“Pfft…”

Without warning, a quiet laugh escaped her.

As she watched her husband grow smaller in the distance, she realized that she hadn’t meant to laugh.

The situation simply felt absurd.

He had lingered, only to end up leaving with her.

And—

‘A hug.’

That clumsy excuse for intimacy disguised as a farewell.

For the past few days, he had not mentioned “practice” even once. She had assumed he had finally given up.

Apparently not.

‘So awkward.’

Another laugh escaped her.

She tried not to think about it, but the image kept returning—Siliar standing there with his arms spread wide.

The gesture had been painfully stiff.

‘It’s not as if we’re courting for the first time.’

They already knew each other too well.

And yet he had been so careful. So cautious.

She could roughly guess why.

‘Since that day.’

The day Ramelata left.

The day she nearly fell apart.

She remembered her husband pulling her into his arms and whispering that he was sorry.

She remembered the strength of his embrace as he told her not to cry.

She remembered how he pressed his face against her neck, swallowing his own sobs.

She had clung to him, too.

‘Me as well.’

She did not know what else to do.

In order to endure the silent disappointment and crushing despair, she needed something—anything—to hold on to.

And it had been him.

If she had really wanted to, she could have pushed him away.

But she did not.

She had never expected to fall apart like that. She was a mother. For her child, she should have been able to endure anything.

But Ramelata’s quiet mockery —

—and the thought of their missing daughter had shattered her.

Something inside her had broken.

Perhaps it was the uncertainty and endless not knowing that had driven her so close to the brink. The anxiety had been unbearable.

Until he pulled her into his arms.

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

She did not know what else to do.

To endure the silent disappointment and crushing despair, she needed something—anything—to hold on to.

And it had been him.

If she had really wanted to, she could have pushed him away.

But she did not.

She had never expected to fall apart like that. She was a mother. For her child, she should have been able to endure anything.

But Ramelata’s quiet mockery —

— and the thought of their missing daughter had shattered her.

Something inside her had broken.

Perhaps it was the uncertainty and the endless not knowing that had driven her so close to the brink. The anxiety had been unbearable.

Until he pulled her into his arms.

“Your relationship seems good.”

A quiet voice came from somewhere across the carriage.

Melissa, who had been gazing silently out of the window, finally spoke.

Her gaze lingered on Siliar, who had paused in the distance to watch the carriage depart.

Martiana followed her gaze and offered a faint, inscrutable smile.

It was the only reaction she could muster.

“Does it look that way?”

“Yes. I never imagined His Grace would behave like that. From what I had heard, I assumed he was rather severe.”

She lifted a brow slightly, murmuring,

“He seemed almost… childish.”

Martiana lowered her gaze slightly.

It felt strange.

She had never imagined that people’s views of them could change so quickly. Had they not been avoiding being in the same room before she signed the divorce papers? They had evaded each other, feeling uneasy and awkward. They had barely spoken.

It had felt as though a solid wall stood firmly between them. And yet, over these past few days, as they had continued to face one another again and again—

—it seemed that wall had begun to thin.

Especially—

“You’re going to look around the estate? I’ll come too.”

It had begun when she resumed inspecting the ducal residence as its mistress.

“You’re not going to work?”

“I’m off duty.”

He had said it casually and followed her.

She had not expected that “off duty” would continue for three days in a row.

“I suppose you’re reviewing this? Shall we start here?”

“If you like.”

While Martiana examined the state of the household, Siliar followed her, carrying the ledgers.

They spent three days like this.

The estate was vast.

Simply walking through it took a whole day.

Inspecting each item individually would take far longer.

It was exhausting.

This was not only due to the work itself, but also because of the man who insisted on following her.

“Do you remember this?”

He didn’t walk quietly behind her.

He asked questions at every turn.

It was as if he was trying very hard to get her to notice him.

“What is it?”

“The porcelain I brought you. You said it was beautiful.”

“Ah.”

“And there?”

“……?”

“That’s where we slept when we were newly wed—”

“What are you saying right now?”

In hindsight, it was clear that he had achieved exactly what he had set out to do.

Martiana’s composure had been shattered.

But what choice did he have? They called it an inspection of the estate. In truth, every corner was steeped in memory.

The spacious rooms. The narrow corridors.

The grand ornaments. Even the smallest trinkets.

It was in that ballroom that she had hosted her first banquet as duchess.

In the garden, they drank wine instead of tea. She had chosen the flowers herself, saying that she wanted to see them bloom in spring.

The curtains that she had replaced during their early years of marriage still lined the hallway.

Everywhere.

