Iren knew that posture well. It was the most important part of Sirencia’s wedding ceremony. The groom kneels in front of the bride and vows loudly in front of several witnesses.

Iren’s eyes saw not Lahart of the present but Lahart from their wedding five years ago.

He appeared in clothes as spotlessly white as if born from a snowfield, radiantly shining yet utterly cold.

Lahart gazed silently at Iren, who wore a navy blue dress he had chosen for her.

And he did not say a word during the wedding.

Since Lahart, who was supposed to make the marital vow, remained silent, Iren made the vow for him. She even kneeled before him.

Irelaide Phaeson vowed to live faithfully as Lahart Cardius’s wife.

Could you even guess? The feeling I had to vow for you, who stood with a solemn face as if I was attending a funeral. How cold and hard the altar felt under my knees.

Iren still occasionally dreamt of that moment. It was a nightmare of being left alone in this vast temple, after making her vow.

“Here and now, I, Lahart Cardius, vow my marriage to you, Irelaide Phaeson.”

Lahart’s voice rescued her from the nightmare.

“This marriage vow is more noble and eternal than the permafrost snow that no heat can melt.”

But it was not salvation.

“Not even death will break this vow and take you away from me.”

It was a cruel declaration by a devil that threw her into another nightmare.

The arrogant Lahart. The great Lahart. The noble Lahart.

If there was something he did not anticipate,

It was that Iren had not died. That she was alive and trying to escape from him by her own will.

Iren steeled her heart. Not to weaken. Not to fear him. Almost there now. His refusal to let go is nothing but his last struggle.

When she calmed her agitation, strangely, his thoughts became clear to her.

He must be unable to accept her death. If he had accepted her death, there would be no need to stand before the people, making bizarre vows. Just cremate her body as written in her will.

It was good that I wrote in my will to cremate me. Her prediction that Lahart would try not to follow her wishes exactly as she wanted precisely came true.

That, combined with his irritation, must have driven him to do this act.

You, armed with an expressionless face, seem to be in pain. Yes. I hope you are suffering. Because of my death.

Iren was sure her choice was not wrong. Because of the thrill of revenge? Because he truly couldn’t bear her absence and was suffering? Because she could finally escape from him?

No.

It was because she and Lahart were bound to hurt each other for life.

Even in the extreme situation of death, the two bit and scratched at each other. Iren hurt Lahart by faking her death, and Lahart didn’t respect her even at her funeral.

As long as I live, as long as I am by his side under the name Irelaide Cardius, the vicious cycle of our existence pricking each other will not end.

That fact was bitterly disappointing.

‘It seems right for both of us.’

The times she loved him crumbled away like sand before his vow.

Lahart straightened his knee and stood up. The elder of the Cardius family, who had decided to proceed with the funeral, stuttered under his gaze.

“Le, let us all pray for the repose of the Duchess of Cardius with a moment of silence and prayer.”

It was an act that ignored all funeral procedures, but no one objected. Everyone was out of their minds because of Lahart.

A cold silence descended. Iren quietly closed her eyes. It was time to settle the past and calmly greet the coming future.

I hope Lahart completely forgets me. And that the child in my womb is safely born.

“Move to the cemetery.”

Lahart gave a command. The elite knights he commanded carefully lifted the coffin in alignment. Lahart led the funeral procession at the front.

During the move from the temple to the cemetery, those who wished to mourn and commemorate could join the procession.

But most of the mourners did not move from their spots.

Iren did not resent or hate the people who stood nailed in place. Their reaction was somewhat natural.

To them, I will forever be a stranger. It’s greedy to hope they would recognize me when Lahart did not recognize me at either the wedding or funeral.

Iren was about to smile bitterly.

“Madam!”

“How can you leave us like this…!”

“Madam… sob!”

It was Hilda, Brown, and Michel. She must not have noticed them because the people were packed so tightly.

Of course, these three came.

“Our poor madam, how could you suffer so much and leave like this…”

Hilda, who joined the procession, cried out loud. Brown, supporting the staggering Hilda, also shed tears. Michel, always lively like the two, outright sniveled with a runny nose.

Iren, watching the three sincerely shedding tears, felt mixed feelings. She felt sorry for deceiving them, yet relieved that there were people who mourned and cried over her ‘death.’

There’s a saying that a funeral is a place where you can glimpse what kind of life a person lived. The presence of these three seemed to tell her that she hadn’t lived her life in vain.

No, there was one more person. A friend who sometimes became a comfort, and sometimes a joy in her tough life at the ducal palace.

