30.
She looked at Matilda first.
A face that knew nothing. Matilda had no idea who this man was.
That being the case, her next move was clear.
Anita slowly hiked up the hem of her wedding dress; it had long since lost its elegance, the white silk stained black by grime.
“…Duchess?”
As her pale thigh was revealed, confusion washed over the faces of both the servant and the police officers.
Anita didn’t waste the opening. She reached into the holster strapped to her leg and drew her revolver.
Click.
She leveled the muzzle directly at him. The servant stepped back, caught off guard.
“Anita Boellony! What on earth are you doing?”
Matilda’s voice was high, trembling with horror.
“Aunt, please, get behind me.”
“The Edenbahir staff are all thoroughly vetted! You cannot simply suspect someone of being an assassin…”
“I have already met this man once before. If you want to die, by all means, keep standing there.”
Matilda fell silent at once.
“Look at me.”
The magician from the amusement park.
There was no mistake. Even though he had altered his pitch, the voice was identical to the masked man who had toyed with those jewels.
“You didn’t come all the way to this wedding just to ask for my name, did you?”
The man’s expression shifted.
“…Ha.”
The wariness in his eyes melted into a languid amusement.
“And here I thought you were just a naive lady with a delicate constitution.”
At the mocking tone, heavy with hidden admiration, Anita tightened her grip on the revolver.
The servant—no, the man—stared down the barrel.
“Do you even know how to use that thing?”
“If you insist, I’ll be happy to demonstrate.”
“Well, if you’re prepared to blow my brains out.”
He shoved both hands into his trouser pockets with a nonchalance that made his situation seem like a trivial game. Sensing the shift in the air, the policeman belatedly reached for his sidearm.
“Duchess, what is happening here?”
“This man is no servant of Edenbahir. He’s an intruder. He sought us out on purpose.”
And perhaps—no, she was certain of it—he was a lackey of the Grand Duchess.
*The ruffian who cornered the doctor must have been him, too.*
Now that she looked closely, every feature was a fabrication. She had assumed he was merely a man with a gloomy disposition, but the dark eyes, the sharp nose, and the deep nasolabial folds were nothing more than skilled artifice.
As she scoured his face, trying to find the man beneath the makeup:
“Why are you staring so intently, so shyly? Have you fallen for me?”
Just as his mouth curled into a sneer at her disbelief:
BOOM!
The ground groaned under a thunderous, muffled roar.
Everyone’s gaze snapped toward the window. Near the mansion, a column of thick, gray smoke climbed into the sky.
“What is… Ugh!”
The policeman’s grip failed. A swift, clean strike to the back of his neck sent him collapsing to the floor like a marionette with severed strings.
“You bastard!”
The second officer fared no better; he took the magician’s discarded pistol to the face, followed by a brutal strike to his solar plexus. He crumpled to the floor.
By the time Anita steadied her pounding heart, the magician’s muzzle was already pressed against Matilda’s forehead.
He looked at Anita, his breath as steady as if he had been standing still all along.
“Lady. Your name?”
She remembered the same question from their first meeting. If he were a true assassin, he would have known her name perfectly well.
A bead of sweat trickled between her palm and the cold steel of her gun.
“Matilda Edenbahir.”
The magician’s eyes narrowed, intrigued.
“Still keeping your own name hidden? Fine. Let’s make a bet, my lady. Who pulls the trigger first? If I win, I’ll take your name. And if you win…”
*Gasp.* The real Matilda let out a ragged breath. The muzzle dug deeper into her skin.
“You take my body?”
Anita met his mocking laughter with a steady gaze.
“I know you can’t kill my aunt.”
“Me? Why? …Ah. Because I’m a dog for Veronica Edenbahir?”
Anita’s eyes widened.
To hear the Grand Duchess’s name fall so casually from his lips felt jarring, distant.
“High-and-mighty Madame Matilda. Does even your eye see me as nothing more than a dog for Veronica Edenbahir?”
As Matilda swallowed dryly, her eyes squeezed shut, the magician shoved his face into hers.
“Open your eyes. Look at me carefully. Go on.”
