You Said You Wanted Us to Break Up - Chapter 110

Inside a forest densely packed with trees,

Iswen Rowen limped up the hill. In the distance, he could see a small cabin and his knights guarding the perimeter. He had already received a report that only a single corpse remained inside. However, to conduct a proper investigation, he had to examine the situation with his own eyes.

As he reached the front of the cabin, a knight opened the door for him. Simultaneously, the stench of death wafted out. It was the smell emanating from a man slumped on the cabin floor, rotting away into a soft, decomposing mass. The man, decaying alongside the insects of the forest with his back turned upward, was someone he already knew: Paydon Hale.

Casting a fleeting glance at him, Iswen entered the house. The knight in charge of the investigation followed him in and explained,

“Those stationed at the harbor report they have found no suspicious traces.”

He was referring to the men pursuing the person who had been staying in this cabin.

“The possibility of them not having left the country is high. Search the interior of the nation more thoroughly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Iswen waved his hand at the bowing knight. Understanding that he wished to look around alone, the knight stepped back.

Inside the house, where the revolting smell vibrated through the air, Iswen slowly scanned his surroundings. He took in every detail of the space, which bore distinct traces of recent occupancy.

The Emperor’s voice echoed in his mind.

‘I mean for you to bring me evidence that your father is certainly dead.’

It had become certain that he could satisfy that absurd demand. Nevertheless, he felt terribly disgusted. Iswen frowned, his forehead throbbing with pain.

Having finished his observation, he turned his back on the corpse and the stench. He issued an order as he stepped out of the cabin.

“We are returning to the manor.”

He needed to go back first to clear his head and then devise another plan.

However, the moment he reached the entrance of the Rowen manor, Iswen faced a situation that made his head throb in a different way.

His two younger siblings were waiting for him right at the entrance of the estate. Iella stood there with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed sharply.

“So, you’ve returned?”

Her irritation was evident even in the way she held her arms. Beside her, Demian was hunched over, his eyes darting around nervously.

Iswen narrowed his eyes, feeling a subtle sense of anxiety triggered by the difference in their attitudes. Just as he was about to interrogate Demian with a look, Iella, still fixing him with a sharp gaze, spoke up.

“We need to talk.”

* * *

Making Demian talk while Iswen wasn’t around to control him hadn’t been that difficult.

After I got angry about him hiding things again and threatened him a few times—telling him things would get very unpleasant otherwise—the man finally spat out the truth.

“We dug them out right before we started the rebellion.”

After admitting that he had sacrificed his own sight, Demian added an explanation.

“If the body part that was first placed under the ‘Binding’ loses its function, the Binding itself loses its power. In Brother’s case, it was his leg.”

“…I can’t believe Mother left behind such a thing.”

“If she hadn’t, Father would have tried to commit even worse atrocities.”

Demian shrugged.

“Stepmother did those things to protect us.”

But Iswen and Demian had already suffered injuries that would never disappear. All while I grew up without even knowing that something like a ‘binding’ existed.

It wasn’t a difficult situation to judge for anyone with a brain, yet Demian didn’t show even a hint of resentment until the very end.

“It was only because that creature of a father was greedy. It was absolutely not Stepmother’s fault.”

“…”

“And of course, it isn’t your fault, either.”

After that, I chewed over Demian’s words repeatedly until Iswen returned. I asked myself, why did they have to resist Father so violently?

No one can defeat the passage of time. Father would have eventually been forced to step down from his position. Iswen would have sat in his place. Had they waited, they could have inherited Father’s power entirely without suffering such permanent injuries.

Of course, by then, I would have been sold off to Litherin or Raslet, living like the dead, having given up on everything.

Ending my brief reflection, I stared at Iswen, who was sitting before me. We were currently seated across from each other in his drawing room, as I had demanded we talk the moment he stepped foot back in the manor.

I spoke to the man who was hiding his anxiety beneath a face as cold as a silver mask.

“I heard why you injured your leg.”

Iswen gave no answer. However, judging by the slight furrow of his brow, I could guess that Demian was in for a severe scolding once this conversation ended.

Instead of saying anything that would get Demian into more trouble, I brought up a question I had asked once before.

“Please tell me Mother’s name.”

“I cannot.”

As if worried his firm refusal might have stung, Iswen flinched slightly before adding,

“It is not because I am disregarding you.”

“…”

“If you want a portrait, I will give you one. I can also tell you where her grave was relocated. But I cannot tell you more than that yet.”

“Then will you tell me later?”

Iswen hesitated for a moment before nodding.

“There are still things left to settle. Once those are resolved, I will tell you.”

It wouldn’t do any good to pester Iswen to find out what he refused to say; unlike Demian, he wouldn’t budge.

“I understand,” I replied.

As I answered obediently, the man’s expression softened slightly. Having faced him several times now, I had become able to read the minute changes in his face. I scanned his features before bringing up my next piece of business.

“Aside from that, there is something else I’d like to ask of you.”

“Speak.”

“I want to find my maid’s family.”

Finding Apple’s family was a promise I had made to her back at Raslet.

“I know we tried before and didn’t see any results. But I want to try again.”

“I will send out men,” he answered instantly, without a trace of hesitation.