In everything.

Their memories were intertwined.

Even in the portrait that had been quietly moved to rest near the entrance to their bedroom.

“……”

“……”

Neither of them spoke.

And yet, the silence between them no longer felt as sharp as it had done before.

On one of those three days, the couple had stopped in front of a framed painting and fallen silent.

As if by unspoken agreement, neither of them broke the silence first.

Nor did either of them move away.

They simply stood there, gazing at it.

‘Licorice.’

Martiana silently formed her daughter’s name in her mind, her lips tightening.

It was the only way to stop the tears welling up.

This was the family portrait commissioned to commemorate her daughter’s first birthday.

How could she look away?

In the painting, the parents wore the happiest expressions imaginable.

‘Ah.’

After a long time, Martiana turned her head.

Siliar stood beside her, speechless.

His face looked especially strained.

Pained.

Yes. She must be hurting too.

As much as he was.

In moments like this, they felt closer than anyone else in the world. There was nothing more intimate than sharing the same grief.

He only wished she had not chosen to divorce him.

“…Divorce.”

Her resolve remained firm.

But she had not thought beyond that.

Even after divorcing him, she might not be able to draw a clean line.

If — and it was a big if — they found Licorice, the child would still need her father.

There might be days when the three of them met.

She told herself that. Because she wanted, someday, to stand before this painting and smile.

Even if their relationship no longer resembled the one captured there.

***

“We’ve arrived.”

Melissa’s voice pulled her out of her brief doze.

They had reached the temple.

Martiana accepted the look directed at her with a hint of embarrassment, nodding in response.

“Ah. Let’s get down.”

The carriage door opened.

It had been several days since she last stepped onto temple grounds.

“Will you head toward the knight order, Melissa?”

“I’ll escort you first, my lady. You’re going to see Priest Lawrence, correct?”

Melissa descended first and offered her hand.

Martiana took it and glanced around.

“That’s the plan. I have something to discuss with my brother. But… what is this?”

Her brows knitted in the middle of her sentence.

She had visited the temple countless times before.

But something felt wrong.

The atmosphere was unsettled.

It was heavy.

It was the middle of worship hours.

Yet not a single worshipper could be seen.

Hardly any priests could be seen moving about.

“Has something happened?”

“I’m not certain. I heard nothing upon entering.”

Had there been any changes, the guards at the entrance would have mentioned them.

Today, however, they merely confirmed Martiana’s identity and allowed them to enter without comment.

“Let’s go directly to Priest Lawrence. It will be faster than asking a junior cleric.”

In such matters, one asked those in authority.

Melissa guided her towards the clerical quarters.

There, she received some startling news.

It was the same news that Siliar was hearing at that very moment in the palace.

***

Royal Palace. Outside the King’s audience chamber.

“You’ve arrived. His Majesty is already within.”

Nobil approached Siliar, who had just arrived from seeing Martiana off.

Judging by his pallor, he had been waiting for a while.

In fact, long enough for Siliar to frown.

“Explain as we walk. What happened?”

“There was an ass*ult in the capital last night.”

“Don’t tell me His Majesty was injured.”

“No. That is not the case.”

Nobil quickened his pace, keeping step behind Siliar as he flipped open the documents in his hands.

“It was a priest. Someone Your Grace knows well…”

“Who?”

Siliar’s stride did not slow.

“Priest Lawrence Kisca has been attacked.”

For a moment, the corridor seemed to fall silent.

Siliar stopped walking.

“Lawrence… Kisca?”

Martiana’s brother.

The name struck like iron against bone.

“When?”

His voice had lowered, sharpened.

“Late last night. Near the eastern district. He was discovered by temple guards. He’s alive—but gravely injured.”

Alive.

The word barely registered.

‘Gravely injured’ echoed louder in his mind.

Siliar’s jaw tightened.

At the same time, he saw a pale pink dress in his mind’s eye.

Martiana stepped down from the carriage, smiling faintly.

Smiling faintly.

Heading to the temple.

“Does the temple know?”

“Yes. It seems the matter was kept quiet until dawn. His Majesty was informed shortly thereafter.”

Siliar resumed walking, faster now.

“The assailant?”

“Unknown. No witnesses have come forward. There are signs of struggle, but no clear motive yet.”

No motive.

Lawrence Kisca was more than just a priest.

He was also the heir to the House of Kisca.

He had influence in both the temple and the court.

Attacking him was no small matter.

Martiana was on her way to the temple.

She did not know.

Siliar’s fingers curled faintly at his sides.

Five days of fragile calm.

And already, the ground was shifting again.