older sister to Charlotte.”
Just then, a maid announced the doctor had arrived. The countess returned to her room, leaving April with one last piece of advice:
“Be thoroughly prepared.”
That night, April wore a black dress and attended the memorial with the Earl of Campbell. In truth, the countess had wanted to go, but she had come down with a highly contagious cold and was under strict orders from the doctor not to leave her room.
The royal hall was filled with the families of fallen soldiers, each holding a candle. At the appointed hour, the lights would be extinguished, and in complete darkness, everyone would bid farewell to the dead. April and the earl entered, candles in hand, and looked around.
“Heavens, it’s packed. I can’t tell if this is a palace or a market,”
grumbled the earl, standing on tiptoe in a futile attempt to spot the Marquis of Grey. Unfortunately, his short stature rendered the effort useless. April, too, craned her neck and searched the crowd—but not for the marquis. Mentioning him had simply been a convenient excuse to get permission to attend. Just as the countess had been desperate to meet the marquis, April had been equally desperate to see Lachlan again.
She had faithfully accompanied her mother to countless banquets in hopes of finding him, but he had never shown. From newspapers and gossip, she later learned he was always tied up with diplomatic negotiations or internal affairs.
But today was different. It was a royal memorial.
Even someone as busy as Lachlan couldn’t possibly skip a ceremony like this. Honoring the fallen was among the most sacred duties of the royal family.
April’s prediction proved correct. Among the guards stationed near the altar were several knights she recognized—those who had once served Dominic and Lachlan. Soon, the memorial began with a solemn musical performance, followed by a procession of priests and the royal family. They stopped in front of a massive cross at the center of the hall. Though said to be made of gold, the cross was completely wrapped in ribbons, each bearing the name of a fallen soldier.
The music stopped. The murmurs died down, and a collective prayer began.
Different voices—regardless of status, gender, or age—echoed through the vaulted ceiling as one. It felt as though the prayer might truly reach the heavens.
While praying, April quietly gazed at Lachlan standing beside the cross.
Before, confusion clouded her view of him, as she clung to the possibility that he was Dominic. But now, she could see clearly.
The movement of his lips reciting the prayer, the way his fingers held the candle—everything was unmistakably Lachlan.
She couldn’t understand how she had ever been fooled.
Midway through the ceremony, Lachlan followed Sir Chad Allen, one of his guards, into a waiting room lit by a single candle.
“Your Highness.”
Chad bowed in knightly fashion. Lachlan nodded back. Chad had once been Dominic’s closest bodyguard. During a recent breakfast with the king, Lachlan had argued that Chad should be reassigned, but the king disagreed, citing Chad’s noble lineage.
Though Lachlan was still wary of keeping Chad close, he had sent him to observe Acreton. Now that Chad had returned suddenly, Lachlan expected important news.
“Get to the point,” Lachlan urged.
“If you’re pulling me away from the ceremony, I can’t help but expect something big. Right?”
“Yes, but I must begin with bad news.”
Chad reported that the search for the missing victims of the Acreton disaster had been quietly halted.
“It seems the marquis’ family isn’t giving the matter proper attention.”
“…”
“And I found this.”
Chad produced a metallic ornament from his bag. Holding it to the candlelight, the lion emblem of the royal family gleamed—something affixed to a royal steed. It must have been on Lachlan’s horse, which had disappeared with Dominic.
“Where did you find it?”
“In a forest not far from the Acreton clinic. And this was embedded in the body.”
Chad revealed an arrow.
“A red shaft… bamboo. A broad hunting tip. Four feathers.”
Lachlan examined its features carefully, committing every detail to memory.
“More were embedded in the nearby trees.”
“Can you trace its maker?”
“Hard to say.”
Chad shook his head. The war had only just ended, and arrows had been made everywhere—blacksmiths, private craftsmen. Finding the origin was near impossible.
“I know. Still, if you can help investigate, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
“Where did you find the horse?”
“At the bottom of a cliff. Barely recognizable. I think…”
Chad trailed off. Lachlan nodded grimly.
“While I escaped in another direction, Dominic must have lured his pursuers to the cliff. Clever as always.”
“Yes… it seems so.”
They fell silent. With what Chad had brought, the doubts in Lachlan’s mind turned into certainty.
Why had Dominic deviated from his route? He must have been pursued, forced to flee without time to ask for help, running blindly for a full day to Acreton. Was it for the clinic, seeking protection and healing? Or had he been cornered there?
“This is just my thought…”
Chad spoke cautiously into the silence.
“The real target might not have been Prince Lachlan, but you, Your Highness.”
“I hope so.”
“…Excuse me?”
Chad looked startled, but Lachlan smiled.
“If they come looking for me, it saves me the trouble. No need to strengthen the guards.”
“That could be dangerous.”
“Doesn’t matter. I welcome whoever they are.”
His eyes were resolute, and Chad appeared visibly shaken.
“You’ve done well. And say nothing of the arrow.”
“If that’s your command, I’ll obey. But Your Highness… are you sure you don’t need additional protection?”
Lachlan didn’t repeat himself.
“Forgive me, but right now, Your Highness is…”
“Thank you. You may go. Take a few days to rest.”
Cut off, Chad could only shake his head and obey. Left alone, Lachlan traced the feather and crest, recalling the words Chad hadn’t finished:
“Forgive me, but right now, Your Highness is using your precious life as bait.”
Dominic’s noble life had already been lost. What remained was just an imposter who bore his face. But no falsehood lasts forever. Eventually, Lachlan’s true identity would be exposed.
Before that day came, he needed to uncover the truth of that night—for Dominic’s honor.
Lachlan was prepared to give up anything for it. Even his title. Even his life.
“…”
Back in the hall, the prayer ended. It was time to extinguish the candles and bid farewell to the fallen in complete darkness. The most solemn moment of the memorial.
Lachlan was about to return—when the door to the waiting room opened without a knock.
He looked up to see who dared intrude.
But a cold draft blew through the crack, and the single candle flickered out.
“…”
Darkness fell. The door clicked shut.
“Good evening.”
A whisper came from beyond the invisible void.
“Prince Lachlan.”
