Your life seemed to shift to mundaneness after the events of the festival. The month that followed was slow and uneventful, with you resuming your work on the new register scheme untroubled by the Prince or his lackeys. It appeared that Minho's threats worked miracles.
You only had to prepare for the final act of your plan—three months far.
On this afternoon, you were visiting Chaeryeong's temporary school as you often did to run your evaluations and collect data about the students' progress. Your visits were met with excitement from the children, who were beginning to warm up to you, and the teaching staff, who were eager to show off their work—with Chaeryeong usually at their forefront.
She took pride in her work, that much was clear as she told you of the week's schedule. There were lesson plans, student projects, and more that she was developing alongside the two other teachers you had assigned. You were pleased, so far, with the results you were seeing.
And the public seemed to share your opinion.
"My lady."
Seungmin walked up to you once you stepped out of the school, bowing as he informed, "There is a man that wishes to speak with you. Should I bring him in?"
"Please do," you answered him kindly. It had become a regular occurrence for the city folk to approach you during your visits and express their gratitude or share their grievances in hopes of you fixing them or bringing them to Minho's attention.
You appreciated their trust in you, for you knew how difficult their lives were. After all, this was one of the few, rare lifetimes in which you were reborn a privileged citizen. If there was one thing you wanted to leave behind, it would be to better the lives of those who populated your cities and villages.
You were conversing with Chaeryeong when a middle-aged man's gravelly voice sounded somewhere behind you.
"My humblest greetings to you, Lady Valorieve."
You turned around to be met with the owner of the voice, folded in a deep bow and flanked by two of your guards. At once, you returned his greeting, "And to you as well. Please, rise."
He did.
And you nearly staggered backward.
"Thank you, my lady," he said, gripping in his hands a washed-out cap and a scroll of paper.
He would have been twice your current age. Worn by age and hardship, yet you could still recognize his familiar face. Roughness had lined his sharp features and scratched his voice. His hair, which you remembered to be as soft as spun silk and as dark as a moonless night, had become heavily streaked with silver. Though, he still wore it as he had always done—tied at the base of his neck and long enough to make the ladies in town envious.
Your thoughts were a riot.
What was he doing here?
"My name is Yang Jeongin, and I hail from a small town by the southern border of Valorieve," he introduced himself as though it was information you did not know.
What could have brought him all the way to the capital?
You had taken great care in avoiding the places of your past, so why was he here to meet you specifically?
"What is it that made you seek me, Mister Yang?" you managed a polite smile. Your voice felt as though it were coming from somewhere distant.
"There is word around town that your ladyship grants an audience to us common folk, so I have come here in hopes that you would listen to my story and seek justice for us," he said, tightening his clutch on his cap. His shoulders were squared with determination, while all your body wanted to do was retreat.
"Is that so?" you tried to steady yourself by grasping the folds of your dress, praying that your discomfort was not visible. Lightheaded, it felt like your head was floating. "You may speak your mind, then."
"My lady, there are those, in the smaller villages of Valorieve, who terrorize the citizens through senseless acts of murder and remain uncaught by the mayors' offices. Too frequently have we seen such cases. I have dedicated my entire life to advocating for tighter law enforcement, yet nothing seems to be changing. No suspects are being brought forth, and justice remains undelivered to many," he said, his ardent words fortified by a fiery tone.
You had no response to his speech other than a lame repetition. "I-Is that so?"
"My lady, I ask you to seek justice for us. Please, have someone investigate these reoccurring cases! One innocent person after the other has been lost to these monsters who still roam free." he presented the scroll he was carrying with him, and in it, you gleaned a long list of names. You could not tell if it was madness or anguish that glossed over his eyes when he explained, "In this paper is a list of suspects I have been compiling and investigating for the past two decades.
"My lady, I beseech you again. Please, take this information and bring these killers to justice!" he had dropped into another bow and your guards began to exchange dubious glances, sensing possible danger in his erratic behavior.
The man before you was not the same person you remembered, one who was gentle and soft-spoken. He had been the type too tender to hurt an insect, too forgiving to those who bumped into him in the streets. What happened to make him like this?
Despite the onslaught of memories that threatened to overwhelm you, you cleared your throat, gesturing for your guards to ease themselves. "This matter...seems to be deeply personal to you, Mister Yang."
"I'm afraid it is so, my lady," he admitted while righting himself, his gaze haunted. "The truth is that I have only begun my investigations out of a desire for vengeance. You see, my lady, I had lost my beloved to such murders twenty years ago.
"We...were to be engaged when, on the night before her twenty-first birthday, she was murdered in cold blood."
You were suddenly nauseous, so much so that each word you mustered tasted acrid. "My condolences...to you."
"Thank you, my lady," he said in a low voice, gritting his teeth as he started at the ground in frustration. "I understand that finding her killer may be nearly impossible by now but—I think I will be doing her justice if I could help protect others from reaching the same horrific fate. That is why I must ask Your Ladyship to seek justice for us."
Unstable.
Your breaths were coming too quickly.
