[Divorce.]

Siliar was well aware that, at some point, more and more people had started mentioning that word.

In fact, it seemed that nearly everyone he met brought it up.

If he dug deep into his memory, he could recall that the pattern was always the same.

“What have you been up to lately?”

A harmless greeting would gradually shift to—

“How is your wife these days?”

And inevitably, it would end with—

“Have you considered a divorce?”

It seemed like the most natural thing to do.

What had just happened was hardly unusual.

The fact that it soured his mood every time, however, was another matter.

“And yet, was it necessary to frighten your subordinates like that? There’s quite an uproar downstairs.”

A man put a stack of papers on the table and addressed Siliar.

They were in the building where the provincial guards were billeted while on duty. No sooner had they finished organizing the scene than Nobil, the vice-commander of the guard, came to see him.

“They were that frightened?”

Siliar frowned slightly as he undid one of the buttons on his collar. He didn’t remember applying that much pressure.

All he had done was issue a short, sharp warning to keep their mouths shut.

“And over that alone, they come to you with complaints?”

“Yes. In this line of work, I hear every sort of grievance. Anything they can’t say to you, they bring to me.”

Nobil muttered under his breath, as though it were a considerable burden.

Then he shook his head and started sorting through the documents he had brought with him, as if they were more important than their conversation.

“I hear you executed this culprit as well. Even if His Majesty granted you the authority for summary judgement, don’t you think you’re using it rather often?”

He pulled a sheet of paper from the stack and handed it to Siliar.

“Fill this out. It’s a statement of cause. His Majesty has requested that you submit one whenever you dispose of a criminal without trial.”

“……”

“Shall I draft it for you?”

“No. I’ll do it.”

Siliar clicked his tongue softly as he looked at the sheet of paper held out in front of him. Beneath his emotionless gaze, a hint of irritation flashed across his face.

Truth be told, it was bothersome.

Why was he being asked to write down the reason he had killed the criminal when it was obvious?

“She killed a child.”

He muttered it as if it were a justification.

If the child had still been alive, he probably wouldn’t have gone to such lengths. He would have rescued the child first.

Then, according to proper procedure, he would have handed the mother — the culprit — over for trial. But the fact that the child had been killed changed everything.

It would have been better if she had simply died accidentally.

“Dead” and “killed” were entirely different.

“I’m sure. Isn’t that always the reason when you pass judgment, Your Excellency?”

A child.

Always a child.

Anyone with even the slightest awareness knew how sensitive Siliar was when it came to children.

Even the king, who had ordered him to provide reasons, was aware of this — although he had asked for them out of formality.

The guards present at the scene today knew it, too.

Five years ago, the entire kingdom had been shaken by—

[The Kidnapping of the Vandyk Ducal Daughter.]

Had that incident never happened, Siliar would not be the way he is today.

Even before then, the Siliar nobles were ruthless.

Siliar was a member of a collateral branch of the royal family — one of only two ducal houses in the kingdom.

Initially, Nobil assumed that Siliar had been appointed captain of the guard through influence and connections. He resented it. How could he not, when someone younger than him had been placed above him?

But this assumption did not last long.

The younger man was more relentless than any of his superiors when it came to apprehending criminals. Every case he worked on ended in a successful arrest. He was fiery, driven, and utterly uncompromising.

But—

“This wasn’t the young lady either, was it?”

Following the death of his daughter, his focus narrowed to a single point.

He left other cases to his subordinates. He devoted all his efforts to finding her. Consequently, he took action on any case involving a child, regardless of whether it was his own.

“I told you it wasn’t. The circumstances didn’t match.”

“I know.”

“You say that, yet…”

“I still had to go.”

Siliar unfastened another button in response. The expressionless look that had settled on his face caught Nobil’s attention.

‘…Ha.’

He never knew how to react in situations like this.

To some extent, he could understand the impulse to protect other children instead of the one he had failed to save.

He had no intention of criticizing that impulse. As long as the work was done properly, whether it was self-satisfaction or something else, that was enough.

Still—

‘Ah, honestly…’

Nobil had never been good at offering comfort.

