Chapter 27

A frayed rug and a shabby sofa.

There was no chandelier, of course, nor even a candelabra; the only light came from the moonbeams filtering through a small window near the ceiling.

In such a meager, dim room, Clemens let out a sigh, the count of which he had long since lost.

“…Why…?”

Along with the sigh, a groan escaped his lips. Clemens continued to mutter the same words he had ruminated over countless times—words stained with an indignation that showed no sign of fading.

“Why… but why…?”

This was a room within the royal castle. However, for a Marquis who served as both a priest and the Prime Minister, this room tucked away in one of the spires was terribly unfitting and uncomfortable.

Then again, if one considered it a confinement cell for a man awaiting a guilty verdict, it was likely an appropriate environment.

Still, Clemens could not accept the reality that he was the one imprisoned there.

It had been only a few hours since the maid named Elma had denounced him in the middle of the ball. Clemens had been seized by guards, searched thoroughly, forced to sign a pledge to face an inquiry led by the King himself, and then thrown into this room.

It had all happened in the blink of an eye.

“Why…?”

Faced with a situation that far exceeded his understanding, Clemens had been in a daze. But after sitting alone on the sofa for a while, his capacity for thought had finally begun to return. Instantly, a flood of questions, all starting with that one word—“Why”—began to overflow.

Why did Elma see through him as the mastermind?

Why did everyone believe her so easily?

Why were all the subsequent procedures being carried out so smoothly?

‘No…’

The reason that maid had reached the conclusion of his murderous intent was that she had caught him in the act of trying to silence the culprit. And the reason the onlookers had believed her accusation so readily was that various pieces of physical evidence had been found on Clemens’s person after he was apprehended.

For instance, the ring with the hidden poison needle.

A needle identical to the one planted in the waiter’s shoe, coated with the same substance.

The letter he had used to blackmail the waiter.

On top of that, as if to pile on, witnesses had stepped forward one after another. Someone claimed the Marquis had frequently threatened servants; another mentioned he had been seen taking a horseshoe from the First Prince’s quarters.

A maid testified she had once been ordered to steal the Head Maid’s brooch; others recalled seeing him in private meetings with the foreign musician.

Individually, these were trivial rumors. But when combined, people found within them an unshakeable “truth.” When witnesses from all ranks of the castle gathered in one place and began to testify in unison, the situation gained unstoppable momentum.

This was exactly the kind of script Clemens had intended to write—originally meant to establish “Felix as the Mastermind” as an accomplished fact. Yet, when the curtain rose, that very script was now being used to tighten the noose around his own neck.

“Why…?”

What made the least sense was the sheer smoothness of the progression.

The Prime Minister of a nation had impersonated the First Prince—the soon-to-be King—in an attempt to assassinate the Second Prince. And on the eve of the coronation, no less. Despite the gravity of the revelation, there was no chaos. The people around him had prepared the steps to capture and judge Clemens with uncanny efficiency.

‘It’s as if… someone had arranged this all in advance…’

It didn’t make sense. The only person at the top of this country right now was a foolish prince who couldn’t do anything without him.

Felix.

The prince who was dim-witted, irritating, and so shallow-minded he couldn’t handle a single practical arrangement.

But, yes.

The moment that maid had pointed her finger, Felix had immediately ordered Clemens’s arrest. Without bewilderment, without hesitation—with utter composure.

“Hi there, Clemens. How are you feeling?”

When a voice called out without any warning, Clemens’s shoulders jerked in a start. Standing in the blue shadows cast by the moon was the very person he had been thinking of—Felix.

But something was different. Clemens squinted through a strange sense of foreboding and realized: Felix’s back was perfectly straight.

“Dawn is coming soon. The coronation starts at ten. But before my new era begins, I want to wash away all the old stains. I decided to squeeze your inquiry in before that. In other words, we start at daybreak.”

Hearing Felix speak so fluently, Clemens was aghast.

Yes—fluently. There was no trace of the lazy slur in his speech. As he approached step by step, his face was firm, and his eyes held an unmistakable intelligence.

“I’d hate to wake up too many people, so I plan to hold the inquiry within a very small circle. I don’t want to cause unnecessary confusion among the people, either. Don’t you think this kind of kindness is important for a ruler?”

And a chilling level of cruelty, too.

“…Ah…”

A faint sound escaped Clemens’s mouth, but he didn’t even know what he wanted to say. As Clemens hovered half-off the sofa staring in a daze, Felix gave him a bright smile.

