It was that day.

The day he went to find Selina, battling through the heavy rain.

He had wanted to lash out at her and demand to know why she had come to such a distant and dangerous place alone. Yet, when he saw how pale she was, as if she might faint at any moment, he was unable to speak.

And then—

“Calix.”

It was the day he almost lost the last shred of sanity he was clinging to.

Calix covered his dry, aching eyes with both hands, hoping it would make the images tearing through his mind disappear.

“Calix.”

Instead of fading, however, the memories only grew clearer, transporting him straight back to the moment in the Grand Ducal Office where he had been sitting.

“I—I don’t want to stop.”

She clung to him, her face contorted with helpless confusion.

Would things have turned out differently if he had not noticed her grotesquely swollen ankle?

If he had not restrained himself that day, would Selina have had any idea about the situation she was about to be dragged into?

He would have forced her to the ground without a second thought, despite the muddy conditions.

When she finally managed to utter a breathless sound, he would have taken it as permission and kissed her.

Even if she had clung to him, crying and begging him to stop, it would have been too late.

“You’re the one who wanted this.”

Calix had intended to show her just how heavy her words truly were, because she had spoken them without understanding their weight.

Because she had spoken so thoughtlessly, he was determined to go through with it, no matter how desperately she cried or clung to him. In his mind, everything that was happening now was her fault.

In truth, this was merely an excuse to justify his actions; his desire was already spiraling out of control.

That utterly innocent, naïve woman would surely come to regret the words she had spoken.

Perhaps she would even apologize, whispering ‘I’m sorry’ in her small, fragile voice.

What expression would cross her face when her red lips parted softly, like a ripe pomegranate splitting open, if he slipped his fingers between them and brushed against her yielding tongue?

He had a clear image of her small mouth filled with his fingers, robbed of speech, her face straining as she struggled for breath.

Her face would flush as red as her lips. She would be flustered and unsure and lick his fingers cautiously and hesitantly.

“I’m… sorry.”

The image of her tear-filled eyes, her tongue timidly licking his long fingers—

“D*mn it.”

Calix spat out a curse and jumped to his feet.

Grabbing the teacup on his desk, he tipped its contents over his head. Fortunately, the tea had cooled; otherwise, he might have suffered serious burns. Had anyone seen him, they might have wondered if he had finally lost his mind.

But right now, cooling the internal heat that had flared up was all that mattered.

‘This won’t do.’

Deciding quickly that he was no longer thinking clearly, Calix left his office.

“Whatever possessed you to come here?”

Calix sought out Zenfri and Rocheste.

The two inseparable drinking buddies had made it a routine to meet at this time to share a drink. But what about Calix joining them?

To them, His Grace the Grand Duke felt like a foreign presence suddenly inserted into their everyday lives — a sensation made all the more jarring by the fact that Calix almost never drank.

On rare occasions, after a victory on the battlefield, he would drink with the soldiers to celebrate. Seeking out alcohol of his own volition was something he scarcely ever did.

“Ever since you returned from the hunting competition, you’ve been acting strange. That wound you got from the monsters—don’t tell me it’s still bleeding?”

Zenfri asked with genuine suspicion, while Rocheste merely observed Calix carefully, saying nothing.

“Why are you making such a fuss? Being a grand duke doesn’t mean I’m required to live perfectly straight and upright at all times.”

Calix seemed as calm as ever as he spoke.

If one were feeling generous, one might almost have agreed with his reasoning. From childhood, he had carried the weight of Thalia on his shoulders. It was precisely that same burden which had led him to avoid alcohol.

He had always been too proper. So perhaps, just for tonight, he wanted to deviate slightly from that rigid path.

However, dismissing it so easily felt wrong.

As the minutes passed, Rocheste began to sense that there was more to Calix’s uncharacteristic behavior than he was letting on.

“Welcome!”

“I-is that His Grace the Grand Duke?”

“M-may I attend you?”

“Shut it. I saw him first!”

They headed to a tavern frequented by Rocheste. The tavern was divided into two sections: one loud and boisterous, filled with noise and laughter, and the other consisting of quiet, private rooms where patrons could drink in peace.

When Rochester came here, it usually meant that he was planning to socialize with the tavern women. Assuming this would be the case, the women made quite a fuss, eagerly vying for the chance to serve the Grand Duke, who was visiting the tavern for the first time.

