“We’re in the middle of the Sechilia Forest.”

Daphne listened to his voice with a blank expression.

The Sechilia Forest stretched wide across the border between Astasha and Phozmeri. It was also infamous for its treacherous terrain.

“There’s no water and no food. Once night falls, the temperature drops sharply, of course.”

“…Then… are we going to die here?”

“Who knows.”

His reply was calm, without the slightest hint of fear about being stranded.

“Unfortunately for you, my mission is to get you there alive.”

‘Mission…’

“I don’t know who staged the ambush, but… they won’t find this place.”

Daphne gave a faint nod in response to his words.

He was undoubtedly a commander: steady and controlled, even in the aftermath of chaos.

The forest was growing darker by the minute.

Just as he had warned, the temperature was steadily dropping, and the rustling of the trees sounded bleak and hollow.

“Don’t even think about running.”

His warning came low and firm.

It made sense — Astasha’s border must be nearby.

Running away…

Perhaps because all her memories were gone, Daphne felt no longing for Astasha.

She felt like an empty shell, stripped of everything except the instinct to survive.

She curled her hand into a fist.

Rough calluses scraped sharply against her palm.

“…The Allen Howard you’ll be acting as is the daughter of Prime Minister Howard.”

His voice cut through her wandering thoughts like a knife.

Startled by what he had said, Daphne blinked in confusion.

The daughter of the Phozmeri Prime Minister?

The identity she was meant to assume was far more significant than she had ever realized.

This hit her so hard that she nearly hiccupped.

A low, distant howl drifted through the forest.

The trees trembled in response, their silhouettes wavering in the fading light.

The sun was setting.

“I’m supposed to act as her?”

“That’s right.”

‘How… could they entrust such a role to someone from Astasha?’

Even with her memories gone—patriotism erased—she still found it baffling.

“Princess Allen looks similar to you. And she’s dead.”

Oswald spoke the words almost carelessly.

Daphne’s eyelashes trembled.

His voice continued above her, steady and unyielding.

“Prime Minister Howard treasured her. He never allowed the world to see her face – not even once. That’s why she was known as the ‘Princess of Phozmeri’.

If he discovers his daughter is dead, the consequences will be catastrophic, especially with the war still unresolved.”

The more she listened, the more unsettling it became.

A father who adores his daughter so fiercely would never fail to recognize an imposter.

Sending her in her place was no different from sending her to die.

“Surely the Prime Minister would recognize his own daughter?”

An unexpected answer came back.

“He’s insane.”

The soldier looked at her startled expression and continued matter-of-factly.

“Howard’s been out of his mind for a long time. Everyone in the cabinet knows, but they keep quiet. So he won’t recognize you as someone else.”

“……”

“And if you’re found out, you die.”

Daphne bit her lip.

So she was being taken straight into a dangerous gamble. A wager placed with her life.

“And if he doesn’t realize I’m a fake…?”

“You’ll live as Allen Howard until you’re no longer useful. Then you die.”

There was a faint hint of mockery in his reply.

Either way, death awaited her; only the timing would be different.

“We’ll move as soon as it’s dark.”

Their conversation ended there.

Daphne asked no more.

He rose to his feet and slipped into the forest, reappearing and disappearing repeatedly.

It seemed he was either gathering supplies or scouting the area for threats.

Left alone, Daphne replayed everything she had heard, her mind drifting in a numb haze.

No father, no matter how foolish, could fail to recognize his own daughter.

It was inevitable that she would be exposed.

‘I’m being taken to die.’

A hollow resignation washed over her.

‘But what I really wanted to ask was something else.’

Curled up at the foot of the tree, she began to feel drowsy.

In that hazy space between dreaming and waking, one thought after another came to the surface.

She wanted to ask if he had known her for a long time.

She wanted to ask why he felt so achingly familiar.

She wanted to ask why he had called her name with such anguish in his voice.

Slowly, the woman drifted off to sleep.

＊ ＊ ＊

“…Hah.”

When she opened her eyes, golden patterns came into view.

They were perfectly symmetrical waves that radiated outwards from the center like ripples spreading across water.

