The two were alone in the chapel now.
Arnold broke the silence first. "I believe I told you the same thing, Rishe."
That's right, I wasn't supposed to talk to Theodore either.
"He used your name to summon me—I couldn't just ignore it. And I expected that you'd find time in your busy schedule to accompany me."
"As if I would ignore the reply to a letter I never even sent."
It made sense. After receiving Theodore's forged letter, Rishe had summoned Elsie and written a reply; Thank you for the invitation, Your Highness. I shall conduct myself to the chapel at 9:30 tonight, as you have specified.
She'd given herself a half hour alone with Theodore, but Arnold had arrived fifteen minutes early.
I'm thankful he did. I just wish he hadn't had to hear his brother slander him.
"Something wrong?"
Rishe began to shake her head but stopped. Maybe she could just ask. "Why did he say those things about you? That you're ruthless."
Arnold glanced away briefly. "Probably because it's true. I've killed countless people on the battlefield. I am not…delicate in my manner. My brutality is known far and wide."
I know that. That's not what I meant.
"I could learn that anywhere." Rishe said.
"Then what is it you want to know?"
She wasn't sure how to word this. "Your heart." This was something only Arnold could tell her.
"My…heart?"
"I have heard of your many great feats during the previous war. And I've seen what you were like in battle when those bandits attacked our carriage. But you didn't kill them."
Rishe's theory at the time had been that it was because they'd been attacked by foreign countrymen. But she doubted that the diabolical Emperor Arnold Hein of her memory would care about that. But after weeks of observation, she wasn't sure of anything anymore.
"I was wondering what you were talking about." A shadow fell over his blue eyes. "It appears I've gone too easy on you."
Arnold reached toward her, and his black-gloved hand slowly wrapped around her neck.
"If you want to survive in this palace, you'll disabuse yourself of this naivete." His fingers dug into her throat. It was only a threat of pressure, but it would take only a bit more to strangle her.
And yet, Rishe was unafraid. "I believe in my own observations and conclusions."
"What are you saying? You've never seen me on the battlefield."
"Be that as it may," Rishe said, "I believe that the person who cares about my desires is the real you."
"What a foolish thing to say," he said in a low, husky voice. "I brought you here to use you."
"All the more so, then, if that's the case." Rishe gently placed her hand on top of his. She didn't try to pull it away—instead she pressed down, exerting pressure on her own throat.
"You aren't ruthless at all, husband."
Arnold grimaced, breathing out a huff of annoyance. She expected him to push her away, but they just stood there, eyes locked. The moment stretched on, neither of them moving.
It was Arnold who broke the silence. "Where does this confidence come from? This determination?"
Rishe frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Sometimes you get this look in your eye. Like you're meeting me in the field."
It was as if he were looking through her to the past. Rishe could say nothing.
Arnold took his hand from her neck, cupping her cheek instead. The moonlight shone through the stained-glass window, casting the shadow of his lashes over his face. He brushed his thumb against the corner of her eye.
"You have the gaze of someone ready to die for what she believes in, who will fight for it with every last breath. You look like…someone who still believes life is worth living."
Rishe found herself unable to move. All she could do was look up at Arnold.
In her eyes, Arnold seemed to be gazing past her, to wars fought long ago, far away. Perhaps he was seeing the faces of the people he had killed.
"Having to end the life of someone like that," he said, "is what I fear most in the world."
Rishe didn't say a word. So, he was afraid.
Sometimes. She knew it. She'd known it all along. No matter what the past contained, or the future held, the man who stood before her was not a merciless killer.
"I…" Rishe swallowed, finding her voice again. "Sometimes, I feel like I don't belong in this world anymore."
It was an incoherent confession, but she said it anyway. She didn't know how else to answer his question.
He waited for her to continue. Rishe pushed herself on, adding lies to the truth she couldn't offer him. "I've had dreams of…watching myself die. But I'm not dreaming now. I'm here, breathing and alive. But despite knowing I'm awake, I am still very afraid sometimes."
"What are you afraid of?"
Rishe breathed out. "That—that I'm already dead. That my life ended in that instant and this world is nothing but an endless dream."
As soon as she spoke, Rishe felt a hard pressure on her chest. What's this I'm feeling?
Instantly, it clicked: She wasn't lying. Deep down, there was a part of her that believed this. She didn't want this life to end in death. Her seventh life would be the one she survived. She wanted to do her best to keep on living.
But she'd thought that in her past lives as well. She'd lived through the second and third, the fourth, the fifth and sixth life—always with that truth lurking in the innermost depths of her heart. No matter what she did, in five years, it would all be over. Perhaps this world wasn't even real. And once her thoughts drifted in that direction, all she felt was paralyzing fear.
Stop it.
Rishe squeezed her eyes shut. The fear means nothing. I'll turn it into strength. It doesn't matter.
Fear crept up on you faster the longer you stood still, so she looked up at Arnold again.
"I've made up my mind," she told Arnold. "I don't care if this life is a dream or if I'm destined for some awful end—I won't run away."
"Rishe…"
"I'm not what you think," she said. "I'm not a warrior. But I am resolute in my determination to be your wife."
Destiny would likely never lead her down this path again. After living her life over and over again, she'd experienced firsthand how difficult it was to force events to play out identically. Rishe had to do her utmost now. To stop the war, to save herself.
And to save Arnold, who might not desire a future soaked in blood after all.
"That's why I want to understand your heart," she added.
He let out a short scornful laugh, almost inhuman. His hand slid from her cheek down to her chin. With his other arm, he drew her close by her waist.
Then a pair of soft lips met hers.
Rishe gasped into his kiss, mind struggling to keep up. An eternity seemed to pass before he drew away. He whispered, "You're a fool."
But his voice was gentle, full of sympathy, as if he were trying to persuade a child. And it was with a distinct note of loneliness that he said, "You don't need to be resolute to become my wife."