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

Calix refused them without hesitation.

Having someone hovering beside him to pour his drinks did not suit him at all. In fact, he found it nothing but a nuisance — inefficient and distracting.

Rocheste gently placated the disappointed women, then filled Calix’s glass himself, clicking his tongue softly under his breath.

‘Is this really the same man who never drinks?’

For someone who claimed not to drink, Calix’s tolerance was astonishing.

Although they had all been drinking together, Zenfri was already completely unconscious. Even Rocheste, who had discreetly poured out his share more than once when no one was looking, could feel his vision beginning to blur.

At this rate, they might all pass out without ever finding out why Calix had been acting so strangely in the first place.

‘I need to stay conscious just a bit longer…’

It was as he forced his heavy-lidded eyes open—

“I don’t think I’ve done anything so wrong that it would make you cry.”

All of a sudden, Calix began speaking to empty air, muttering to himself.

“And yet—why did you cry?”

To anyone else, it might have sounded like his usual tone. But Rocheste, who knew Calix all too well, could tell that he was speaking with a slightly thick tongue.

“How am I supposed to know if you won’t say anything? Why are you just staring like that?”

So he really is drunk.

Watching Calix murmur into the void, Rocheste chuckled to himself. It was a rare sight, and he wished he could show it to others.

“All right, all right. Let’s call it a night, Your Grace.”

Even after Rocheste had sent the two drunken men home, the gatherings continued for several days.

On some nights, Alter took Rocheste’s place. On others, Viktor stood in for Zenfri. But Calix never missed a single evening. He appeared unfailingly, as if he had always belonged there.

In the end, Zenfri could only click his tongue and mutter, unable to remain silent any longer.

“A liquor demon’s possessed him. The Grand Duke’s been possessed by a liquor demon.”

If only it were a liquor demon.

It felt more like some other kind of spirit had latched onto him instead.

“Calix.”

Selina’s apparition followed Calix wherever he went, pursuing him with terrifying persistence. The more he drank, the clearer it became.

At first, it was nothing more than a vague silhouette. Then, gradually, it began to speak to him.

By that point, Calix was forced to seriously consider the possibility that he had lost his mind.

If he had gone mad while pining for someone who was already dead, that would have been somewhat understandable. But being haunted by the image of someone who was very much alive was infinitely more troubling.

There was one day in particular when it became unbearable.

“Your Grace.”

That was the day he came face-to-face with Selina’s apparition right outside his door.

“What are you?”

When he grabbed the approaching creature’s wrist, he felt a warmth that was so real it sent a chill down his spine. The sensation was disturbingly human, and the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“Have I finally gone mad?”

At that, the apparition seemed flustered, shoulders drawing in as it spoke hesitantly.

“Um… are the injuries you sustained from the monsters all right?”

It was absurd.

“…Now you’re even asking questions.”

“Since when have apparitions been capable of asking questions?”

Of all things, it had to bring up the day he had run into Waldemar, instantly ruining his mood. Ever since that encounter, his emotions had swung wildly like a pendulum, surging upwards only to plummet without warning.

Some days, he felt nothing but relief that Selina had escaped unharmed.

On others, he could do nothing but condemn himself for allowing something strange to stir in him whenever he saw her.

He couldn’t define that feeling.

He had always made a habit of reducing uncertain emotions to something simple and precise. But now, no matter how hard he tried to reason it away, nothing felt right.

When he forced himself to speak coldly, reminding himself that he should never have cared in the first place, Selina eventually began to cry right before his eyes.

Anyone’s tears could be unsettling. But Selina’s face was especially cruel in that regard. Looking at her made him feel as though his own emotions were being crushed alongside hers, and an unpleasant sensation flooded through him.

“Don’t cry. What have I done to you that is so unforgivable? Why do you always cry when you see me? Please, at least tell me why. Then I might be able to fix it.”

Calix suppressed those words and rubbed at her lips instead.

Red seeped onto his fingertips.

“…You’re really something else.”

An apparition, of all things!

He had no desire to waste any more time on something so meaningless. He left it behind and went to his room, where he collapsed onto the bed without bothering to change his clothes.

Then, belatedly, something struck him.

Had the apparition ever smelled of wildflowers?

But by then, he no longer had the strength to think any further.