“My study?”

“Yes, in the office at your main estate.”

Most of Ruben’s staff have relocated to the Star Residence, leaving minimal personnel at the Sky Residence. Delivering the documents there discreetly would have been convenient. Realizing this, Ruben moved toward the door, issuing instructions to a servant waiting outside.

“Wait here,” he told Miel before shutting the door behind him.

Silence and darkness descended again. Ruben broke it first.

“When did you first meet her?”

Miel’s expression momentarily soured. The answers to his questions were likely detailed in the documents she had provided. Why was he asking her again?

But Miel didn’t need to understand her client. Her job was to fulfill her obligations based on the price she had received. Instead of questioning his motives, she dutifully answered.

“When she was fifteen.”

“How did you meet?”

“She sought me out. For royalty or those of equivalent status, it’s a rule that either I or one of my close associates meet them personally to establish trust.”

“What was her request?”

Miel hesitated. One of Helia’s conditions when contracting with the revolutionaries was a strict clause against divulging the contents of her initial request. While that contract was nullified after she revealed her identity, Miel still valued trust as the guild’s leader, built on discretion.

Yet she had risked everything to appear before Ruben and Ikael, forsaking that trust. The reason was simple: to honor Helia’s first request. Despite her later involvement with the revolutionaries, Miel prioritized Helia’s initial plea—it had seemed the most urgent and heartfelt.

“She asked me to save her.”

“What?”

“That was her request. To save her.”

Ruben was at a loss for words. Darkness engulfed him as reality slipped away. He couldn’t move a single finger, as though paralyzed.

It made no sense. None of it. Save her? From what? What could have driven her to make such a plea? He was clueless.

Nothing. Such a powerless word. It felt like he was being shunned by the entire universe, drowning him in a sea of emptiness, loneliness, and despair.

He managed to stammer, “From… what?”

“Hard to say,” Miel replied casually. “There were too many things to count.”

She placed her hands on her head as if to think, and Ruben stared at her with desperate anticipation. There was nothing else he could do.

“From everyone around her,” Miel finally said. “Would that suffice as an answer?”

It was vague but sufficient to conjure an image in Ruben’s mind. With a sinking feeling, he uttered a name, almost afraid to say it aloud.

“…Even the nanny?”

“Ah, yes, she was the ringleader.”

The gentle, warm touch, those kind, always caring eyes, and the comforting and nostalgic scent of someone who always greeted you with a soft smile.

Suddenly, the world went dark. The once predictable reality became distorted, and nothing felt trustworthy anymore. Even his own existence felt questionable. Is this what it’s like to plunge into despair?

“But it wasn’t just her. The maids, attendants, cooks, even the gardeners who worked by her side—all of them were in on it together.”

“Why… why would they do such a thing?!”

“Who knows? Why indeed.”

Miel returned his question with an ambiguous counter, tilting her head dispassionately. Consumed by rage, Ruben paused momentarily and turned to look at Helia. His keen mind quickly pieced together the conclusion.

The nanny would not have acted alone in trying to kill her. There was no reason for her to do so. This meant there was someone who had orchestrated the act. Someone who could manipulate palace staff like the nanny as they pleased. Someone who stood above the princess’s very life. Perhaps…

“…The late king? Her father?”

The words escaped his lips in a dazed voice, almost unintentionally. Miel grinned as if to confirm he was correct, and that smile dragged Ruben deeper into the abyss.

He couldn’t comprehend what had happened to Helia. So much of her story remained unknown to him. But one thing was sure: Helia had lived in hell all this time. And he had turned a blind eye to that fact.

That alone.

And yet, that realization was enough to strangle him. A suffocating pain as though his lungs were filling with water. His throat tightened. He needed to confirm if this was true, but no words came out, no matter how much he strained. Ruben closed his eyes. He wanted to kneel in despair, to beg for a chance to undo it all. If only he could, he felt he would do anything.

But the reality before him was the unconscious Helia, unmoving. That was the cruel truth left to him.

“…”

Miel observed Ruben, trapped in pain and confusion, with an unflinching gaze. To be honest, it was amusing. She had not expected the man before her to look so utterly broken.

The Ruben Effenberg she had watched by Helia’s side was maddeningly moral, rational, and coldly logical. A man of unwavering principles and steadfast integrity. That was the Ruben Effenberg she had judged him to be. Even when he occasionally displayed emotion toward Helia, it seemed to stem from the anger she provoked rather than any more profound feeling.

