Chapter 9: 9
Minori had been Bertille.
Even if such a thing was said suddenly, it was only natural that they could not understand it, and even if they grasped the meaning of the words, it was only natural that they could not believe it.
Their confusion only deepened further.
The one who recovered first from the shock of Bertille’s statement and demanded an explanation was, as expected, the eldest present—Leandre.
“What are you saying?”
A faint crease formed between Leandre’s brows as he looked at her with suspicion.
“While I was asleep for about half a year, she possessed this body. The amnesia was a lie—my very self had been replaced.”
“Possession?”
“Yes. Since the mechanism of transfer from another world is unknown, this is merely speculation, but perhaps her soul came here first due to some influence. It may have sought a vessel and just happened to enter my body, which was on the verge of death.”
After reading books about magic and otherworlders and considering various possibilities, Bertille had arrived at this conclusion.
Combined with her earlier assumption that her consciousness returned and Minori’s soul was expelled, it seemed consistent enough that it might actually be correct.
“So the healing power belongs to her, and I am not a magician.”
After Bertille declared this, Tristan let out a scoffing, “…Hah.”
“That otherworlder was Bertille? There’s no way that’s true.”
“Yeah. If it were ancient times when magic was everywhere, it wouldn’t be strange for there to be magic that takes over someone else’s body, but…”
Tristan and Casimir voiced their disbelief.
Yet their expressions revealed considerable agitation.
And at the way they phrased it—taking over—Minori was clearly hurt, though Casimir did not seem to notice.
“If this had not happened to me, I would have dismissed it as absurd at first as well.”
Perhaps, just perhaps.
That small thought had taken root in them and was gradually growing.
“Whether you believe it or not is irrelevant. I have merely stated what happened and my interpretation of its cause.”
No matter how much they denied it, the fact that Minori had possessed Bertille would not change.
To deliver the decisive blow, Bertille turned to Eustache.
“Your Highness, did you not feel a sense of familiarity in her behavior? Speech and mannerisms do not change so easily.”
“That is…”
“For someone who had just arrived in this country, she should not have known certain things… for example, did she ever casually mention your preferences in food? Or perhaps let slip something about the Raspede household? There must have been such moments, no?”
As if recalling something, Eustache’s eyes widened, and he slowly turned toward Minori.
When their gazes met, Minori’s shoulders trembled.
“Are you… ‘Bertille’?”
Minori neither confirmed nor denied it, but she averted her gaze with a conflicted expression.
That reaction alone was enough for everyone to understand.
Though the atmosphere was somewhat peculiar, it resembled a reunion of lovers.
In reality, they had never been in a relationship, and Minori had been avoiding Eustache’s feelings.
Eustache, too, seemed unable to press forward, perhaps because he was aware of how terrible his past behavior had been.
Those memories existed within Bertille.
Memories of two people who had realized they were drawn to each other, yet never exchanged definitive words.
Minori, who had come from another world, and the fiancée who had lost her memory.
Since they were the same person, there was no doubt that there were overlapping aspects when Eustache spent time with Minori.
There must have been something that drew him in.
That was why he had reacted so excessively earlier.
Being pointed out about being with Minori had made him hastily insist they were not alone, likely out of a sense of guilt from being conscious of her.
It had been about three weeks since Bertille regained consciousness.
And a little over two weeks since the otherworlder Minori had appeared.
It was not difficult to imagine what Eustache had been feeling when his fiancée refused to see him.
While overwhelmed with anxiety and fear at being hated by his fiancée, he may have begun to overlap her image with that of a woman he had only recently met, struggling with the thought of what a terrible man he was.
“—Heh, heh heh…”
Breaking through the strange atmosphere was Bertille’s laughter.
Even as attention turned toward her, she paid it no mind, laughing with genuine amusement, elegant yet unrestrained.
“The woman who gave birth to me died, so from the moment I was born, I was a criminal. Everything about me was denied. I was unnecessary. And yet… when the person inside changed, I was accepted so easily? Was it because it was ‘me’ that I was not forgiven?”
“Bertille…”
“Seventeen years. Seventeen years. And she overturned it in just half a year. …No, that’s not right. It didn’t even take two months for everyone to accept her. I remember it clearly. I have the memories.”
It was disgusting, disgusting, utterly disgusting.
The memories of another, their changes—everything was unbearable.
“You would not even hold a proper conversation with me, yet Your Highness took an interest in her and even fell in love. Even though you recognized her as me.”
Fixing Minori at the center of her gaze, Bertille laughed again before continuing as if speaking to herself.
“I really was unnecessary, wasn’t I?”
Eustache’s face was filled with regret.
Leandre was still unreadable, but her brothers were the same.
That only made Bertille feel even more miserable.
“Bertille… Lady Bertille, to you—”
“How fortunate for you, Your Highness.”
Eustache had tried to say something, but Bertille, having no intention of listening any further, smiled beautifully.
Interrupting a royal was, by all rights, an unforgivable act of disrespect.
But such things no longer mattered.
Bertille had always been treated lightly.
Even if he maintained appearances in public, when they were alone, he had never shown her even the minimum respect owed to a fiancée.
Then it should be permissible for her to cast aside all courtesy as well.
That very relationship was what their engagement had always been to him—a political arrangement he had no choice but to accept.
“The one you loved was not me, but her. Your feelings were never directed at me, not even for a moment. Are you relieved to know that you are not a fickle man? Then quickly annul your engagement with me and marry her as you please.”
Why had she been so fixated on a man like this?
That day—when their engagement was decided and they first met—she should have cut him off immediately.
On that day when her expectations were shattered, she should have given up on everything.
If she had faced the reality without averting her eyes, acknowledging that this man was no different from the people of the Raspede household, she would not have been hurt this deeply.
She should have accepted reality when her disappointment and despair were still small.
Bertille Raspede was never a princess bathed in light.
She had only ever been an unwanted presence.
A fairytale prince had never existed for her.