I Start with a Bad Hand!

“…A flaming arrow?”

“Two of them. But those arrows were unusual.”

“Unusual how?”

“They had no fletching.”

No fletching? Are there even arrows like that? I looked at him skeptically.

“…Are you sure you didn’t see it wrong?”

He looked at me with his aging eyes wide open. Okay, point taken.

“I didn’t tell the investigators about this, so keep it to yourself. I’m only telling you because you seemed so curious.”

“No, sir. Why didn’t you tell the investigators?”

You should have told them, not me! I exclaimed, getting worked up. The painter snapped back at me.

“They already pestered me with enough questions! I’m busy rebuilding my house, you know!”

He pointed at the remains of what was once his home. A slight breeze blew, scattering some of the ashes.

“Did you tell the wig shop owner?”

“No.”

“Why not? They need to know!”

The painter’s angry expression faded. What now? His face grew serious, and he spoke slowly.

“They’re… fragile.”

“What?”

“If they found out someone tried to burn their place down, they’d collapse and never get back up. After losing their child like that, they spent ages holed up inside before finally coming out again.”

Someone who had lost their child. The phrase halted my words. As someone who had been left behind, I couldn’t help but think of my own parents. I hadn’t expected to learn about the lives of parents left behind in such a way.

“If it was a mistake or an accident, fine. But knowing someone tried to harm them with ill intent? They wouldn’t survive it.”

“Still… if someone did try to harm them, shouldn’t they know?”

“Who says they’ll never know?”

Just not now. The painter spoke firmly. I didn’t press further.

***

‘Wow, how are they going to restore all this?’

The street, partly reduced to ashes and partly under reconstruction, looked chaotic. It had been some time since the fire. I slowly made my way back to the alley where the wig shop was.

‘Two fletchless arrows.’

Should I ask Agatha? Ask if there are arrows without fletching. As I was thinking this and heading to the wig shop, someone suddenly pushed me roughly into an alley.

“What—”

“Don’t scream.”

Before I could fully grasp the situation, something cold touched my neck. Even without looking down, I had a good idea of what was happening. Raising my hands to show I wouldn’t resist, I spoke.

“I have no money.”

…Ha. A short laugh accompanied by the rough turn of my body by the person restraining me. The first thing I saw were red eyes, burning with cold anger.

“…!”

…Elius.

The perpetrator always returns to the scene of the crime. For some reason, that saying popped into my mind when I saw Elius’s face.

A left-handed person. Someone who knew about the situation between Dietrich and Roxanne, and could harbor ill will towards Dietrich because of it. A guy who had lived at the academy, knew of my relationship with Icarus, was shorter and of a slender build. I couldn’t say if he was skilled in painting, but Elius at least knew about the existence of Revetta paint, and if he was determined, could find an accomplice.

“It was you who sent the portrait after all.”

…Elius was the person most likely to have sent the portrait to Baron Degoph. And now he was voicing my thoughts.

‘What?’

A portrait. Who did I supposedly send a portrait to?

More confusing information flooded in. Was he trying to pin his crime on me?

However, Elius’s eyes didn’t have the look of someone caught with malicious intent. They were filled with a more straightforward, almost intuitive rage.

And his words echoed in my mind. It was me who sent the portrait, he said. He wouldn’t be this angry over a portrait sent to Baron Degoph.

‘Then to whom?’

Suddenly, I recalled the figure beneath Dietrich’s portrait. Could it be….

‘Roxanne.’

My expression hardened, and Elius seemed to interpret it differently. With one arm still pressing the knife to my neck, he applied more pressure to my collarbone with his free hand.

“Answer me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said your foster parents received a portrait of you. Can you prove that?”

“Send someone to verify it. My foster parents and the servants can attest to it.”

“The servants and your foster parents can attest to it? Why should they? I should be able to confirm it directly from the portrait.”

“That’s—”

Was interrupting a royal habit? But he was right. I had no way of showing him the portrait.

‘Damn, I burned it.’

I knew it looked like I was destroying evidence. But at the time, Roxanne’s figure beneath the portrait bothered me more. Moreover, I couldn’t just leave such a harmful substance lying around.

As I hesitated, Elius seemed to interpret it as guilt. Feeling the blade press closer, I sighed and answered.

“…The portrait was burned. At the time, I thought it best to destroy a painting made with dangerous pigments.”

“Do you really think I’d believe that?” 

“Do you know how the fire on Rymus Street started?”

He abruptly stopped talking.

‘What fire,’ he muttered.