And yet, in some way, she could understand. For someone like him, this situation would be unbearable. The saying goes, “If you cannot bend, you will eventually break.” All that awaited this man in her eyes was the agony of breaking. Still, knowing he would silently endure it all made her click her tongue in disdain.

Miel carelessly tossed a small pouch to him. Even amidst his turmoil, Ruben reflexively caught it.

“… What’s this?”

Ruben untied the pouch. Inside was a neatly folded piece of paper. As he lifted it, a faint powdery residue clung to the folds of the paper.

“No way…”

“It’s the antidote for Euresica.”

A shiver ran through his body like a lightning bolt. Ruben stared at Miel, wide-eyed, as if he had just glimpsed a profound truth of the world. Miel, watching his reaction intently, smiled in amusement.

In a voice that was low and measured, she continued haltingly.

“…Is it true?”

“It is. Euresica is fatal upon ingestion, so its antidote isn’t well-known. But it’s actually quite simple. You just need to consume the root of Euresica.”

Miel shrugged as though she hadn’t expected to ever need to use such knowledge. Ruben stared at the antidote in his hand as if mesmerized.

Then, a sudden thought struck him as odd. The deal he had arranged with her beforehand hadn’t included anything about the root of Euresica. He would have prepared an equivalent payment in advance if it had been discussed. Of course, no matter the cost, he would have paid it, but Miel couldn’t have known whether her reward would be the Red Tear or something else. How had she prepared the antidote in advance? Indeed, she hadn’t done it out of goodwill. The information guild never acted without compensation, least of all out of charity.

“Do you want something in return?”

“I’ve already received my payment.”

“From whom?”

Miel gestured with her chin toward Helia lying on the bed.

“The princess gave me an exceedingly generous final payment. Consider this part of that.”

Before Ruben could ask anything further, Miel disappeared into the shadows. Her exit was so swift he nearly missed it.

Realizing she was gone, Ruben quickly poured the pouch’s contents into a glass prepared on the table, adding a bit of water. Much to his relief, the pale brown powder dissolved easily. Glass in hand, he approached Helia.

She was still unconscious. Ruben gently lifted her upper body as if handling a precious jewel. Holding the glass as though it contained holy water, he brought it to his lips. Without hesitation, he transferred the antidote to her in the form of a tender, deliberate kiss.

After laying her back down, he carefully observed her complexion. Bathed in moonlight, her face was even paler than usual. He brushed strands of hair away from her face with a touch as delicate as caressing an angel’s wings. But his movements soon grew desperate, as if seeking reassurance that she was indeed there as if trying to confirm the warmth beneath his fingertips.

At that moment, a knock came at the door. It was Will, signaling that he had brought the documents Ruben had requested. Several attendants entered, carrying stacks of papers into the room. Ruben watched silently until they finished and closed the door behind them. Only then did he approach the documents slowly.

Though he had an idea of their contents, confronting them felt overwhelming. His hand trembled as he reached out.

“…”

Despite his resolve, the information within was devastating. Though he was merely verifying the details of the story he had been told, the sheer weight of the horrifying truths left him reeling. The papers were filled with accounts of events that should never have happened but had.

Even as he merely read them, he wanted to flee from the tormenting reality. His hands, gripping the parchment, began to tremble violently.

The last sheet of parchment was turned over when the day had fully dawned. Ruben glanced around with sunken eyes. The materials he had just reviewed were scattered messily around him. Not a single one of them was insignificant. It was merely a tale written on paper to him, but to her, it was all events that had actually transpired.

He wished it were all a lie. If she were to rise even now and say, in her usual arrogant tone, that it was all fabricated just to torment him, then he would willingly suffer as much as she wanted. He would accept it gladly.

But she remained lying there, carrying the weight of all that had happened—things he had only just read but she had long since endured.

Did she pay Devon such a steep price for information? Yet, if it were merely an exchange of goods, Miel wouldn’t have considered the price too high. From the start, information guilds like Devon’s preferred tangible exchanges. Information passed secondhand, especially when laced with subjective emotions, lost much value.

Then what could she possibly have given to Devon so that Miel could deem the price excessive?

At that moment, something crossed Ruben’s mind.

The one place in the Effenberg duchy where he could not set foot was a room accessible only to Helia Bailey. A space whose purpose he had never once questioned.

“Could it be…?”