"You really are something else." Xerta sighed, patting his own head before sitting on the couch across from me. "Was this all part of your plan?"
"What do you mean?" I replied, playing dumb.
"You broke Leyla's heart. Was that your plan all along?"
I could tell where Xerta's question was heading, but I didn't get why he thought it was some premeditated scheme.
From my perspective, I'd just made a choice based on the situation at hand.
"How is Leyla?" I asked quietly.
"She fell asleep after crying for hours." Xerta exhaled, his expression softening with sorrow.
"How could you do that to her?"
"Aren't you the one who told me to leave her side?"
"Urgh… That was…" Xerta rubbed his temples, visibly frustrated. "Didn't we settle all that? I'm fine with you staying by her side now."
"Even though you know I have feelings for her?" I pressed.
"Yes, even though I know that. I see us as healthy rivals." Then he leaned forward, lowering his voice.
"But I want to clear something up before you misunderstand. First, lean in."
I hesitated, but did as he said, leaning closer.
He whispered, "Leyla and I are only married by contract. It'll last just two years."
That—was surprising.
I mean, why tell me that? In the novel, only he and Leyla ever knew that fact. Was it even allowed to tell me? I'm the second male lead! What if I use this to win Leyla over?
When he pulled back, Xerta was looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite read—guilt? Unease? Either way, he must have known I'd be upset.
"Huft… You don't have to lie to me," I finally said, playing the part of someone who didn't believe a word of it.
I'm sorry, Xerta. But I don't plan on derailing the plot any further. It's preferable to end up with Leyla rather than being bound to the main villain of the novel, Cynthia.
"I get it," I added.
Xerta frowned, biting his lower lip before returning to his usual unreadable expression. "Fine. I was just joking."
"It's not possible," I replied. "The way Leyla looks at you—it's different. It's not how she looks at me."
I stood up. "Well then, I'll take my leave, Lord Xerta."
Xerta's lips moved as if he wanted to speak, but as I pulled open the door, Epsilon stood there, arms crossed, the tap of his foot a staccato rhythm. "Done?" he snapped.
"Yeah... I think." Epsilon's hand on my back propelled me forward. A sharp glance from Epsilon towards Xerta was the only sign he gave.
My thoughts drifted. I craved one last glimpse of Leyla's face, hoping to lessen the guilt. My feet moved on their own until I stood before her door. Epsilon's confusion was evident in his expression.
"What are you waiting for? Go in. This is your room, isn't it? You came for your things, right?"
I shook my head. "No, this isn't my room."
Epsilon seemed to figure out whose room it was, but didn't say anything.
Instead, he just nodded and stepped aside, saying softly, "I'll be over there. Say what you need to say—quickly."
"Thank you, Epsilon."
With a deliberate motion, I slowly pushed the door, so it opened. Inside, Leyla lay sleeping, her eyes swollen, tear trails still faintly visible on the sheets.
The silence in the room pressed on Leyla, each shadow a lurking threat, making her breath hitch as she feigned sleep.
"Leyla… I'm sorry I hurt you."
"I'll try to forget my feelings."
"But I hope… you won't forget me."
I gently brushed a strand of her hair aside, tucking it behind her ear. The setting sun cast long shadows across the room, painting the familiar objects in a warm, melancholic light.
Her face, usually so animated and full of life, was pale and drawn, etched with a weariness I hadn't seen before. The air hung heavy with unspoken words and the remnants of a shattered dream.
Without meaning to, tears welled up and rolled down my cheeks, tracing silent paths through the faint stubble on my face. The sting of them was a physical manifestation of the pain clawing at my insides.
So this is what heartbreak feels like. A crushing weight in the chest, a hollowness that echoes in every breath.
A raw, exposed vulnerability. I quickly wiped them away, ashamed of my weakness, though the gesture did little to stem the flow. The taste of salt lingered on my lips, a bitter reminder of what I had lost.
"I'll come to your wedding with a smile."
I turned to leave, but then—I felt a tug at my sleeve.
"Keith…" Her voice was weak, fragile.
I spun around. She was still asleep. She must be talking in her dream.
I smiled faintly, gently removed her hand from my sleeve, and stepped out of the room.
As I closed the door behind me, I turned to see Epsilon leaning against the wall nearby.
"All done?" he asked as I approached.
I nodded.
"Then let's hurry to your room and grab your stuff. You're wasting my time," he muttered.
We walked to my room together. My bag was still untouched in the corner. I hadn't even unpacked, and now it was already time to leave.
I picked up the bag, and Epsilon raised an eyebrow.
"That's it?"
"Yeah…"
"Pfft. If it's just a small bag, why bother coming back for it? Lady Cynthia's gonna buy you better clothes anyway—made by professional tailors."
"Sure… but memories aren't something you can replace."
I thought back to when I was thirteen—when Leyla gave me my first wooden sword. It was the day I'd officially been recognized as a knight of the Count's estate. The same sword I'd used to take my oath.
My eyes started to sting simply by recalling it.
'Damn it… I've been way too emotional lately.'
"Alright, let's go," Epsilon said. "Give me your hand."
I reached out.
"Teleportation magic…"
'Wait, what? You're teleporting now—'
"Warp!"
'Shit—I wasn't ready—'
In the next instant, we were standing in front of Duke Hemser's residence. Epsilon was fine, of course, but I had collapsed to my knees, my stomach flipping.
"We've arrived," Epsilon said.
I jumped up, shoved his shoulder weakly, and ran to the edge of the road to throw up.
"Hueekkkk—!"
"Eugh… Gross," he muttered.
'Damn it. I'm never doing teleportation again. Ever.'