The line between dream and reality wavered.

Daphne let out a shallow breath as her consciousness slowly returned.

‘Where… am I?’

The pattern on the ceiling shimmered like an afterimage.

As she sat up, the soft blanket that had been draped over her slid down her legs.

It was a lavish room.

Sunlight spilled through the partially open curtains in a bright, warm cascade.

‘But…’

The last thing she could remember before falling asleep was a dense forest.

How had she ended up here?

Had he knocked her unconscious?

Her body ached with every movement, but despite the pain, Daphne let out a quiet breath of relief.

She was alive.

She and the soldier had made it out of the forest safely.

And, against all expectation, he hadn’t killed her.

His “mission” had been completed.

It was only then that she truly registered the silence of the room — so profound that it felt almost lifeless.

She slowly turned her head to take in her surroundings.

Beneath the gold-patterned ceiling, a chandelier glittered softly in the sunlight streaming through the window.

Further away stood an antique vanity unit, its surface adorned with perfumes and delicate vases.

This was undoubtedly the bedroom of a noblewoman of high standing.

Daphne looked down at herself.

Her skin had been washed clean and her clothes had been changed.

She was now wearing a soft, white indoor dress.

What was going on?

Had she already been made to take Allen Howard’s place while she slept?

How long had she been unconscious?

Knock, knock.

The sound of something interrupted her thoughts.

She flinched and quickly turned her head towards the door.

Before she could decide whether to answer it, there was another polite knock: ‘Knock, knock.’

Daphne climbed out of bed.

Approaching the door cautiously, she checked to see if there was anyone outside, then answered in a careful voice.

“Who is it…?”

“It’s me, Lady Allen.”

It was a woman’s voice, one that Daphne had never heard before.

Daphne understood instinctively that the performance had already begun.

Her fingers closed around the doorknob.

The cold metal made her shiver as she turned it and slowly opened the door.

A middle-aged woman stood on the threshold.

Silver streaks ran through her hair, and although age had etched fine lines into her face, she stood with impeccably straight posture.

She had a graceful demeanor and wore neat, dignified clothing.

Daphne could only stare at her, bewildered.

“I’m relieved to see you awake safely.”

The woman stepped inside the room with a composed tone, passing right by Daphne, who instinctively backed away.

Her heart dropped heavily.

‘Does she truly believe I’m Allen Howard?’

“I… I am…”

As Daphne barely managed to move her lips, the woman turned sharply.

“I know. I know. But my lady, this place is dangerous—sharp-edged. You must be careful.”

It was a warning.

After speaking, she turned again and closed the partially open curtain.

The light vanished in an instant, leaving only the yellow glow of the chandelier.

The woman standing by the window looked back at her.

The sudden dimness made her silhouette appear unsettling.

“I am Greta, your nanny. This is the estate where you used to stay alone.”

“……”

“The Prime Minister has sent word that he will visit in a week’s time. You’ve arrived at a perfectly fitting moment, Lady Allen.”

Greta bowed deeply.

Daphne wanted to ask something—anything—but she felt she must not ask a single question.

“You must be exhausted from your long journey. Rest well. Beginning tomorrow, you’ll have much to learn.”

With that, Greta glided past Daphne with light, fluid steps and left the room. The door shut firmly behind her, leaving the wide space in a suffocating silence.

Left alone again, Daphne stood still, staring at the door through which the woman had disappeared.

‘Allen Howard…’

She repeated the name several times under her breath.

It was a name to which she would have to become accustomed if she wanted to survive.

Whether she liked it or not, the performance had begun.

She slowly took in the room around her, her gaze drifting away from the door.

The interior was steeped in dark tones.

She walked to the window and carefully pulled back the curtain that Greta had drawn shut.

Sunlight spilled through the partially opened purple fabric.

Outside, the world was awash with autumn leaves.

The red foliage blazed like blood.

In the mansion’s garden, a fountain shimmered in the morning light.

Phozmeri’s autumn was terrifyingly beautiful.

As she gazed at the crimson tapestry, her thoughts returned to the soldier who had carried her through the forest. She did not know his name.

She would surely never see him again.