'He's the man from yesterday.'
I couldn't take my eyes off him.
My mind flickered back to the moment we met—the soft orange poppy he handed me, the warmth of his smile as he tried to earn my trust.
He looked exactly the same. That same genuine expression, that same glint of charm in his eyes.
'It was partially my fault… I sniffed the flower.'
What was his name again?
As if summoned by the thought, the room echoed in formal greeting.
"Good afternoon, Prince of the Ephamour Empire, Denver Achlys."
'Ah. Denver.'
I stared at him, my thoughts painting a bold warning across his face: not trustable.
My gaze sharpened, slowly narrowing as I studied him more closely.
"You should finish the food in your mouth first," he teased suddenly, his voice laced with amusement. "You look like a bunny with those stuffed cheeks. Can't really talk like that, can you?"
He knew. He saw me devouring the table's offerings only seconds before. My throat tightened, both from the food and from his presence.
I couldn't seem to chew properly anymore. My eyes darted to the glass jars across the table—vivid, colorful liquids—but my own cup sat empty. My throat begged for relief, but I hesitated to move. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.
"Please, give the lady a glass of fresh mango juice," he said casually, already leaning back into the chair across from me. "She seems to be having a hard time."
A man in a black suit stepped forward, lifting one of the jars and carefully pouring the golden juice into my cup. Bits of mango and apple floated to the surface like petals drifting on water.
Prince Denver sat across from me, calm and unbothered. He slouched just enough to seem relaxed, but I knew it was intentional. Everything about him felt… deliberate.
The servant finished pouring and passed the cup to me.
Without thinking, I grabbed it and took a long drink. The fruity sweetness washed away the tightness in my throat. I didn't stop until it was gone.
Only when I set it down did I let out a deep sigh, a bit louder than I meant to.
Relief flooded my chest.
And when I looked back up, there he was.
That same green tuxedo.
Those mischievous eyes, watching me.
"Is the lady feeling better now that she's had her breakfast?" he asked smoothly, crossing one leg over the other, one hand resting on his knee, the other draped lazily behind him. "Did the lady sleep well last night?"
I hid my hands under the table, curling them into quiet fists. His voice was too calm. Too charming. It was like he was trying to lower my guard, to make me comfortable before I could remember why I shouldn't be.
He waited, and when I didn't answer, he gave a playful sigh.
"I'll take that as a yes," he said, suddenly pitching his voice higher—mocking, childlike. "Of course, I had a great morning!"
He fluttered his fingers dramatically in the air, mimicking my nonexistent cheerfulness.
It made me look away instantly, eyes falling to the floor.
I didn't like it.
Not because he made fun of me—because he was enjoying himself. And I didn't know why.
"Well," he added with a light chuckle, "I thought that might earn a smile. Seems I've only embarrassed myself."
Despite his words, his smile didn't waver. He watched me still, patiently. Waiting.
I stayed quiet. I didn't know what to say, even though—earlier this morning—I had wanted to talk to him. I had questions. Questions only he could answer.
But now… now he just seemed to be playing a game.
And I wasn't sure if I wanted to play.
"If the lady allows me," he said, tone shifting just slightly, "I'd like to talk about how my morning went."
'That was… unexpected.'
I blinked. 'He came all this way just to talk about his morning?'
I glanced down at the plate in front of him, then at the rich green fabric of his jacket, hoping for some kind of clue about what he was really here for.
But he just smiled—both hands now resting gently on his knee—and waited.
Silent. Still. Expecting.
I realized then… he was waiting for me to speak.
"Ah—yes," I replied quickly, almost too quickly.
He gave a soft hum, like he was trying to decide if my answer satisfied him or not.
"Well," he began, tone light but with a hint of weariness, "I woke up after just one hour of sleep. Couldn't really rest. Some troubling matters—well, you know how it is."
He chuckled under his breath.
"Skipped breakfast to get ahead on some reports. Spent a good two hours with my uncle going over a… rather strange case. Exhausting, really. After that, I had to meet with the Imperial Knights, planning out a few things."
He leaned back slightly, then exhaled as if finishing the list let some weight off his chest.
"And after all of that, I came here. To see you."
Without missing a beat, he reached toward a plate I hadn't noticed until now and picked up a spoon. A small, elegant cake sat before him—white layers, with a glaze of bright yellow across the top. He began to carefully slice into it.
"This," he said, with a smile, "is my favorite cake. Lemon velvet. A perfect balance—the dense tartness of lemon with just enough sweet vanilla frosting to smooth it out. And what luck—it's placed exactly in front of me. A sign, don't you think?"
