A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 133

Though more years had passed living as Seraphine Davenport than as Seraphine Bardin, she still defined herself as the princess of Ontaroa.

That was only natural to her. Everyone, upon birth, was assigned their rightful place. And within that divine hierarchy, Seraphine was, without a doubt, positioned at the very top.

Of course, unlike her foolish brothers, Seraphine did not believe that the entire world existed solely for her, or that no one should be above her.

Even so, she did believe that there were parts that ought to move for her sake. And according to her belief, among those parts, the most essential were the bloodlines of the Davenport family.

Seraphine Bardin was a princess of Ontaroa. It wasn’t that she lacked the qualities or opportunities to become the queen of another country.

The only reason she had rejected the proposals of countless princes and chosen the Duke of Davenport was one.

Because the Duke of Davenport was the perfect cog for the machinery of her life. She knew it the moment she first laid eyes on him.

Edmund Davenport was the same kind of person as herself. A man incapable of loving anyone but himself, a man who could treat no one else as an end but only as a means.

It was precisely because of that extreme narcissism and selfishness—qualities that others would have recoiled from—that Seraphine chose the Duke of Davenport.

And, as always, her choice had been right.

“Now that we’ve produced a son, let us respect each other’s private lives.”

As per the agreement, Edmund Davenport nodded at Seraphine’s proposal.

It would have been better if it had ended there. But a few years later, the man inevitably added another condition.

“I think it would be better to have one more son. There’s a chance Gilbert may not grow up as I intend. If we have another child and raise them to compete with each other, the results should be even better.”

It was terribly bothersome, but since there was logic to his words, Seraphine gave birth to another son.

After she went through the trouble of producing him, amusingly, Edmund Davenport showed signs of doubting whether the child was truly his.

Pathetic fool. If he was going to be suspicious, he shouldn’t have insisted on having another in the first place.

Since his attitude was utterly stupid, Seraphine didn’t bother defending her innocence. She had fulfilled her duty by producing two perfectly fine offspring.

Perhaps because of that, Edmund, who had already looked unfavorably upon the second from infancy, never fully hid his displeasure—even when the boy’s appearance proved him to be a true Davenport by blood.

Maybe there was something behind his attitude that Seraphine did not know, but as always, her own pleasure was what mattered most to her, and she paid it no mind.

Ah, there was one thing that came to mind about the second son’s childhood.

She didn’t remember exactly when it happened.

Amid the father’s subtle encouragement and the mother’s constant indifference, Ilex, who was persistently harassed under the guise of pranks by his older brother, once came to ask for help.

“M-mother…”

She wasn’t sure of the exact timing, but it was when the musician she often summoned had not yet been divorced, so it must have been quite a long time ago.

A small hand, like a maple leaf, had clutched at the hem of her dress as she waited for her lover in the courtyard.

“C-could you… hide me, please?”

Was there blood on that hand? Or was it just a burn scar?

Her memories of others were always vague.

She vaguely recalled being annoyed at her carefully chosen dress being wrinkled and kicking him away while saying something, but the details were fuzzy.

What she did remember clearly was the image of the boy being dragged away by the scruff of his neck by Gilbert. And behind that struggling figure, her handsome lover’s face, and the wine he had brought.

The wine had been so sweet.

As she absentmindedly thought she would like to taste that wine again, the expression vanished from Seraphine’s face.

She briefly wondered whether things might have turned out differently if she had helped Ilex back then, but it was merely a fleeting thought.

What mattered was not the past, but the present. Not regret, but revenge.

Seraphine had no intention of forgiving the broken cog that had dared to ruin her perfect world, her smoothly spinning life.

Just a mere part I created, and yet.

Gritting her teeth hard enough to make a sound, Seraphine once again examined the window.

Unlike the blurred memories of over a decade ago, she remembered clearly.

Last night, there had been two heads placed there. Not three, but two.

‘One of them has successfully hidden.’

As befitting a nation that grew through diplomacy, Ontaroa’s spies possessed infiltration skills second to none.

No matter how hard Ilex Davenport tried to extract that skill, he was still far from matching the limbs of the Bardin royal family.

Moreover, in Seraphine’s hand, there was another weapon nearly equal to a spy. Strictly speaking, something that was both a weapon and a means.

‘He must be thinking that I’ve lost half my mind out of fear.’

Seraphine let out a laugh, distorting her red lips at an eerie angle.

How wrong he was. Even if she were driven to suicide here, she would never die alone.

Of course, what a single spy could do was limited. Ilex Davenport must have planted many around ‘that woman.’

But Ilex didn’t know. That violence was not the only thing that could move people. That with just a little gap, with just a bit of suspicion, people could sprout seeds of betrayal.

‘You still don’t know why I took Tilia Ambrose’s letter, do you, Ilex.’

Seraphine laughed nervously, imagining the moment her son’s soul would be crushed. She looked forward to seeing the wheel, having veered off track, shatter without purpose.

‘See you soon.’

This time, please, entertain me.

Picturing Tilia Ambrose’s pretty face, Seraphine split her lips even wider.

***

How did it end up like this?

Tilia stared blankly at the dinner spread before her.

The food on the table, illuminated by silver candlesticks, all looked delicious.

After briefly staring at the caramel-colored skin of the glistening turkey, Tilia lifted her head to look at the friend sitting across from her.

Why did we all end up gathered like this?

Judy seemed to be thinking the same thing. There was a shared sense of bewilderment on her friend’s face as she stared at her reflection in her round wine glass.

Tilia was about to laugh but suppressed it quickly when she saw Judy’s husband, Victor Bartlett, sitting beside her with a similarly tense face. She swallowed a sigh.

How in the world did this dinner come about…?

“Thank you for inviting me.”

Only one voice sounded completely unaffected.

Turning her head, Tilia saw the profile of a man looking completely at ease, as if he were the host of this dinner.

“I hope there will be more of these ‘classmate gatherings’ in the future.”

At Ilex’s shameless emphasis on “classmate gatherings,” Tilia finally exhaled the sigh she had been suppressing.

At the same time, the series of events that led to this dinner replayed in her mind.

***

“Again? You have another appointment?”

After the tearful reunion with her long-missed friend, a new category was added to Tilia’s schedule, which had previously consisted solely of work and Ilex.

Namely, a form of social activity. In other words, gatherings with friends.

Most of these new plans involved Judy, but not all of them.

After successfully dealing with a particularly annoying superior, Tilia had grown closer to her colleague, Susan Boyd, who had always sat quietly in the corner.

“Is it another outing with a coworker today?”

“No, today I’m going to the Bartlett mansion.”

Still, the friend she felt closest to remained Judy, so Tilia’s main destination was usually the Bartlett estate.

However, even these outings happened at most once every week or two, barely a fraction compared to the overwhelming amount of time she spent with Ilex.

“Make sure you tell the coachman the correct destination.”

Even so, it seemed Ilex could hardly stand it.

“If you just say ‘let’s go home,’ he might drive you straight to the Bartletts’.”

The way he said it, without even a hint of a smile, made it hard to take it as a joke. Tilia narrowed her eyes and glared at Ilex, who was teasing her.

Perhaps what he couldn’t endure wasn’t the appointment itself, but simply the fact that he wasn’t spending that time with her.

In fact, he often looked displeased whenever Tilia diligently left for work. Knowing the effort and tears Tilia had shed to earn that position, he seemed unable to bring himself to ask her to quit.

“…Don’t you have any friends?”

“None.”

When she cautiously asked, his immediate answer left her speechless.

Tilia remained silent for a moment, then opened her mouth again.