The sound of galloping hooves reverberated through the stillness of the early dawn. The first light of day was breaking over the horizon, but Ruben paid no mind to the passage of time. Without pausing to breathe, he urged his horse forward relentlessly. Covering a distance that would typically take half a day in just a few hours was no small feat, yet his face was drenched with sweat despite the biting cold air.

By the time Ruben reached the duke’s mansion, the sun had already climbed high, illuminating the clear sky. This was the hour when most nobles indulged in late breakfasts or leisurely tea. Ruben’s horse finally stopped before the grand estate known as the Star Residence.

“Your Grace, what brings you here at this early hour—”

Della, who had rushed out in surprise, stopped mid-sentence as Ruben ignored her greeting, leaped off his horse, and stormed into the building. With urgency driving him, he threw open door after door, only to find her absent each time. As he moved to check the next room, Della, who had hurried to keep up with him, provided the most critical information without delay.

“If you’re looking for Her Highness, she’s in the easternmost room.”

Before she had even finished speaking, Ruben had already pivoted and was racing down the corridor toward the east wing.

At last, he found Helia in a small, secluded room at the far end of the mansion. It was a modest space with little more than a tea table and chairs by an expansive window. Helia sat there, gazing out at the world beyond the glass with an expression of distant longing as though her thoughts stretched far beyond what the eye could see.

“Didn’t I say I wasn’t to be disturbed—”

Helia’s voice was sharp and irritated until she turned and saw who had entered. Her tone softened as recognition set in.

“Ruben?”

She called his name in a puzzled voice. The morning sunlight poured in behind her, casting a warm glow around her silhouette. Though the backlight obscured her expression, the tranquil air in the room, underscored by the quiet act of enjoying tea, seemed incongruous with Ruben’s urgency.

That very dissonance stirred in him a desperate hope—that she hadn’t yet taken even a sip of the tea.

“That tea…”

Ruben’s breathing was labored as he forced out the words.

“Did you send it?”

He inhaled deeply, barely managing to nod in response. It wasn’t difficult to imagine that Enoch had likely delivered the poisoned tea to Helia under Ruben’s name. His name had been used to provide death in a porcelain cup.

Ruben clenched his teeth, his jaw trembling slightly.

Helia, by contrast, was utterly unperturbed. The sunlight softened her surroundings as though cocooning her in warmth. Nothing seemed amiss—nothing at all.

“It had quite a delightful flavor,” she remarked casually.

His heart plummeted with a deafening thud. It was as if he were drowning, his breath stolen away. Darkness consumed his vision, a suffocating despair swallowing him whole.

This can’t be. It shouldn’t be. It mustn’t be.

“Why? Were you hoping we could share a cup together?”

“…”

When her question went unanswered, Helia hesitated, uncharacteristically awkward. She shrugged and lifted her cup as if in jest.

“If that’s what you wanted, you should’ve come sooner. I’ve already finished it.”

Ruben felt the floor drop away beneath him, a dizzying sense of freefall dragging him into the void. Hopes, prayers, and every shred of faith crumbled to dust, leaving him wanting to deny even his own existence. The urge to recoil from reality overwhelmed him.

“I’ll summon—”

“What?”

“I’ll summon a physician immediately. I’ll find the best in the capital, someone who specializes in poisons—”

“What nonsense are you babbling, Ruben Effenberg?”

Helia cut him off sharply, her calm tone contrasting with his panicked rambling. Only then did Ruben finally meet her gaze, and his green eyes, once so vibrant, now stared into hers like bottomless depths. They carried the weight of a thousand unspoken questions, an anguish that threatened to drown them both.

“The tea was poisoned. The poison came from you,” Ruben said, his voice heavy with anger.

It sounded almost like an accusation—though whom he blamed, or why, even he could not discern. Rage coursed through him, an uncontrollable tempest roaring in his chest. He wanted to tear himself apart and rip the fury from his heart. Or perhaps to destroy something—anything.

At the same time, Helia’s golden eyes dimmed, becoming as incredible and unfathomable as the surface of a still lake. Her voice dropped to a murmur, unhurried and devoid of emotion.

“It was Lina, wasn’t it?”

She clicked her tongue softly in annoyance, but beyond that, there was no reaction. The relationship between her and Lina was never built on trust; betrayal didn’t sting when no trust existed. Helia simply couldn’t fathom why Lina’s capricious nature had chosen now to rear its head, especially after five years of what could be called a fruitful partnership.

But what does it matter now? Lina and Ruben—they held no significance to her anymore. They were irrelevant.

“You need treatment immediately,” Ruben insisted, his voice tinged with desperation. Sweat dripped from his chin, forming small puddles on the floor. He looked as though he might drag a physician to his knees before Helia if that’s what it took to save her.