The spoon carved through the soft cake, revealing pale yellow layers with tiny flecks of lemon and cream. He took a bite, savoring it.
"Do you have a favorite dish, dear?" he asked, casually dabbing a bit of frosting from the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
"…Iced tea," I said.
"Oh?" His eyes lit up. "Not a dish, but a drink? What kind of iced tea?"
"I like any kind. The flavor doesn't matter. I just… like iced tea."
It was true. Every version I'd tried was pleasant in its own way. A couple of days ago, Sir Exios brewed one made from roses. It had been light, floral, with a bitter-sweet aftertaste—perfect after lunch or dinner. He often prepared different blends. I liked them all.
"And food? Any meal you go wild for?" he asked, tapping the side of his plate. "Something you'd love like I love this lemon velvet?"
I paused, thinking. At the tavern, I'd always finished every dish Sir Exios prepared. They were delicious, comforting… but I couldn't think of a favorite. Nothing stood out as the one.
"I don't think I have a favorite dish."
Denver's fork scraped gently across the plate as he took the final slice of his cake, leaving only a smear of frosting behind.
"I see." He wiped his hands delicately, then brightened. "Oh—would you like to try it?"
Before I could respond, the man in the black suit standing behind him stepped forward and silently placed the plate in front of me. The last slice rested there—half frosting, half cake—like an unspoken offering.
I stared at it. Then at him.
I hadn't meant to make it obvious, but I knew the expression on my face said everything I was thinking. I looked at him carefully, suspicious. I hadn't looked him in the eye this whole time until now.
And now that I did—I saw it. The mischief. The amusement. The knowing smirk.
"Is there a problem?" he asked lightly.
'A problem?
Yes. This entire thing is the problem.'
I continued to stare at the cake, trying to decide what he wanted from me.
He let out a soft laugh. "Oh, I assure you, the cake is exquisite—"
Then he stopped mid-sentence, almost as if something finally clicked.
He sighed. Closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were softer. Less performative.
"Ah. Right," he said quietly. "I must've frightened you."
There was an honest note in his voice this time.
"I forgot about that part for a second. I'm… sorry."
His laugh this time was small and dry. "The orange poppy. Of course. You probably have a grudge against me now. I wouldn't blame you—I wouldn't trust me either."
He leaned to the side and tilted his head lazily.
"Yes, I tricked you. I shouldn't have. I did put you to sleep with that flower… and brought you here without asking. That was wrong."
Then, with a completely unapologetic shrug, he added, "Honestly, I also did it because I hate when children cry or scream. I just—really don't like kids."
A crooked smile crossed his face.
"But you're not like that. You didn't scream when I found you hiding in the closet. You didn't fight me. You didn't even throw a tantrum. You just… behaved."
He pointed at me lightly, spoon still in his hand.
"You did exactly what I hoped for—unintentionally, of course. You sniffed the flower. You fell asleep. And even after everything, here you are. Sitting in front of me. Quiet. Confused, maybe even angry—but calm."
His smile widened just a little.
"I expected you to cry, or shout, or throw that chair at me. But instead… you just look at me with those quiet, confused eyes."
He paused, something unreadable flickering across his expression.
"Unusual reaction for someone who's been kidnapped, don't you think?"
His gaze narrowed slightly—not sharply, but just enough for me to notice. There was something else behind those words. A thought he wasn't saying out loud.
"Or is this," he murmured, more to himself than to me, "something you're doing… on purpose?"
He wasn't even looking at me anymore.
His eyes had drifted to the space just beside me, as if searching for something invisible—something he almost recognized, but couldn't quite grasp.
He stayed silent for a moment, eyes distant. I wasn't sure what he meant by what he said earlier—but I took a breath and pushed myself to speak.
"Ms. Vesta told me…" I began, my voice quiet, "that you could answer my questions."
A small cough escaped me right after, too nervous to hold it back.
As soon as I spoke, his gaze returned to me—sharp and focused.
"All your questions?" he echoed, amused. "Well, that depends on what those questions are."
I swallowed. My eyes wandered for a moment, chasing after the scattered thoughts in my head. So many questions had swirled through me earlier, but now they scattered like leaves caught in wind. Still, I managed to catch one.
Just one.
I clenched my hands under the table, and with as much steadiness as I could, I asked the most basic one.
"…Why am I here?"
Simple. Direct. If I asked all of them at once, he might not answer any.
