“To think you were so curious about my face.”
His voice was so sweet it seemed almost capable of melting in the air.
Logan smiled faintly at Ian, who was scrutinizing his face, and lowered his head a little farther.
Around them, several nobles quietly squeezed their eyes shut.
He’s going to gut him again, just like last time.
None of them had any desire to witness another scene of blood spilling across the floor like an overturned glass of champagne.
To be perfectly honest, they had never wanted to come anywhere near the Grand Duchy in the first place.
“If your throat weren’t injured, I would have loved to hear your impressions one by one.”
The distance between them, already scarcely more than a handspan, narrowed even further.
And then Ian saw them.
Golden eyes that resembled exquisitely cut jewels.
Under the light, the vertical pupils set within those vivid irises stood out with unnatural clarity.
At last, Ian had found a single difference in a face that was otherwise terrifyingly identical.
The breath he had been unconsciously holding escaped him in a faint, strangled gasp, as though he had just broken the surface after being dragged underwater.
He could feel the man staring at him.
But Ian’s thoughts were already in turmoil, his heart beating far too quickly for him to think straight.
Those eyes were undeniably inhuman.
And yet, somehow, they did not look out of place on Logan’s face.
If anything, they suited him perfectly.
There was still not a single flaw Ian could find.
Even so—
one thing was different.
Despite being unable to deny that even the man’s voice sounded familiar, Ian stubbornly repeated the thought to himself.
Right. I definitely confirmed that he was dead. Close enough for our noses to touch, I, back then…
“…?”
Back then…
When was that?
His thoughts, which had ground to a halt, slowly began moving again with an almost audible creak.
And with them came an enormous wave of unease.
Ian stared ahead.
The man before him was alive.
Breathing.
Completely unaware that his own expression had become a tangled mess of confusion, Ian felt his eyes tremble faintly.
He was certain.
This was the man he had killed.
He would never forget that face.
Not in a dream.
Not even in death.
And yet—
he could remember neither the man’s name nor the reason he had killed him.
It was as though someone had poured bleach over that part of his memory.
His childhood remained clear.
So did everything that came afterward.
But every memory connected specifically to this man seemed to have been burned away, leaving nothing but a clean, empty space.
What is this?
Now that he thought about it, everything that had happened immediately before he opened his eyes in this place was hazy.
Ian knew that time had passed.
He knew things had happened.
But he could not properly remember what those things were.
Does that even make sense?
A dry laugh almost escaped him.
Then Ian realized something even worse.
He could not remember why he had died.
His lips pressed into a hard line.
Even those memories had surfaced without warning.
Had he never stopped to question them, he might have gone on for years without realizing anything was missing.
He remembered driving an oil-painting knife into his own throat.
The problem was—
he had no idea why.
For the past two weeks, Ian had done almost nothing except sink into his own thoughts.
Yet not once had he tried to recall something so important.
All this time, an enormous blank had existed inside his mind.
What was stranger still was that until now, he had never thought to question it.
The medication the butler had been feeding him was little different from sleeping pills, so this could not be a side effect.
Besides, Ian had never heard of any drug capable of making someone forget only one specific person.
He tried painstakingly to trace his memories backward.
Nothing came.
Was it a contract?
If someone paid him, Ian would kill anyone.
He had killed far too many people to count.
Perhaps this man had simply been one of them.
That had been Ian’s profession in the modern world where he had once lived.
From the moment he grew old enough to survive on his own, he had lived by hurting others.
Perhaps the reason he had never felt guilty about taking lives so casually was because he valued his own life just as little.
So this probably isn’t anything special.
Only then did Ian become aware of how close they still were.
He released his grip on Logan’s collar.
Deep wrinkles marred the perfectly pressed uniform where his fingers had clenched it.
It looked absurdly out of place.
Ian had no room to care.
His emotions were tangled beyond recognition, and he felt sick.
If he were still in the world he had originally lived in, he would have made an appointment with a psychiatrist.
But in a place where people carried swords at their hips, wore armor as though it were ordinary clothing, and wandered about in gowns with enormous skirts, such a thing was little more than a fantasy.
By now, even someone hopelessly incapable of reading a situation would have understood that Ian was in serious trouble.
This was the sort of thing that happened only in movies.
And yet, amid this utterly unreal setting, the man standing before him—so disturbingly familiar—gave Ian an inexplicable sense that everything around him was real.
Ian stared blankly.
Their eyes met.
At that very moment, Logan, who had remained silent until now, moved one hand, as though realizing that Ian’s attention had finally returned to him.
“Eek!”
A scream came from somewhere behind them.
The pale-faced noblewomen all raised their fans to cover their eyes.
They were certain Logan was about to draw his sword without the slightest hesitation.
To wait so calmly, only to attack after a delay… What a terrifying man.
Perhaps he had agreed to Rox’s proposal only because he wanted the chance to see a foreigner bleed.
Yet in stark contrast to everyone’s fear—
nothing happened.
The hall remained perfectly silent.
Ian, completely unaware of the assumptions racing through everyone else’s minds, merely glanced once at Logan’s hand as it lightly brushed over the wrinkled collar.
Then Logan spoke.
Ian realized from the way Logan looked directly at him that the word was meant as a form of address.
It was unfamiliar.
But then, nearly every word Ian heard here was unfamiliar, so that alone meant little.
Everyone else in the hall, however, understood immediately.
That single title, spoken so gently by Logan, was an insult.
Apparently, Ian had been hastily granted knighthood immediately before coming here.
Since he held no title of his own, it had likely been done simply to make the arrangement appear respectable.