He was completely different from how he used to be. If Demian’s logic held true, then now that Father was dead, this version of Iswen was his most truthful self.

If that were the case, there was something I had to ask.

“Do you remember the overcoat I ordered along with my wedding dress?”

It was a white fur coat, color-matched to the dress.

Iswen nodded. “I remember.”

Even though I had guessed he wouldn’t have forgotten, my mouth felt dry now that it was time to actually speak. It was because I was digging into an old wound.

I swallowed hard and asked him,

“Why did you give that to the late Crown Prince?”

I still remember that day. The hostility in the eyes of those watching me, and the way my husband’s face instantly froze.

The sharp voice that had fallen coldly over my head:

“Your friendship must have been quite deep.”

Throughout my three years of marriage, I had ruminated on that moment countless times.

It was because I wondered if Sioden and I could have been at least slightly more amicable if that incident hadn’t happened on our very first day. Since it had been a long time since I had any lingering feelings about the marriage, I no longer entertained such “what-ifs,” but I still wanted to know what had occurred back then.

Instead of answering immediately, Iswen stared at me intently. Unlike before, his golden eyes didn’t feel cold, making them easy to meet.

* * *

Iswen Rowen still remembered that day vividly.

It was the day the Crown Prince—a man whose mind and body were equally dissolute—had finally barged into the Rowen manor. The man couldn’t bring himself to confront his own father, who had ordered the marriage, so he instead ambushed Iswen’s younger sister to whine. Iswen could not tolerate him any longer.

That was why he had specifically requested an audience with the Crown Prince while the man was in the middle of talking to Iella.

After summoning the Crown Prince, Iswen spoke to him indirectly.

“Your Highness, my sister is getting married soon.”

“I know. Is that not why I have grown so thin?”

The replying voice was light. Iswen’s jaw tightened instinctively. Had this man ever truly felt heartbreak?

Even if he tried to remain stoic, every time he saw the Crown Prince, anger surged within him at the man’s frivolity and pampered naivety. He felt this way because he knew the prince looked down on his youngest sister, viewing her as nothing more than a pet.

The Crown Prince, for whom life had been infinitely easy, continued to prattle on without reservation.

“Your family is truly close-knit. It’s like a fable from an enlightenment book—a daughter sacrificing herself for her father’s illness.”

“…”

“If I were to inherit the throne, I could easily cure that heart disease of his.”

However, the throne would never belong to that man. Late at night, having escaped surveillance while his father slept, the Imperial Princess had told him:

“Join hands with me, Young Lord Rowen.”

What the princess spoke of was the subversion of the state. Iswen intended to make that happen by any means necessary. After all, wasn’t that why he had set the board to sell his sister off to their enemy’s house?

“I understand that Your Highness is heartbroken,” Iswen replied, even as he thought that to use a word like ‘heartbreak,’ one ought to feel a pain as though their intestines were being severed. “However, as the matter is already decided, I would be grateful if you could show your great magnanimity and wish for peace in her future.”

The Crown Prince curved his thin lips. “Peace, you say?”

Iswen bowed his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”

The curve of the lips of the man looking down at him deepened. “I think I’ll have to discuss that with your father.”

It didn’t take long for Iswen to realize what those words meant.

“His Grace took it,” came the report.

The fur coat for Iella that Iswen had entrusted to the sewing room had fallen into the hands of the Crown Prince. Later, the aide he had sent to the wedding returned and reported:

“The fur coat had gold buttons engraved with the Imperial crest attached to it.”

It was clearly a scheme concocted by his father—who deserved to die—and the Crown Prince, working hand in hand.

Since it had already happened, there was nothing to be done. Even knowing this, Iswen could not sleep for several nights. He wanted to rush out that very moment and strangle both men. It was a vengeful impulse toward those who sought to tear apart something infinitely precious to him as if it were a toy.

But he could do nothing.

The reason was clear. Though he truly possessed nothing of his own, he had far too much to lose.

* * *

After a brief silence, Iswen spoke.

“It was Father who handed the fur coat to the late Crown Prince.”

Even as he said it, the explanation wasn’t yet complete.

“…But you were the one who took the overcoat in the first place, Brother.”

“I intended to hide a check inside it.”

“A check?”

“I couldn’t trust the person managing your cash, so I prepared it so you would have funds to use separately.”

“…”

“In the haste of the moment, I tucked it elsewhere, but I heard Ian failed to deliver the message to you.”

At those words, a memory suddenly flashed back—the moment just before I entered the wedding hall, when Ian had tried to tell me something.

“The Young Duke told me to tell you…”

At the time, I assumed Iswen was sending someone to keep me in line even at the last minute, so I hadn’t let him finish.

“I’ve already heard enough,” I had said.

Should I have listened to him then?

I felt something bitter and aching well up inside. It was a feeling for which “regret” was the only fitting word, though considering it now was utterly useless. Moving my stiff neck to ease the tension, I spoke.

“…Where was the new location?”

“Do you remember the jewelry you wore at the wedding?”

“Mother’s heirlooms?”

Iswen gave a sharp nod.

“Rip open the velvet lining inside the case that holds those jewels.”