"That...is truly h-honorable."
Was it?
You could no longer think clearly, for every thought in your head seemed to scream at you.
Why did he come here?
What happened to him?
Was this truly the same Jeongin you had known once upon a time?
Your mouth was moving, but you were not sure if what left it was intelligible speech.
"What...was your beloved's name?"
There was a response so muffled you thought it was spoken underwater. Or maybe you were the one underwater.
"Her name was—"
But you could not catch the rest before your world tipped over and you were engulfed in the darkness of the past and its ghosts.
• • •
"Y/n."
There was a gentle wind that stretched its playful fingers to tousle your hair. It sang as it did the same to the young man standing before you, making the long strands of his hair dance ever so gracefully in the air.
His eyes, which were always so kind, shone with determination, excitement, anxiety. It was all to your dismay, for you knew what he was about to utter into the universe.
"I love you. I'm in love with you and have been ever since we met under this apple tree all those years ago."
How truly miserable.
You had tried your best to deter him, and yet here he was, confessing such reckless feelings. That soft demeanor of his was an excellent guise for his stubbornness.
"That cannot be, Jeongin," you told him. "How could it be that you love me?"
He smiled, and it made little stars twinkle in his fox-like eyes. "I knew you would doubt me so, but I swear it, Y/n. I swear it on every star in the sky, on every god that would hear me."
"How can you swear on the stars when you cannot see them all?" you shook your head, which elicited a musical chuckle from him.
"Your wits have always bested mine. But I am serious, and I don't think I was ever this serious about anything else."
"Still..." you sighed, "I'm afraid father would not approve."
A weak excuse that did so little to scratch his will. He only declared, "Then I will earn his approval."
You knew that it would be an easy feat for him. He might have only been a painter's apprentice, but he was beloved by all in your village. Principled, kind, diligent. He was a good man. Your father's approval would even precede his question.
It was pointless, all of it.
Whether or not he gained the approval he sought, your time was limited. What was left was not worth his efforts or his hopes. His so-called love was only a detriment to himself.
You did not want it. You did not want to hurt him.
But you could not tell him that. You could never.
Instead, you offered him a small smile, hating, with every fiber of your being, the happiness that illuminated his face right then. "I shall wait, then."
Your smile was a cruelty and so were your deceptive words. With your ever-growing guilt, you could only wonder if those words would haunt him in a future that was too near.
• • •
The familiar sensation of silken sheets flooded your mind as you were roused from a slumber you did not recall falling into.
It was quiet.
You turned your head to the side, weary gaze settling on the man sitting near your bedside. Your movement was immediately noticed by him, and his head snapped up from the papers he was reading through.
An exhale of the purest relief.
"You're awake."
Wordlessly, you tried to push yourself to sit, and Minho stood to help you, a tender hand at your back while the other clasped yours gingerly. Someone had changed you into sleeping robes, you noticed. It most likely was your handmaidens.
You also noted the dryness of your throat, as though you had gone an entire day without a sip of water.
Perhaps reading your mind, Minho carefully filled a glass of water from the pitcher on your nightstand and handed it to you. "Here, have some water."
"Thank you," you murmured as you accepted the glass. Something was wrong. You should not have been sleeping in your bedchambers at this hour.
What happened to you?
Memories of visiting the temporary school washed over you like an icy wave. You were talking with the children, talking with the teachers, talking with your guards. Talking with a phantom from your past.
You gasped, choking on the bit of water that was in your mouth and making Minho panic at your side.
That was right.
You met Jeongin again. In another lifetime.
"How—How long was I asleep?" you asked through your coughs, to which Minho furrowed his eyebrows, deeply concerned. "Three hours. Are you all right? I should send for the physician."
Three hours? Your coughing fit was beginning to die down and you shook your head. "No, there is no need. I'm all right."
"Fainting for any reason is not 'all right'," he pointed.
"I'm fine," you insisted, bringing a hand to massage your temple. "I simply...saw a ghost."
There was a beat of silence, and then Minho breathed in more concern, "Are you seeing hallucinations, Y/n?"
The seriousness that overtook him was amusing in its ridiculousness. You could only shoot him an incredulous look. "It's nothing of the sort."
"Then what happened out there?"
"There was...a man."
"Yes, he has just been released after being questioned by the knights," Minho shared, sitting back on the chair that was placed by your bedside. His voice seemed to take on a venomous tone when he inquired, "Did he do something to you?"
You quickly shook your head. "No. He was only asking for help. He was telling me...about the murder of his beloved. He was seeking justice for her..."
"I see," Minho hummed. "The story must have distressed you."
"It...had."
For some reason, you were struggling to find your words.
Guilt was the worst emotion of them all. It gnawed at your soul and haunted you endlessly, ready to sink its blameful teeth into your conscience the moment you let your guard down. And if there was something you never failed to carry through your lifetimes, it was guilt.
The insatiable monster of guilt.
You debated telling Minho. After all, you had granted jeongin an audience. It was only fair that you relayed his pleas to the heir of the land. He would know what to do.