He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he adjusted the sleeves of his green tuxedo like he had all the time in the world. Only after a few long seconds passed did he finally speak.
"Mhm… do you remember how I said I barely slept last night?" he said smoothly. "That I spent two hours talking with my uncle about a strange, troubling matter?"
I nodded slowly.
"Well," he continued, resting an elbow on the table, "you're the reason."
I blinked.
"You, dear, are the cause of all the panic in the Imperial Palace right now."
A simple question, and yet his answer only led to more questions.
"…What do you—I don't understand," I murmured.
He leaned forward, arms now resting fully on the table, voice lowering just a touch.
"What is it you don't understand?"
I hesitated. "I don't understand how I'm… connected to all of this."
He sighed, as if this were the start of a long explanation.
"All right then. Let's take it piece by piece," he said, tapping a finger on the table thoughtfully. "Do you remember a meadow filled with violet spider lilies?"
The image came rushing back—so clearly it was as if I was standing there again.
The place I first opened my eyes.
The wind brushing against the violet petals, the still lake glowing just beyond them.
"…Yes," I said quietly. "I remember."
"Good. Then let's start there," he said. "Can you tell me what happened? Why were you there?"
I let out a small sigh. My gaze flicked down to the edge of the table.
"I… I woke up there," I answered honestly. "I didn't know where I was. There were the violet lilies and a large lake. I tried to stand but I didn't realize I was on the edge of a cliff. I lost balance and fell."
He nodded as if he already knew.
"And how," he asked next, "did you survive that fall?"
I paused. Something in me tensed. I didn't want to say it. I didn't want to put him in trouble.
I had to protect Sir Exios.
"…Someone saved me," I said, leaving it vague on purpose.
He raised a brow, the corners of his lips curling upward.
"Oh—you mean uncle?" he said with a teasing lilt.
"…Uncle?" The word caught me off guard.
"You don't call him that?" His voice was full of amusement now.
"Who…?"
"Uncle Exios," he said, grinning as if revealing a long-kept secret.
A thud echoed inside my chest.
I stared at him, stunned.
'Uncle Exios…?'
My hands, which had been tightly clenched, slowly loosened.
That name echoed in my thoughts over and over again, like a soft bell that wouldn't stop ringing.
He looked at me as if reading my expression.
"I guess you didn't know," he said casually, shrugging. "Well, you didn't have to know. Just a fun little fact. My uncle tends to hide who he really is."
He chuckled under his breath, giving me a look that made something twist inside me.
The food on the table had gone cold.
"So," he went on, stretching slightly, "you fell… and my uncle caught you."
A grin escaped from his mouth.
"But let's go back," he said. "To the moment you woke up. Do you remember how you got there in the first place? Why were you sleeping in that field?"
His tone had shifted. A little less playful. A little more curious.
"It must've been freezing cold at night," he added, casually grabbing a nearby glass and giving it a light shake.
The man in the black suit moved quickly, stepping forward to refill it without a word.
The sound of the liquid being poured into the glass felt like it was echoing inside my head—like it was seeping into the quiet, hollow places where thoughts used to be.
I stared blankly ahead. My mind wasn't fully here. Everything around me was happening, and yet I felt strangely disconnected from it all.
Once the glass was filled, the man in black placed it gently on the table in front of Prince Denver.
"Mhm," Denver hummed, eyeing me. "You're probably trying to figure out how to explain the long journey you've had, aren't you? Or maybe you've decided not to speak at all?"
He lifted the glass and took a drink, then sighed like he was carrying the weight of too many things.
"It'd be nice if you shared something with me," he said casually. "Might even help me finally get some sleep."
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
It wasn't that I didn't want to—it was like my thoughts were floating too far away from my mouth. I could hear every word he said, but none of it quite landed.
Still staring at the space between us, not daring to meet his eyes, I finally spoke.
"When I woke up…" I said slowly, "my memory was gone. Everything I knew about myself, everything I should've remembered—it wasn't there anymore."
I paused, steadying my voice.
"I don't know who I am. Or how I got here. I don't know what happened before I opened my eyes that day."
It was the truth. But would he believe me?
He tilted his head slightly.
"Memory loss?" he repeated, raising a brow. "That would make a very convenient excuse."
As expected—he didn't believe me.
He stayed quiet for a moment, then took another long sip from his glass.
"Let's say, just for fun, that you really did lose your memory." He placed the empty glass down. "Do you remember anything at all? Even just fragments? Like… do you remember what kind of core is inside of you?"
"…Core?" I blinked. My brows knitted together in confusion.