He quickly regained his composure and gestured in the air. His attendants, who had been hiding, suddenly appeared behind him. Damn it. Elius, still holding the knife to my neck, spoke to them.

“Detain her. Don’t release her until she answers properly.”

De…tain?

I heard his attendants’ short responses as I fell into confusion. Detain? My pride, having lived my whole life as a law-abiding citizen, crumbled in an instant. When I urgently made eye contact with him, he merely raised his eyebrows slightly, just like his brother.

‘He doesn’t even intend to listen to me.’

His unwavering and firm stance drained my energy. I lacked the strength to confront Elius here, physically, mentally, and especially in terms of power. His attendants approached to subdue me.

‘I can’t escape from this.’

I relaxed the arm I had been tensing to resist. Seeing me suddenly comply, Elius seemed strangely displeased. There was no escape. He already considered me the culprit. Even if he didn’t, he had enough reason to be suspicious. Elius wouldn’t release me until he got the answers or information he wanted.

‘This sucks….’

And being unilaterally robbed of information was more unpleasant than I had imagined.

‘If he had answered my questions in the carriage back then, neither of us would be in this mess.’

I understood not wanting to share information with someone you don’t trust, but that sentiment applied to both of us. I had no desire to reveal how close I was to the real culprit, especially when I suspected Elius.

Just before my arms were fully pinned behind my back, I spoke up.

“There’s no need to detain me.”

“…What?”

“Just consider me the culprit.”

By this point, I was mostly resigned. Getting a knife held to my throat, being detained on mere suspicion—it felt like I was headed for the gallows. Is this Harlem or the Empire?

I gestured for the attendants to come closer. Yeah… just take me away….

“Since His Highness the Prince is so certain, I must be guilty. Don’t detain me, just send me straight to the execution ground.”

His delicate eyebrows furrowed.

“Hang my body in the square for everyone to see, with my list of crimes. The real culprit will either flee or come back with a more cunning plan after seeing that.”

As I spoke, I got increasingly heated. Why did I have to explain my innocence here? I didn’t have time to deal with such petty threats.

“Go ahead and live in constant fear, wondering when and where another attempt on the person you cherish will happen. Good luck with that.”

As soon as I finished speaking, a bang echoed as he shoved me, my head slamming into the wall. But the words that followed made me want to bash my head against the wall myself.

“How dare you be so disrespectful in front of a royal,”

Ah, damn this hierarchical system.

‘This is really infuriating.’

Studying history, I was always fascinated by people who got exiled for speaking out of turn. Why would they risk saying things that angered the king in such a strict hierarchical society? Why not just keep quiet and endure? But now that I was experiencing it firsthand, I deeply understood their feelings.

‘You just have to speak.’

There was a reason people ended their pleas with ‘Please, just kill me.’ Even if it meant facing death, people had an innate desire to speak their minds. If dying from anger or being exiled was inevitable, speaking out might actually be the better option.

“So, whether you execute me for disrespecting the Crown Prince or carry out immediate judgment and behead me here, do as you wish. But if that happens, the information I have will be buried with me. No matter how much you search my corpse later, you won’t find the evidence you’re looking for.”

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have spoken this boldly. But being accused by the very person I suspected, and having no means to pressure him or extract information from him, infuriated me. Elius could treat me however he wanted. And more than anything, his red eyes were especially grating on my nerves today.

I heard the sound of a sword being drawn by one of his attendants. However, already having a knife at my throat, I wasn’t afraid of another weapon from a distance.

Elius stopped his attendant. This was my chance to press on.

“Why do you think you’re the only one who wants to find out who sent the portrait? I want to catch that bastard too.”

Bastard? Elius looked at me with disbelief. It was striking how he could threaten someone with a knife but couldn’t accept such words.

“You may not know what my foster parents mean to me, Your Highness, but they’re important enough for me to neglect my school, no, academy studies and focus solely on this.”

I struggled to push away his arm, still pressing down on me. I was quickly restrained again, but at least I tried.

“I came here today to meet someone who lives on Rymus Street, someone who told me about a good antidote for Revetta.”

I decided not to mention what I had heard from the drunken old man. Let Elius and his people investigate that on their own.

“…You asked me last time why I was loitering around Rymus Street.”

Elius raised his eyebrows again. He looked so much like someone else when he did that. I felt my insides twist as I continued.

“I told you I sold my hair. If you want to verify that, we can go together and ask the wig shop owner, who is still alive.”

I pushed against the arm holding the knife.

“So, put the knife away.”

You son of a bitch. I quietly added in my mind.