Even so, he was officially here as a member of another country’s royal family under the pretext of cultural exchange.
By addressing him with the lesser title of knight rather than as royalty, Logan was openly trampling that status underfoot.
Yet the prince of Rox did not even flush.
Had he already prepared himself for treatment like this?
Or was this simply his nature?
The nobles, who had already concluded that anyone capable of laying hands on Logan Higher in the first place must possess nerves of steel, began forming their own theories.
Ian, contrary to all of them, was thinking absolutely nothing.
“You were likely forced all the way here after spending your entire life in a greenhouse, so you must be in quite a state.”
Logan had heard that Ian was the twelfth prince, born to the lowest-ranking royal concubine.
A prince pushed into the deepest corner of the palace and never given so much as a second glance, lest he ever dream of coveting the throne.
It was almost amusing.
They had dressed up a prince in name only and presented him before Logan as though that changed anything.
Logan kept those thoughts to himself.
“And to suffer such a dreadful incident immediately after crossing the border… you must be unwell in both body and mind.”
His brows drew together ever so slightly as he spoke.
His expression was steeped in pity.
If not for what followed, someone unfamiliar with Logan might genuinely have believed the Grand Duke felt sympathy for the prince.
Those who knew him better would only have clicked their tongues.
“However, this is the North.”
Logan’s smile remained.
“The first place your country chose to stir up trouble.”
Fifty years ago, when the territorial conflict began, Rox had attacked this land first.
The very land where the Grand Duchy stood.
Even a child could have understood the intention behind it.
Rox had likely decided that if they wished to break the Empire, the first thing they needed to destroy was the symbol its people believed in most fanatically.
Their timing had been perfect.
The previous Grand Duke’s chronic illness had worsened dramatically.
Most of the Grand Duke’s knights had been dispatched west after suspicious movements were detected from Schuyen.
No one had imagined that an army would attempt to cross the Black Forest.
By the time they finally understood what was happening, enemy cavalry was already upon them.
Flames rose from villages that lay buried beneath snow throughout the year.
Innocent screams filled the air.
Blood flowed like rivers.
Remembering that time, Logan spoke with almost tender affection.
“If things were as they should be, we would have to carve up every corner of that white body of yours and put you naked on horseback.”
His voice remained gentle.
“A leash around your neck, worse than any street beggar’s. Whipped every hour. Forced to endure every stone the people chose to throw at you.”
Everyone present knew.
The prince brought here from Rox would have to bear the accumulated hatred of decades.
That was precisely why they had been so careful to prevent him from taking his own life.
He would not be killed.
He would simply be kept from dying.
“…”
Ian had taken half a step back, though he was still close enough to Logan for their breaths to nearly mingle.
He said nothing.
That was partly because he could not speak.
But judging from his expression, he seemed to have finally realized that his circumstances were far more hopeless than he had imagined.
Or so Logan thought.
He tilted his head slightly.
Then his fingertips touched Ian’s cheek.
The smooth surface of the glove brushed lightly over his skin, almost ticklish.
Logan even tucked a loose strand of Ian’s hair behind his ear with extraordinary gentleness.
It was as though the horrifying words he had just spoken had been nothing more than an auditory hallucination.
“But how could I possibly do such a thing to someone so precious?”
Liar.
Ian did not need firsthand experience to know it.
The man looking down at him could do things far worse than what he had just described without so much as blinking.
Perhaps Logan saw the disbelief on Ian’s face.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
And at that moment, Ian suddenly understood whose smile Ed’s mechanical habit of curling his lips must have been imitating.
“So be grateful for your name, Sir Knight.”
It would be much later before Ian fully understood what those words meant.
For now, he merely stared at Logan without comprehension.
Still wearing that soft smile, Logan added one final sentence.
“I think it would be best for you to get a good rest today.”
What an elegant way of saying—
Get out of my sight.
The knights understood the hidden command almost as though by magic.
They hurried forward to restrain Ian again.
But under Logan’s unwavering gaze, they hesitated.
Their hands stopped short.
Suddenly, none of them dared touch Ian roughly.
In the end, they merely announced that they would escort him back to his room and led him away.
An odd silence descended upon the hall after his departure.
With the object of everyone’s curiosity gone, the assembled nobles seemed to remember at last who was still standing among them.
After all, none of the people gathered here were particularly important.
Second sons of noble houses.
Noblewomen who had fallen out of favor with their husbands.
People who had been dragged here against their wishes by imperial decree.
It would hardly have been an exaggeration to say that the guests had been deliberately chosen from among those least capable of protesting even if the Grand Duke murdered someone right before their eyes.
Logan appeared utterly indifferent to whether the meticulously prepared banquet had been ruined.
He continued staring in the direction Ian had disappeared.
Then he pulled off his gloves.
“Bring me a new pair.”
Thump.
The black gloves dropped to the floor as though they were filthy.
Gone was the gentle smile that had looked like a warm spring day.
Logan’s expression had become chillingly calm.
Numerous bite marks covered his exposed fingers.
They vanished again almost immediately as Ed, who had been waiting nearby, presented him with a fresh pair of gloves.
Yet every citizen of the Empire knew what those scars meant.
They were proof of an ancient blessing.
As though perfectly aware of where everyone’s eyes had lingered, Logan picked up a glass of champagne.
“By the way.”
He raised the glass toward the chandelier overhead, where dozens of crystals caught the light.
The champagne shimmered as though a stream of golden dust had been poured into it.
A nearby baron held his breath.
Logan Higher was a man whose actions could never be predicted.
No one knew when he would act.
Where.
Or what he would do next.
“How long do you all plan on staying here, being so obtuse?”
Footnotes