"Yes," he said, watching me carefully now. "Your core. Do you know what it is?"
"I… I don't know what that means."
His expression dimmed slightly.
"Oh." He leaned back in his chair. "Well, that might be troublesome."
He let out a soft, almost disappointed sigh.
"I see. So, you're not willing to tell me anything."
"I already told you," I said, looking straight at him, "I don't remember anything."
He smiled—reckless and dismissive.
"Even so, I doubt you'd tell me the truth if you did."
A sigh escaped my lips, louder than I meant. I rubbed at my brow, tired. Tired of dancing in circles. Tired of questions without answers.
There were so many things I still didn't understand, and none of them were being explained.
"Would you at least tell me what's happening?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "What is this case I'm supposedly tied to? What's a core? Where is Sir Exios? What happened to Ms. Crimson?"
Prince Denver didn't flinch.
"Dear," he said smoothly, "why don't we make this a fair trade? I'll answer your questions—if you start answering mine properly."
"I did answer them," I said firmly, frustration rising in my chest.
He gave a soft chuckle, tilting his head.
"Those weren't real answers. They could be true, or they could be lies. So, until you start telling me what really happened, I won't be answering yours."
His smile stayed in place, almost teasing.
I clenched my hands under the table.
"What am I supposed to do then?" I said, my voice rising. "I can't remember anything. That's the truth."
He didn't argue. Just quietly drained the rest of his drink.
After a pause, he sighed, setting the glass back on the table with a soft clink.
"Very well," he said, leaning back. "Then we'll just have to wait. Maybe your memories will return on their own."
There was something almost too calm in the way he said it.
"But don't worry. I'll have someone come by to help… stimulate them."
He reached for his wrist and pulled back the sleeve of his tuxedo, revealing a sleek silver-black watch.
"And while we wait," he added, eyes flickering down to the ticking hands of the watch, "I'll be keeping a close eye on you."
He tapped the watch face once.
"Your mana and energy are unstable—faint, erratic. My uncle must've done something to cloak it. Clever of him… though I'm not sure how."
His voice trailed off into a hum, like he was already calculating something.
"Five minutes," he said. "Then I'll have to check how things are going."
That same smile was still on his face.
It never faded—not once. Not even now.
He waited, as if expecting me to say something. But I couldn't. I just sat there, staring.
Speechless.
'If he won't answer my questions… then there's nothing left for me to ask.'
At that point, I just wanted him to leave.
He hummed thoughtfully, his fingers adjusting his sleeve like he was trying to fill the silence.
"Well, if your memories really are gone," he finally said, "then I suppose you deserve to know the basics."
His voice dropped just slightly, as if this part was meant to sound more sincere.
"I'll send someone later. An expert. He'll explain what a core is. Properly. As if you're back in school, sitting in front of a passionate professor who can't stop talking about his favorite subject."
He stood and brushed a few imaginary creases off his suit.
"I'll take my leave now. It's nearly lunchtime anyway… though I think this feast could count as brunch."
He gestured toward the table, where most of the food sat untouched.
"The workers here will heat up the meals for you, so eat something. Don't let it go to waste."
Then, just like that, he turned and walked off—with that same smile still stretched across his lips.
As his figure faded into the greenery of the greenhouse, the servants quietly began reheating the dishes. No one spoke.
He had left.
But the feeling he brought with him—the unease—remained.
---
Denver walked through the winding path of the greenhouse, heading toward the exit.
Each step was quiet, steady, intentional. His expression unreadable. But inside, his thoughts weren't still.
They were spinning.
'She's telling the truth.'
He remembered the moment he subtly activated his ability—his unique power to sense the nature of someone's consciousness. It wasn't just about reading emotions. It was about knowing—deep down—when someone was lying.
And when Liliana spoke, the power detected no lies.
'Good thing I trained this skill. Without it, I probably would've believed she was hiding something.'
Years of careful study, years spent fine-tuning his ability—it had finally paid off.
But even so, he couldn't relax.
'Still... I need to be cautious. Her memories may be gone now, but that could change. Any moment.'
He let the thought settle.
Or worse—
'She could be faking it. Her memories might be fully intact... and she's just hiding everything from me. It's possible she's bypassing my ability altogether.'
He frowned to himself.
'But to fool my detection, you'd need a rare type of high-level power. Something most people don't have. Could a child really manage that?'
A pause in his step. His gaze sharpened.
'Then again… she's not just any child. She's something else.'
And now, to confirm the rest of the pieces—
'I'll need to question Uncle. And Crimson Ardit.'