“What’s wrong? Are you surprised?”

“…”

“I suppose you would be. After all, you were the key player who helped mold me into the role of the ‘Foolish Prince’.”

Felix walked with the grace of an elegant cat. When he stood directly in front of Clemens, he gave the man’s chest a light poke with his fingertip. That small gesture alone made Clemens feel as though the strength had melted from his legs; he collapsed back onto the sofa, powerless.

“Well then. You seem weak when it comes to sudden developments, so as a reward for your past service, shall I explain the background and what’s waiting for you from here on out?”

A strange scent, like sweet, cloying flowers, drifted from the Prince as usual. The moment he inhaled it, Clemens felt a dull numbness seep into the corner of his mind.

“Where should I start? …I know, how about the way you used my father, the late King, as a pawn to savor the nectar of power? I know you compared the King’s children and decided I looked the easiest to control when you chose to be my guardian. I even know how efficiently you chased the Third and Fourth Princes out of the country.”

Felix spoke calmly, but the content barely registered in Clemens’s mind. He simply looked up at him, frozen like an idiot.

“But I didn’t have a problem with those things. If I just spent my days being lazy, you would automatically push me to the top. I had no complaints. However, once I’ve reached the summit, I no longer need your services. And besides… you tried to use my riding gear to kill Lucas. That was going a bit too far.”

“…Prince… Lucas…”

“Exactly. I’m actually quite fond of that man. He has… a sort of wild instinct, I suppose. He seems to have noticed my true nature a long time ago. A man like that—I want to keep him close, even if I have to bind him using a woman or his parents. Someone like you shouldn’t have laid a finger on him.”

As he listened, Clemens wondered blankly when he had first misjudged this prince’s character.

During the late King’s reign, Clemens had slowly infused his “Holy Power” under the guise of “counseling” to brainwash him. He should have treated Felix the same way.

—No, that wasn’t right. Whenever he spoke with Felix, his irritation would only grow until he was the one who felt disgusted and wanted to leave.

‘That’s right… whenever I spoke with the Prince, my mind would grow clouded… I felt as though I should simply assassinate him… quickly… hurry up, I thought…’

Looking back, why had he prioritized emotion and chosen such a bold measure as killing royalty? Why hadn’t he bothered to refine the plan when failures arose, choosing instead to move with such reckless haste?

An assassination during the coronation, using a musician, wine, and a poison needle. At the time, it had certainly seemed like a brilliant plan, but now, he couldn’t understand why he had chosen a method so convoluted and labor-intensive.

But… yes.

The moments he had firmly decided “I must do this” were always, without fail, immediately after exchanging words with Felix.

Clemens shakily raised his gaze. Felix narrowed his eyes gently and nodded. It was just that.

“Now. Regarding your inquiry—I intend to use the same method you once used to throw inconvenient people into prison. That is, if the defendant ‘confesses,’ the sentence is immediate. Witnesses are provided by the prosecution, and no defense counsel is provided unless someone volunteers. It should be over in five minutes. Because you, after all, are going to ‘confess’ right away.”

“Wh-what are you…?”

More than the fact that his crimes and methods were fully exposed, Clemens recoiled at the indescribable pressure radiating from Felix. He couldn’t move. Felix’s arm—an arm wrapped in that sickly sweet perfume—slowly approached him.

“Now, look closely at my palm. Take a deep breath. This entire turn of events, the one who orchestrated it all was—”

“It was I.”

Suddenly, in a space that should have been lit only by moonlight, a figure carrying a candelabra appeared. Clemens’s eyes bulged in shock. Simultaneously, he realized the paralysis that had gripped his body had loosened; he could move freely again.

“You—!”

Clemens scrambled to look up, only to fall speechless once more. Standing in the darkness, her cheek brushed by the candlelight, was a girl with her lustrous black hair tied up, dressed in a maid’s uniform. It was the beautiful maid who had denounced him at the ball.

“…Elma, was it? How did you get into this room?”

“I brought a candle for His Excellency the Marquis.”

“I wasn’t asking for your motive, but your means. There should have been several elite knights stationed at the door.”

“I let them sleep.”

As Felix spoke with an amused tone, Elma replied flatly. With a face that betrayed no true intention, she raised the candle toward Clemens.

“A room without light is a lonely thing. Even more so if one is ‘captured despite being innocent.’ Though it is presumptuous of me, I have come to deliver the light of hope. Come, Excellency. Look closely at this flame. Does it not calm your heart?”

