It wasn’t only Robellia herself who was against the princess leaving the palace. Duke Mos was also astonished when he heard that Akan had prepared everything without any prior discussion. To make matters worse, Akan hadn’t even revealed the destination he wanted to send Robellia to.

“Why do you want to send the princess away all of a sudden?”

“I will keep the promise I made to you, so stop worrying about Robellia.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Leaning back in the plush chair, Akan’s expression was as indifferent as ever. He looked exactly the same as the day Duke Mos had pulled him from the depths of despair. Nothing had changed. He walked, talked, and breathed, but the will to live – something every living creature naturally possesses – was completely absent, leaving him nothing more than a walking corpse.

Duke Mos was fully aware that he had come up with a heinous plan – something an ordinary person couldn’t easily imagine – and he openly admitted it. Although he had willingly chosen to go through hell for the sake of his beliefs, it did not mean that he had completely abandoned his humanity. Despite everything, he hoped that even if Akan Roxas couldn’t be saved in the end, he would at least find some measure of peace of mind.

“To be honest, I didn’t expect things to turn out this way, but I was prepared for some deviation from the plan. If you’ve lost the will to kill the princess, then perhaps we can revise the conclusion of the plan.”

“No.”

Akan curtly cut off Duke Mos’ unnecessary and misplaced sentiment.

What a ridiculous idea. Was he suggesting that because Akan no longer wanted to kill Robellia and she had conveniently lost her memories, they should imagine a new future? There was no “future” between Akan and Robellia – only a past so ingrained that it could not be discarded.

Wanting to put an end to the tiresome argument, Akan revealed his thoughts with calm detachment.

“From the beginning, whether Robellia lived or died had nothing to do with your plan. This is just my whim. There is no need to create a new future.”

“…Maybe even for you there could be another possibility.”

This time Akan really laughed – a dry, mocking sound. He found the old man, who claimed to have abandoned his humanity and yet clung to so many human traits, utterly absurd.

“I don’t know when you became so sentimental. The dead must be the only ones who feel wronged now.”

Akan’s sarcasm silenced Duke Mos. The Duke, who was a Marquis at the time, had been open about his intention to exploit the Roxas bloodline from the beginning. He had also taken full advantage of Akan’s particular hatred for Robellia.

He had facilitated Akan’s rage and had no compassion for the way Robellia had been destroyed in the process. Even the incident of finding the book had been a mere coincidence, born out of an attempt to find another use for something that had proven otherwise useless. Was this sudden display of compassion now born of guilt toward Akan?

“I still don’t regret what I did to Robellia. Even now, I could do it again. If that’s what you’re hoping for, I won’t take back my comment about how sentimental you’ve become.”

Would anything have changed if Akan had read the notes Robellia had written in the margins of her poetry book on the day the Imperial Palace was taken? Akan already knew the answer. The only thing that would have changed was the order of events.

For even after seeing it, Akan had no regrets. Regret was something that only existed when a different choice could have been made. What he did feel was a sense of longing – an overwhelming and desperate kind of regret. It wasn’t for the things he had done; it was for the fact that he hadn’t died.

He should have died. Of course, it wasn’t the first time he’d thought that. Lying on damp stone floors, chewing on scraps of barely edible food, he had always thought the same thing: he should have died with his father. But that was only because the harshness of reality was unbearable.

This time was different. Akan now mourned the chance he’d missed to die properly. Had he crumbled to dust before reaching this point, he could have been buried in someone’s heart. He might even have received an outpouring of grief – at least from one person. It wouldn’t have been such a bad ending.

But since Akan had not died, it was inevitable that he would eventually take his revenge. What he couldn’t bring himself to kill was not the current Robellia, and the one who couldn’t kill Robellia was not the current Akan. If time hadn’t reversed, Akan would have continued to torment Robellia until he finally killed her.

So regret did not suit him. Akan Roxas remained selfish to the core. Stopping at that point wasn’t about saving Robellia. It was simply about preserving the only part of the past he considered worth remembering.

“Stop here. If you still need me.”

In the end, no one could convince Akan.

Three days remained. The revenge would end unfinished.

—

Akan no longer visited the princess’s palace. Robellia wasted her last three days in the Imperial Palace, crying in her bed. Even as the departing sought refuge in her despair, the preparations continued steadily. The maids packed all of Robellia’s belongings and stacked them neatly in a corner of the room.

The last night before they left. Robellia, letting go of her futile stubbornness, sent a message to Akan through one of the maids. She said she desperately wanted to say goodbye. Seeing her sitting on the bed, sniffling, the maid’s heart ached and she hurried to deliver the message.

The sound of familiar footsteps echoed through the now empty room and Robellia shot up from her seat. She hastily wiped away her tears, but there was no hiding her swollen, reddened eyes.

As soon as Akan opened the door, Robellia rushed into his arms. Caught off guard, Akan instinctively wrapped his arms around her and let out a sigh.

“Robel.”

Robellia, who had been crying in bed all day, was dressed in a simple white nightgown. Feeling the familiar sensation, Akan loosened his grip. Mistaking it for an attempt to push her away, Robellia clung even tighter. Her trembling shoulders pressed against him as fresh tears fell, soaking the front of his shirt.

“I’ll go… sniff… I’ll go. If I remain stubborn… You will… sniff… hate me even more.”

“Robellia. I don’t…”

Akan could not bring himself to lie and say that he did not hate Robellia. Even though he knew that a single word of comfort would suffice, the words “I don’t hate you” refused to leave his lips.

He lifted his arms, which had been hanging limply at his sides, and wrapped them around Robellia’s small frame once more. In his arms she felt even more fragile than he had ever imagined, as if she could shatter at the slightest touch.

“I… you.”

He couldn’t help but hate Robellia. He had no choice but to hate her more than anyone.

For ten years, a single “what if” had haunted Akan. The Dowager Duchess speaking carelessly. The Emperor wielding the blade himself. But the reason Akan hated Robellia more than anyone else was because of a single, haunting scenario.

If only the person who had spoken those words hadn’t been Robellia.

“It’s okay, Akan. I, I…”

Even if that incident hadn’t happened, the Emperor might still have found an excuse to target the Duke of Roxas. But if Robellia hadn’t been the catalyst, Akan might have been able to take it a little easier.

As a child, sprawled in a damp cellar, Akan would r*play that fateful afternoon over and over in his mind. If he thought Robellia’s kindness was insincere, it drove him mad. But if he believed it was genuine, an even deeper despair would take hold of him.

“Akan… I just, I like you. Sniff… The only thing that matters to me… is you.”

Finally, the answer to the question that had tormented him for years fell from Robellia’s lips. But Akan could neither laugh nor cry.

Robellia could speak those words because she had forgotten. Forgotten what she had done to Akan. Forgotten what Akan had done to her. She had let go of the weight of their shared history, leaving her free to speak words he could never bring himself to say.