“You’re the fifth stand-in for Allen Howard. The real Allen Howard was killed by the Prime Minister a long time ago. All four of the previous stand-ins refused the marriage and died at the dinner table with him. You must have sensed something.”

Daphne blinked blankly. She couldn’t quite grasp what she had just heard.

“What do you… mean…?”

“You pretend to be clever. Think a little harder, Winfred.”

Oswald forced out each word as though he were grinding them between his teeth. Then he brushed past her and slumped onto the sofa behind her. Wherever he stepped, the floor darkened as water dripped from his rain-soaked clothes.

Daphne stood rooted to the spot, struggling to process what she had just heard.

The Prime Minister had killed his own daughter, and every stand-in who had come before her. Four of them… gone.

Her gaze wandered across the room and settled on the small bottle of medicine that Greta had given her, sitting on the bedside table.

Allen Howard’s medicine.

Slowly, Daphne walked towards it. She picked up the bottle and held it to the light.

Inside, tiny white pills rattled softly against the glass.

“Allen wasn’t mentally ill? Greta gave me this, she said it was a sedative.”

“Her being too normal was the problem.”

“…”

“After losing his family in that accident, Prime Minister Howard lost his mind. Even after murdering his beloved daughter, he continued to search for Allen Howard, acting as though he had no memory of killing her.”

“Then why would you make me her stand-in when you already knew that?”

“Because he was certain you’d refuse.”

Oswald replied flatly.

“He set up the entire plan so you would refuse. He selected and re-selected prisoners who resembled Allen Howard and were fiercely loyal to Astasha, you were one of them. The entire process had been repeated four times without a single problem. Things that had been repeated ‘without issue’…”

He meant that four prisoners had been executed by the Prime Minister, exactly as planned.

“Why do you look so offended? Don’t tell me you’re actually tempted by the idea of marrying me, Winfred.”

His merciless, cutting voice slashed through her.

Daphne didn’t respond.

She was already far too overwhelmed.

‘I looked patriotic to them?’

Why would they think that?

Who was she before she lost her memories?

Her body trembled.

After her death, had another stand-in taken her place?

Another innocent Astasha prisoner, dragged in again and again?

“But too bad, now we end up in this damned marriage.”

Daphne stared at him blankly before speaking.

“Why did you come here in the middle of the night…? Do you want me to kill myself?”

“As if I would dare commit such discourtesy toward the esteemed princess of the great nation of Phozmeri.”

His tone was dripping with sarcasm.

Then suddenly, he shot to his feet and strode toward her, seizing her wrist.

“Let go!”

“Refuse the marriage, Winfred.”

He glared down at her. His eyes, looking down from an impossible height, were as oppressive as a weapon designed to kill. Although he was beautiful enough to look angelic, nothing about him felt gentle.

“If I refuse, I die.”

“Not my concern.”

“How is that any different from telling me to die myself?!”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he yanked her arm again.

Boom—crash!

Lightning tore through the sky.

Thunder hammered the air.

Rain lashed down even harder.

He pulled Daphne out of the room and down to the ground floor before she could catch her breath. She struggled against him, but it made no difference.

“I’ll scream! I’m not the same helpless prisoner I used to be!”

“Do you really think that, Winfred?”

“…”

“This is the annex. No one comes here at night. Didn’t you even know that?”

His lips twisted into a crooked, bitter smile.

Allen Howard’s room was indeed in the annex, as he had said.

No one would hear her scream.

Not with the storm roaring so loudly that it seemed to swallow the world.

They went downstairs, crossed the entrance hall, and stepped into the garden, where they were pounded by the rain. Daphne was dragged along like a rag doll.

The moment they passed beyond the shelter of the roof, the downpour consumed her completely.

“Refuse the marriage, Winfred! Do you want to marry a soldier from an enemy nation?! Have you lost all sense of patriotism?!”

He seized her by both shoulders in the middle of the garden and shouted at her.

Her hair and clothes were instantly drenched, water running down her face in cold, relentless streams.

Breathing felt impossible, as though she were drowning while still standing.

“I don’t want to die!”

“D*mn it—keeping you alive was a mistake!”

He growled, his anger echoing through the storm.

The roar of the rain drowned out their voices.

Yes, he was right.

There was no one here.

Not a single person could hear them.

The storm was too loud and wild.

Something swelled inside Daphne, something she couldn’t name.

Loneliness.

Fear.

Frustration.

All these feelings burst out at once.

“You’re the one who saved me! You said it was your assignment! And I— I only ever did my best to survive! That’s all I’ve ever done!”

She couldn’t tell whether the wetness streaming down her face was rain or tears, only that they were flowing together, indistinguishable.

Nevertheless, Daphne lifted her chin and glared at Oswald with her last remaining strength.

Oswald glared back.

For a moment, just a flicker, something shifted in his expression, as though her tears had unsettled him. But that was all.

He couldn’t hurt her.

Not now.

Instead, he just stared at her long and hard, as if restraining himself.

Then, with a rough exhale, he dragged both hands down his face.

He looked exhausted, frustrated, and more defeated than she had ever seen him.

Daphne could no longer endure the storm.

She turned away and headed back towards the house.

Behind her, heavy, sodden footsteps followed.

Oswald.

In the bedroom, the two of them sat in silence for a long time.

Their wet clothes clung cold and clammy to their skin, but neither of them moved to change.

Daphne reflected on everything he had told her in the silence.

‘In the end, I was supposed to die.’

Four stand-ins died because they rejected the Prime Minister’s proposal.

Of course they refused — after all, Oswald had selected prisoners who were fiercely patriotic. Meanwhile, the Prime Minister acted as though he was deeply concerned for his daughter. He presented the marriage proposal so gently.

If it weren’t for the strange sense of dread she had felt, she would have refused, too.

‘He said I was chosen because I seemed patriotic.’
‘Then… who was I, before losing my memories?’

The Daphne of now had no patriotism left.

‘What in the world is happening in Phozmeri …?’

After a long silence, Oswald finally rose to his feet.

Daphne followed him with her eyes.

“There’s no avoiding the marriage. It won’t be easy, but at the right time, you and I will file for divorce.”

“…”

“Keep that in mind.”

Oswald left those words behind as he strode out of the room.

Creak—bang.

The door shut with a bang and Daphne slumped onto the sofa, feeling as if all her strength had drained away.

It was as if the blood had been pulled straight from her veins.

She was alone again.

Her rain-soaked face turned ghostly pale.

Outside, the storm continued to pound relentlessly against the walls and windows with a steady, merciless roar.

Her unfocused eyes drifted across the table until something caught her attention.

It was difficult to make out in the shadows, but under the warm indoor light, its shape became unmistakable.

‘A gun…?’

Daphne reached out and lifted it.

The cold metal and unfamiliar weight sent a prickling sensation crawling up her fingers and along her skin.

Had it been there the whole time?

Allen Howard’s room.

On the table.

Right next to the sofa.

Would Allen have kept a gun out in the open like this?

Would she have left something like this in plain sight and within reach?

Impossible.

If it had been there earlier, Daphne would have noticed immediately.

She turned the weapon slowly in her hands.

It was a revolver.

The metal gleamed with an icy sheen beneath the light.

Before she could fully register what she was doing, her thumb had smoothly and precisely drawn the hammer back. Then she flinched so violently that she almost dropped it.

‘Why am I handling this so naturally…?’

The feel of the metal is familiar. Intimately familiar.

Her skin crawled at the realization.

She did not know why she could handle it.

Her heart pounded as she steadied her breathing and examined the metal carefully.

‘There are bullets in it…’

It was a six-shot revolver.

She opened the hatch at the back and turned the cylinder.

Two bullets were inside.

With trembling yet disturbingly skillful fingers, she removed the rounds one by one and placed them on the table.

Then she set the revolver down beside them.

Stepping back, Daphne stared at the weapon from a distance, as though it were a living, venomous creature.

Her heart hammered painfully and frantically in her chest.

Because the gun had felt so familiar in her hand.

Too familiar.

Something was wrong.

That realization struck her first.

Then, sinking straight into her gut, came another, colder and heavier realization.

Oswald had appeared in the middle of a raging storm.

It made no sense.

From everything she had observed about him, he was not the type of person to risk his life in wind and rain just to throw a tantrum over something so trivial. Not when he had already privately decided to end the marriage anyway.

No — he had come with a purpose.

The fury had been nothing more than a cover.

A shiver swept through her, from the back of her neck to her spine.

Could he have come to give her this revolver?

The truth was unmistakable.

This gun had been left here by Oswald.