“Eh…?”

At the words captured despite being innocent, Clemens slowly raised his head. By habit, he began to think quickly. Was this girl saying she believed he was “innocent” and had come to save him?

‘If that’s the case… I have to use her…’

The obvious question of why this maid had called him the culprit in the first place flickered in his mind, but like the candle flame, it wavered and receded. After all, she had come here personally to help him. Such a beautiful girl, her eyes—the color of dawn—oozing an enchanting mercy and strength.

Staring into the depths of Elma’s eyes and the flickering flame beside them, he felt a fogginess in his head even more profound than when he had faced Felix.

“You have done nothing wrong. Isn’t that so? After all, you are the glorious Prime Minister of Luden and a devout priest. You are not the sort of person to be captured as a criminal. You couldn’t possibly conceive of such a grand crime. You aren’t at fault. You are here now because someone set you up. Isn’t that right?”

“A-ah… yes…”

He felt that couldn’t possibly be true, but parts of it struck the truth. That’s right, he wasn’t at fault. He was a man of power. A priest. It was wrong for him to be captured. He couldn’t conceive of a crime—

As he ruminated on the parts that felt like the truth, Clemens gradually lost track of what was what. He couldn’t conceive of a crime. Was that how it was? As he tried to knit his brows, Elma peered directly into his eyes, and Clemens let all the strength leave his body.

I see. Perhaps that’s it. Surely it is. My head is numb. No, it feels like it’s melting—

“Hey.”

This time, Felix’s voice acted as the trigger, bringing Clemens back to his senses. Turning a gaze that struggled to focus, he saw the Prince spreading his arms in irritation.

“What exactly have you been doing for the last minute?”

“Brainwashing. Is there a problem?”

“That wasn’t a question; it was a condemnation. What are you doing, shamelessly trying to ‘magically remodel’ the confession right in front of the judge (me)?”

“I heard that the verdict is handed down based on whoever speaks first.”

The exchange seemed to mesh, yet it didn’t quite fit. Felix snorted in exasperation and muttered, “What is that even supposed to mean?”

“Even so, to forcibly extract a confession through suggestion—how villainous!”

“You’re the one to talk, Your Highness.”

The conversation was beginning to take on the appearance of a showdown between two people devoid of common sense.

“I mean, you’re the one who saw through Clemens as the culprit in the first place, so why on earth is this developing into you shielding him? Are you his secret child or something?”

“No. As a matter of fact, I don’t actually know His Excellency well enough to shield him. On the other hand, I don’t feel particularly victimized or hateful toward him either, so to be honest, I’m not very interested in his motive, his true crimes, or whether or not he gets executed.”

“Eh?”

Clemens, who had been following the rally of conversation between Felix and Elma by turning his head back and forth, felt his face twitch. But there was no one in this room who cared.

“The verdict is based on a confession. The witnesses are limited to a very small inquiry. In other words, if I simply ‘confess’ after bringing those few witnesses over to my side, then I am the culprit, am I not?”

“…Well, I suppose it would go that way.”

“I harbored murderous intent toward royalty, and then attempted to frame the Prime Minister for the crime. Since I wasn’t the actual perpetrator and it was an attempted crime, I won’t be executed, but the verdict for this would be a one-way trip to prison, wouldn’t it?”

“…You haven’t even been indicted, you know?”

“Yes. Therefore, I shall ‘turn myself in’ and indict myself.”

Faced with a “home-delivery defendant” rather than a home-delivery bride, Felix knit his brows in bewilderment. Elma gave a single nod and then shamelessly announced her own charges.

“Ahem. I am, in fact, the daughter of a courtesan who was sent to prison by the late King of Luden, and in truth, I held a grudge against Luden to my very marrow. Thus, using the brainwashing techniques I acquired while growing up in prison, I manipulated the Marquis. As revenge, I attempted to kill the Second Prince—whom I actually hated—and intended to throw this country into a crucible of chaos.”

Given the repeated use of “in fact” and “actually,” it was a confession reeking of a retcon—as if a writer were forcing in new settings to wrap up a cancelled novel as quickly as possible.

However, with a face more serious than ever, Elma placed the candelabra on the floor and solemnly thrust her hands out toward Felix.

“Go ahead.”

That pose alone was strangely demure. But conversely, everything else about her was utterly dignified.

“As a major criminal, please send me back to prison immediately.”

She looked as resolute as a wife serving her husband divorce papers and announcing she was moving back to her parents’ house.