Perhaps then this soul-crushing feeling would cease.
A half-truth would suffice.
You drew in a shaky breath. "The only proof I have of this is my own word."
Minho perked up, curious, and you continued, gripping the glass of water with both hands like it were a lifeline, "But you must believe me. You must give me your word, Lord Minho."
"You have my word," he did not hesitate, solemn as he promised. "You can tell me."
When had he become so trusting? You did not ponder over it for too long lest you lost the meager courage you had. Your heartbeat seemed to accelerate with each word you spoke. "I know who is responsible for the murder the man spoke of."
Another terribly unstable breath.
"There is a ritual—there is a ritual that has been performed by the royal family for centuries."
You stopped to gauge Minho's reaction. You knew that he would greatly benefit from any information he could use against the Rowonnese royals, but the story you were about to divulge was one without any feasible proof.
Your being there was the only proof, but you were not planning on exposing your curse to him any time soon.
To your surprise, or maybe it was to your relief, he was showing no signs of skepticism. Instead, Minho wore the expression he always had when you discussed new information with him. Thoughtful. Businesslike.
It was as though he were nudging you forward.
"Every two decades, a young lady, who...has certain qualities, must be sacrificed. I-It is a superstition of some sort. They believe that it must be done to maintain the throne."
You omitted the part about the Renocault Order and the curse that made them chase you every lifetime. No matter how vehement he had been, you knew that those were details Minho would not believe.
You sighed, fumbling with your words, "I-I know this because he told me. The Crown Prince...I mean. That girl...she was killed twenty years ago at the hands of the former King. I have no evidence but I am sure that if we were to investigate, the truth would come to light.
"I know this—I was told this because—" your voice became a pebble lodged in your throat. You were unable to say more.
These were half-truths, yet you still felt so vulnerable, images of harrowing rejection crossing your mind. You could not tell him more. You could not risk it.
There was sudden warmth over your wrists, drawing you out of your all-consuming thoughts. Minho's hand was soothingly placed over yours, and his voice was so kind beside you, "That's enough. You don't have to say more. I believe you."
You snapped your head up to stare at him, almost gaping. "Do you truly? But I—"
"How could I not when this had clearly been so difficult on you?" he tilted his head to the side, and you chose to ignore the semblance of affection lying beneath his gaze. "We'll investigate this ritual you speak of. You needn't worry."
Well, then. This was the most you could do for Jeongin.
You hoped that he would soon forgo his grief, for you did not deserve it. The 'you' that he had known was dead, and you did not wish to upturn the dirt of her buried past. He, too, was a fragment of that dead past. A specter of another life, bringing forth memories you preferred not to relive.
Your guilt and your anguish were too overwhelming, accumulating over lifetimes. There was too much you were sorry for. Too many people you had wronged by your passing. If only you had not been part of their lives, then you could have left without leaving a trace.
As you ought to do.
After all, those who were destined to die had no right to interfere with the affairs of those fated to live.
Your response was short, for you did not have the will to discuss this topic any longer. "Thank you."
You busied yourself with your thoughts, sipping water from your glass slowly. So, you had fainted and been asleep for three hours since. The sun must have already set, then. You had to start preparing for tomorrow's meetings—
Wait.
"Shouldn't you be on your way to meet Viscount Atlasse?" wide-eyed, you questioned Minho, who had returned to his papers.
He did not look up when he nonchalantly answered, "I postponed our departure until further notice."
"Why?" you blinked, dumbfounded for this was a meeting of high importance that had been weeks in planning. Fickleness was not particularly one of Minho's traits. At that, he raised a surprised brow, a mirror to your bewilderment. "You, of course. How could I leave after receiving news of your sudden fainting?"
Oh.
"Still..." you diverted your gaze. He really had taken 'becoming better' seriously. "You should go. I'm all right."
A shrug. "I'm sure the Viscount will understand."
You did not like this turn of events. Abandoning his commitments like this would only do his reputation needless harm. You were sure that he knew that too, but he did not seem to care.
"I appreciate it. I truly do," you started, trying to find the right words, "But I'm fine now, so you should depart soon. You would not want the Viscount to feel unimportant, would you?"
He scoffed in amusement. "I can't honestly say that he ranks high in my list of priorities."
"I'm sorry to say, but your personal priorities are of no concern. It is your reputation you must look after," you told him with furrowed brows, which made him laugh. A short, light sound. "Always so pragmatic, aren't you?"
"Fine," he stood with a sigh and reached for your hand. You let him take it, watching as he pressed a chaste kiss against your knuckles. "I shall leave later tonight, as you wish."
Gently releasing your hand, Minho stepped back and turned toward the door. With the ghost of a smile on his lips, he added, "I will call for the physician to check on you. Please rest well."
"I will. Thank you."
The door closed behind him with a faint click, and you exhaled, long and uneasy.
Today's encounter and the memories that visited you in your unconsciousness were like an unpleasant omen. You needed to keep Minho at a distance for your remaining time here, lest that budding affection haunt him in the future.