No matter how successfully a case was resolved, whenever Siliar reacted like that — appearing hollow, exhausted and devoid of emotion — Nobil never knew what to say.

It would have been easier to work through the towering stack of documents piled to the ceiling.

Besides, he was unmarried. How could he possibly understand the heart of a parent who had lost a child?

At best, he could only hope not to say something foolish.

The only thing Nobil could manage was—

“I see. Even so, next time it would be best to move with proper evidence.”

That was all.

It was as comforting as the glasses perched on his nose were sharp and cold.

Aware of his own awkwardness, Nobil lowered his gaze.

“Next time…”

Siliar murmured the words softly as he took off his overcoat. A bitter smile flickered across his face. He understood what Nobil meant.

However, his heart could not accept it so easily, despite what his mind said. There was nothing he could do about it. He had heard the same words hundreds of times over the past five years.

Next time.

This time.

Tomorrow.

The day after.

He had soothed and reassured himself like that for one thousand eight hundred days. And, equally, he had been disappointed time and time again.

“I don’t know anymore.”

Even Siliar could grow weary.

***

Even so, there had been a time when he still held on to hope.

It was shortly after Licorice disappeared.

At the height of his reputation as captain of the guard, he had believed without a single doubt that he would find her.

‘I’ll find her soon.’

As Siliar hunted for the man who had kidnapped his daughter, he was certain of his mission.

He had skilled subordinates at his side and the king’s full support. The incident had received widespread publicity, with reports pouring in from across the kingdom and beyond.

Catching the culprit would be easy.

He was certain of that. But as time passed, nothing came of it.

He pursued every lead he received, only to find nothing at the end of each one.

No clues.

Not even a single thread to grasp.

“Not this one either.”

Each time, the same hollow disappointment seized him.

“Do not worry, Your Excellency. This report seems credible.”

“Yes. I’m sure it does.”

Nevertheless, Siliar did not give up.

His frustration was immeasurable, but he refused to give in.

He could not afford to falter.

If he faltered, who would find his daughter?

He was the only one who could.

“It’s all right. We’ll find her this time.”

Whenever despair threatened to overwhelm him, Siliar would comfort himself with those words. Even when the endless waiting became unbearable, he never lost hope of seeing his daughter again.

What tormented him more was—

“Martiana.”

You.

“Siliar!”

Each evening, when he returned home from work, she would run to him. And she would always ask the same question.

“How was it today?”

To an outsider, it seemed like a standard question about his day.

But it wasn’t.

It was the question of a desperate mother who wanted to know where her child was. It was the question of a victim eager to find out how the investigation was progressing.

“Martiana…”

There was only ever one answer he could give.

“I’m sorry. Not today.”

He repeated the same words every single day, barely moving his lips.

She would never know how agonizing that was.

Chasing criminals outside was something he could endure.

If he failed today, he could try again tomorrow.

The objective was clear, and his resolve as a father was unwavering.

But—

“Today as well…”

Those eyes!

They were filled with hope, which was extinguished in an instant.

He could hardly bear to look at them.

He felt as though he had extinguished them himself.

“I’m sorry. I thought this time it was certain.”

“No. You’re doing your best. Don’t apologize.”

Melancholic apologies and bleak reassurances crossed paths daily. The suffocating tension between them grew, building up layer upon layer and tightening around his throat like the tiers of a cake.

‘She’ll be disappointed again.’

The thought that occurred to him the moment Nobil mentioned ‘next time’ weighed on him unbearably. The moment it crossed his mind, his breath faltered.

How would he tell her again?

How could he bear to see the disappointment on her face once more?

Ah—no.

That was no longer something he needed to worry about.

They hadn’t spoken for a long time.

Siliar and Martiana hadn’t crossed paths for a long time.

‘All I’ve seen is her back.’

The cold air brushed past without so much as a glance.

A deliberate avoidance of footsteps.

Who would call that a marriage?

It’s no wonder people mention divorce at every opportunity.

So, Martiana—

‘It’s only natural that you would want a divorce.’

His wife had made that request repeatedly for years. Yet he had never once considered leaving her.

If it made him appear foolish, so what?

All he wanted was for the three of them to stand together again as a family one day.