Helia watched him intently, her gaze unyielding. She committed every detail of his face to memory—the panic, the fear, the deep concern. She had waited so long for this moment. I saw Ruben Effenberg rush to her side, hear him speak her name urgently, and feel his entire being fixated solely on her.

But tragically, the moment had arrived far too late. For her, only one path was left—a solitary road toward a significant, final threshold.

“There’s no need,” she said softly.

“What are you saying—?”

“This is where my story ends, Ruben.”

Her tone was gentle and affectionate, entirely at odds with the words she was saying—like a mother soothing a child’s tantrum with kindness and warmth.

Slowly, Ruben turned away from the door and looked back at Helia. His deeply sunken green eyes wavered aimlessly, pleading desperately for her to deny what she had said.

That she would die—how could that be true? The air in the room was too tranquil, and the sunlight streaming through the window was too warm. She showed no symptoms. How could someone who had consumed poison appear so unaffected? No, she was merely enjoying her usual morning tea. It couldn’t be true—it simply couldn’t.

But Helia’s shadowed eyes, sitting against the sunlight, were resolute. Ruben closed his eyes as if refusing to meet her gaze, struggling against the part of himself that wanted to accept her words.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” he replied.

“Ruben,” Helia said, her voice calm and measured. “What I drank was Euresica. Its effects are already coursing through my body.”

Helia’s words pierced him like nails driven into his chest. It was too cruel. He felt as though blood was gushing from the wounds her words had inflicted. Ruben clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging into his palms as his hands trembled slightly. He murmured in a low, almost whispered voice, “No, this cannot be.”

“Ruben,” Helia called softly.

“There are still things you need to tell me.”

Helia hesitated for a moment. Ruben’s usually refined features were distorted with anguish, his expression caught somewhere between anger and despair.

“Why?” he demanded.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you help the revolutionaries?”

It was the most apparent yet fundamental question. Ruben needed to know why Helia Bailey had chosen a path so detrimental to herself, why she had gone so far as to abandon her very life. He needed answers—he, at least, deserved to know.

Helia looked at him momentarily before a slow smile spread across her face. The smile seemed to look down on him, yet it didn’t feel arrogant. Instead, it radiated composure and pride.

“Don’t assume you were the only ones who wanted this monarchy to fall.”

Ruben couldn’t comprehend her reasoning. Helia was the pinnacle of this royal family, the sole legitimate heir by blood. The collapse of the monarchy would mean her own ruin as well.

“Even if it meant throwing away your own life?” Ruben’s voice was now accusatory. He couldn’t help but find it absurd—himself, the man who had once resigned himself to her death, now so desperately trying to save her. Yet he needed to understand what her intentions were, what she was thinking, and what her death would signify.

Helia laughed softly. It was a bitter laugh devoid of warmth. “Don’t be conceited. Of everyone, I probably wanted this kingdom to collapse the most.”

“Why…” Ruben asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Because that throne Xeroth occupies,” Helia said, spitting the words like venom, “was supposed to be mine.”

Her golden eyes burned brightly. When Ruben met her gaze, he felt like the air was being squeezed from his lungs. He balled his fists tightly, his knuckles white.

“Are you saying you destroyed it because you couldn’t have it?”

Such a self-destructive reason—it was almost unbearably fitting for Helia Bailey.

At his question, Helia’s smile deepened an unsettlingly beautiful and venomous expression, belying the fact that she had just consumed a deadly poison.

“Yes. If I couldn’t have it, this country has no future.”

“That doesn’t make sense…”

“It does,” she interrupted her tone light. “I just wanted to create a better world.”

She added, almost as if reciting a fleeting thought, “Not that you’d ever believe me.”

Ruben’s green eyes wavered once again, lost and uncertain.

“It’s simple. I agreed with the revolutionaries and did my part to support them. Their vision for the future—”

“…”

“—was worth betting on. And for me, that was all too easy. All I had to do was maintain my infamous reputation.”

Yes, it had been so simple. She had merely done what she had always wanted. She had chased him, screamed at him to look her way, and clung to him despite his cold indifference to share even a fleeting moment. She had acted as her heart dictated, knowing that if she laid her obsession bare, his hatred for her would only deepen.

And indeed, she had found solace in the growing contempt in his gaze. Yet, at the same time, it had hurt beyond measure. Her true feelings, so genuine and raw, had been met with disdain, and she had been left both wounded and comforted by the pain. Watching his disdain for her grow, she felt relief and sorrow.

“So you knowingly risked your life to align with the revolutionaries’ cause?” Ruben asked, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief.