The Empress’s coronation, to be held alongside the wedding ceremony, was to be conducted under the Emperor’s authority.

Ahazan’s chamber, no less crowded than Clodine’s, had been bustling since early morning.

Dressed in a crimson ceremonial robe and crowned perfectly, Ahazan von Lernando stood immaculate, waiting for the appointed hour.

Marquess Lyle Anderson approached his young and brilliant sovereign and knelt on one knee before him.

With aged hands lined in wrinkles, he carefully lifted a silk cushion adorned with glittering crystal charms. Resting upon it was the beautiful crown that had graced the heads of successive Empresses.

Ahazan gazed down at it and, with a hand utterly steady, gently traced its surface.

‘You will surely return in good health before long… and I will become your wife.’

Clodine’s words, spoken before he had left for the battlefield, resurfaced once more.

Everything seemed finally to have fallen into place, just as she had said. And yet—why did a hollow chill linger in the corner of his chest?

Countless days when he had secretly imagined this crown resting atop her small, round head flickered through his mind like a futile dream.

Expectation had become hope.
Hope had withered into a vain wish.
And that wish had long since twisted into misguided desire.

Ahazan withdrew his hand from the crown, wondering how cruel and humiliating today’s coronation would be remembered by Clodine.

“Your Majesty, there is something urgent I must report.”

Cal Regerson stepped closer and lowered his voice.

Ahazan had already anticipated what Cal intended to say. With a subtle glance, he dismissed the attendants. The servants immediately withdrew, leaving the two men alone in the vast chamber.

“As you commanded, we investigated, three days ago, three private knights of the House of Ramier disappeared without a trace. Their families were seen in the square and market as recently as yesterday. But when our men visited their homes this morning, the houses were entirely empty. There are far too many suspicious elements, Your Majesty.”

The murder of the three maids Clodine cherished had been riddled with inconsistencies.

It was too grave to dismiss as mere harassment by conservatives targeting outsiders.

Through continued investigation and multiple witness accounts, they had long suspected that the private knights of House Ramier had been involved. What they had lacked was decisive proof. But this development could serve as a meaningful lead.

Ahazan’s sharpened gaze fixed upon the door.

Cal observed the tension forming along the Emperor’s defined jaw before continuing carefully.

“It is possible someone bribed the Ramier knights with money. But if, by any chance, the one who commissioned the act truly belongs to the House of Ramier…”

His voice trailed off.

Two concerns lay beneath that hypothesis:
First, whom among the Ramiers could be suspected?
Second, if the theory proved true, should the matter be pursued at all?

Ahazan pressed his hand against the hilt of the ceremonial greatsword hanging at his waist and lifted his golden eyes.

There was nothing before him but a closed door. And yet, it seemed as though his gaze was directed at someone far beyond it.

“As I said before, no one must learn that the House of Ramier is connected to this case. Especially not Clodine. Move in complete secrecy.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“We have bought ourselves sufficient time before the funeral. Conduct a thorough autopsy. Do not overlook even the smallest trace.”

“The examinations are already underway. I expect we may soon uncover something.”

“Good. In the meantime, locate the missing knights’ families. They are more likely to still be alive. And discreetly investigate the recent movements of one Tomas Orlandor, who resides in the Rembran territory. I want to know every step he has taken—including how much he has won and lost at nearby gambling houses.”

“Your Majesty… Tomas Orlandor?”

Tomas Orlandor had once served the imperial household as a financial administrator overseeing the assets of the Crown Prince and Princess.

He had been known as diligent and proper in speech, well-regarded within the palace. Yet rumors of a gambling addiction had surfaced. Within a year, he vanished without a trace.

It was later revealed that he had siphoned part of Prince Yuri’s assets. The scandal had forced numerous officials to resign.

Cal tilted his head, unable to discern the Emperor’s intent.

Ahazan cast him an unreadable look and spoke in a measured tone.

“I will explain everything soon enough. For now, do as you are told, Cal. We do not have time.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I shall obey.”

Cal brought his arm to his chest and bowed in loyalty.

Ahazan gave his shoulder a light pat.

Time afforded them no pause.

No sooner had their conversation ended than the clear toll of a bell rang three times throughout the palace.

“It is time to receive Her Majesty the Empress.”

Cal’s face flushed with excitement as he spoke.

In contrast, only a faint, hollow smile touched Ahazan’s lips before disappearing.

***

Inside and outside the grand hall where the wedding and coronation would take place, dignitaries from across the nations gathered in restless clusters.

As Ahazan and Clodine appeared from opposite ends of the crowd, the murmur swelled into a louder stir.

“Is it true that the future Empress was once famed throughout the Empire for her beauty?” 

“Judging by her appearance now, perhaps that reputation was not merely of the past.” 

“Does one need such beauty to become Empress, no matter one’s history?” 

“Indeed. And just look at His Majesty. Even an angel would lose its way in the heavens after glancing at him.”

Frivolous whispers drifted from every direction, fouling Clodine’s ears.

Through the veil that covered her face, she looked at Ahazan, the man everyone could not cease praising.

More striking than ever, Ahazan stood at the height of magnificence, though countless people followed behind him. No matter how finely the guests had dressed for this day, beside him they were no more than faded background.

As the distance between them gradually narrowed, Clodine lowered her gaze again.

Even that brief glance from afar had stirred something at the base of her heart, an emotion like a scar that would never fade. A scene she had dreamed of for so many years now unfolded before her eyes. For a fleeting moment, cruel reality seemed to lose its grip.

With only two steps left between them, Clodine halted.

The steps she could not take, Ahazan calmly closed himself.

“Clodine.”

Unlike the night before, his voice was low and warm as he spoke her name. A brief silence lingered before he murmured,

“Is all of this still a terrible nightmare to you?”

She nearly lifted her head to look at him.

A large, warm hand approached and gently brushed over the hand holding her bouquet. The touch was so slow, so careful, that her thoughts momentarily went blank.

“If that nightmare is to me a beautiful dream I will never have again, then I suppose I deserve punishment.”

Though the hall buzzed with murmurs, his voice alone rang with piercing clarity.

Her mind clamored not to listen. 

Her heart, however, strained helplessly toward his words.

“I will accept whatever punishment comes.”

Clodine squeezed her eyes shut in anguish.

She could read the emotion in his voice without effort. It was sincerity too dense to be distorted.

“I’m sorry, Clodine. For being your hell.”

The confession was neither light nor desperate, only steady.

As if on cue, the wedding march began to play.

There were many bright and lively marches, but this one was solemn, heavy with grandeur.

Conscious of the lingering heat beneath her sleeve where the wax had burned her skin, Clodine gently placed her hand upon Ahazan’s right arm. Each throb of pain from her forearm made her force herself to think of her dead maids.

During the priest’s interminably long benediction, neither of them once looked at the other.

Only when the coronation began did their eyes finally meet.

Under Ahazan’s unreadable, stoic gaze, Clodine struggled to keep the turmoil from surfacing in her own.

According to the rite, she knelt before him and folded her hands upon the prepared table as though in prayer. She was ready to receive the crown.

A minister standing beside Ahazan lifted the crown reverently with both hands.

“In the name of Lernando, I appoint Renia Clodine Ramier as Empress of the Van Helsing Empire.”

The solemn voice, cold as frost, echoed through the vast hall.

As Ahazan stepped forward and the crown descended upon her head, Clodine clenched her teeth unseen.

The weight was immense. Her neck and shoulders stiffened under its pressure.

Unbidden, she thought of Ahazan at the moment he had first borne such weight in his youth. The realization made the burden feel lonelier, crueler.

As she rose from her knees and Ahazan steadied her, she leaned closer to him.

And just as he had done earlier, she whispered softly so that none around them could hear.

“Some dreams reveal themselves to be nightmares only after one awakens from them, Your Majesty.”

His grip on her arm tightened slightly.

Feeling the change in his hold, Clodine looked into his golden eyes with a dull, unwavering gaze.

“So abandon the expectation that a beautiful dream will last forever.”

From afar, they would appear nothing more than a bride and groom exchanging words of love.

Clodine stepped even closer, as though to kiss him. She raised her pale hand and gently caressed his face.

Once radiant like spring or blazing like summer, his face now seemed like winter, lonely and stripped bare.

A faint, bitter murmur slipped from her lips.

“It seems I am not the only one living in hell, Ahazan.”