“……I won’t cry. I’m not going to cry.”

Jane was walking, clenching her teeth, trying not to cry.

I wanted to take the hands of the four people and say goodbye, but I couldn’t.

I’m sorry to everyone. And thank you. I wish you all health and happiness.

Iren silently said her farewells. Then she quietly blended into the end of the procession.

The family cemetery of the Cardius duchy, where Iren was to be buried, was located inside the ducal palace.

Heavy rain poured endlessly from the grey sky. Nobles who joined the procession were watching Lahart’s mood, and the servants who couldn’t miss the procession complained about getting wet in the rain.

Lahart, wearing the most expensive formal wear in the procession, walked silently through the rain.

Iren’s coffin entered the cemetery. Lahart stopped in front of the pre-dug grave.

Now, after burying the coffin and praying for the deceased’s repose once more, the funeral would be over.

“It had to rain on the day of the funeral. Even in her last journey, Madam has no luck.”

Someone said pityingly and clicked their tongue. Everyone nodded in agreement. It’s not a bright and warm spring day. Nor is it a winter day when snow, which is considered sacred in Sirencia, falls.

But Iren didn’t feel too bad about it. She had no precious person remaining by her side like the legends of Sirencia, like snow.

She preferred the rain instead. She hoped it would pour more to wash away all her traces.

‘Now it’s okay. Let’s go.’

It seemed impossible to ignore Hilda and Jane after seeing her coffin buried. Hilda was almost collapsing from crying too much on the way here.

In fact, attending the funeral was a big adventure itself. She took the risk wanting to see Hilda’s family and Jane one last time, and having achieved that purpose, it was now enough.

Iren watched Hilda and Jane hugging and crying for a while, then slipped among the returning mourners.

Farewell, Irelaide Cardius.

Farewell, my brilliant and cruel savior whom I loved.

By death, I was able to escape from you.

Finally, Iren’s face, harboring new hope as she left Sirencia, was relieved, as if she had shed all of her sins and burdens.

* * *

The knights lowered the coffin into the pit. It wasn’t that slow of a process, but to Lahart, it felt excruciatingly slow.

Watching it go into the ground made it finally feel real that this was a ‘coffin’.

A coffin, nothing else. A vessel for the dead. Inside it lay my wife, Irelaide Cardius.

Yes, Irelaide Cardius is dead. Her heart does not beat, her lips do not breathe, her eyes are firmly closed and will not open.

I confirmed it just last night.

“You need to give an order, Your Grace.”

Burying the coffin with dirt required an order from the duke. But for some reason, Lahart just looked down at the coffin.

Robben did not miss his master’s ash-grey eyes flashing with an odd light. It was not sorrow or grief from losing a beloved wife but a possessiveness close to madness.

“Master.”

Roben called out to Lahart, bracing himself for punishment. He had a premonition that if he didn’t, his master might do something unbearable. Something worse than the marriage vows he swore at the temple.

Lahart turned his cold, settled eyes to glance at Roben. Shortly after, his command pierced through the sound of the rain.

“Bury it.”

The dirt fell. The rain-soaked earth clung to the coffin without scattering. The words someone had muttered a little while ago lingered in his ears.

“Even in her last journey, Madam has no luck.”

Lahart twisted one corner of his mouth into a smile.

That’s right. Iren, aren’t you really an unlucky woman? To lie in such a cold, hard ground even when the long-awaited spring has arrived.

“This place is colder than others. I’m weak to the cold… I’ll need to prepare thoroughly to survive the winter.”

“Stop.”

“What?”

“I said stop.”

The knights burying the coffin were taken aback by Lahart’s unexpected command. Lahart pushed the knights aside and stepped closer to the pit.

He was about to say to stop the burial. To lift the coffin and tear off its lid. Those words almost escaped him.

Iren’s rightful place was not on a wet, muddy ground or a damp cemetery but in the bedroom they used. Wasn’t that the duty and obligation of a wife?

If you dared to leave me in such a manner. Why did you marry me? Why did you recite the marriage vows on my behalf?

“Damn woman.”

What would change if I pulled out the coffin and saw your detestable face again? You’re already dead.

Lahart took off his overcoat and threw it down. The black coat covered the coffin. He then turned around.

“Finish it.”

“Bu, but my lord. You should stay until the burial is finished…”

“I’ve shown enough respect.”

Lahart walked through the rain. His aide followed and asked,

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere.”

To a place where not a trace of the detestable Irelaide remains.

Lahart’s steps leaving the cemetery were unusually desperate and hurried,

as though he was trying to escape from Iren’s death.