Matilda’s pupils, blown wide with terror, trembled behind her lids. As she forced them open, she scrutinized the magician’s features—doubt, bewilderment, and dawning recognition blooming in her eyes.
“Ah. You are…”
While the man was distracted, Anita recalled Lancelot’s advice.
*[You deserve praise for being prepared. But what use is it if you cannot shoot?]*
She pulled the trigger.
*Bang!*
Blood sprayed. The magician’s upper body lurched backward.
*…I, I shot him.*
A person.
She gripped the gun tighter to stop her hands from shaking, then hauled a slumped Matilda to her feet.
“Aunt! Hurry!”
“My legs—they have no strength left…”
In an instant, a hand clamped onto the back of Anita’s neck, snatching the revolver away.
“Ugh.”
The man stood, his shoulder stained with red, his left ear torn and ragged. He burst into a jagged, madman’s laughter.
He whispered in a voice that chilled her to the bone.
“You’re the first lady to ever hit me.”
As she met his gray eyes, a cold, bone-deep sensation touched her forehead.
It was her own revolver.
“It would have been nice if I could have given my body to you. You’re also the first person I’ve regretted having to leave, Anita.”
If he pulled the trigger now, it would be over.
“Remember the name of the man who will kill you. My name is…”
Sigmund.
As the tension threatened to shatter her heart, her breath caught, and the world before her eyes bleached into a blinding white.
*My chest… No, not now—why can I not breathe?*
‘Ah.’
For a fleeting second, the magician’s eyes held a flicker of genuine bewilderment.
*Bang!*
Immediately after the second gunshot, Anita lost consciousness.
***
The smell of old books clung to the air.
She knew this scent. It was the fragrance that saturated Lancelot’s room.
Because Lancelot had been sickly since childhood, he kept his books close. His room always smelled like a blend of dusty paper and leather—a small, private library.
Anita watched her friend, who sat beside her, his nose buried deep in a volume. Even Claunia, who usually detested books, was inexplicably engrossed.
Seeing Claunia, who had yet to outgrow her girlish ways, Anita felt a strange, vague certainty.
This was not reality. It was a memory from a long, long time ago.
‘Twins are an original sin.’
Claunia had declared it like a proclamation.
When Anita looked at her, confused, Claunia’s eyes rolled around.
‘I don’t mean I think so. Look, it’s written right here.’
She held out the book, her expression triumphant. It was the founding myth of the Atlante Empire, a nation long since crumbled to dust.
The myth of Atlante was the root of the northeasterners, the ruling class of the Montebio Kingdom. It was a story she had learned in history class, and she remembered it with chilling clarity.
Claunia continued.
‘My nanny told me. The Hespain Kingdom where I was born and the Montebio Kingdom where you were born are said to be distant descendants of Nuaza. That’s why both countries are supposed to despise twins.’
It was a claim that made little sense, as it was the first time she had heard it.
If Nuaza despised twins enough to kill them, wouldn’t their descendants follow suit?
‘To despise them… what exactly does that mean?’
‘They kill or abandon one of the two—the first or the second born—before the curse takes hold. They say if the curse takes root, the family falls to ruin and a plague sweeps the land.’
‘Th-that doesn’t make sense, does it? It’s all a lie. There’s no such thing as a curse.’
‘But that’s what my nanny said. Twins bring the ruin of the house and plague…’
*Clack.*
Lancelot abruptly closed his book and stood.
Claunia watched him with wary eyes as he strode toward them.
‘Wh-what? Ugh…’
Lancelot shoved something into Claunia’s slightly parted mouth.
‘Instead of spouting nonsense, swallow that.’
Claunia tasted it, shuddered, and let out a strangled cry.
‘Agh! What is this? It’s bitter! Ptooey!’
‘C-Claunia, are you okay?’
‘Hey, Lancelot! Why are you giving me your medicine? Hey! Stand right there!’
She poured out her grievances, fuming, and chased after the retreating boy.
Anita watched them with an “oh, oh” and ended up stumbling after them in pursuit.
Childhood days at Edenbahir.
The happiest time of my life.
But why did the memory of this day return as a dream?