Whom to Kill First

The flower field, its storm clouds departed, rippled once more in perfumed color, as if trying to erase the commotion that had just passed.

We stood beneath the tree, facing each other. The man, still rubbing at his newly freed wrists, extended a hand toward me.

"You and I are contracted partners. I will do everything in my power to help you achieve what you desire."

"……"

"And I promise you this: until the day your purpose is fulfilled, I will never bring you harm."

I placed my hand quietly atop his outstretched palm and nodded.

"The price of the contract, as I said, is your soul. And with each revenge completed, I'll take a portion of it. That's acceptable, yes?"

"……Fine."

"Anything else to add?"

"No."

"Good. Then the contract is sealed."

The moment he finished speaking, a small pattern rose to the surface of my hand—a seal shaped like a white magnolia. It glimmered faintly for an instant, then quietly faded away.

"That's it?"

"That's it. See how easy it was? Should've done this ages ago."

"……"

What a thick-skinned man.

Shamelessness aside, though, the terms he'd offered sounded surprisingly reasonable. The promise not to harm me until my purpose was achieved, the vow to help me see it through—all of it.

Just what is this man……

I studied him in silence as he hummed an idle tune, his expression still impossible to read. Then I let out a small sigh and sank onto the bench.

I'm exhausted.

Now that the whirlwind of events had passed, a bone-deep fatigue came flooding in. But my brief rest ended almost as soon as it began, thanks to the man dropping down onto the ground across from me in a sprawling, graceless posture and striking up conversation again.

"Now then, tell me. Who do you think the culprit is?"

"Hmm……"

The culprit.

With no time to indulge my weariness, I opened my mouth again.

"If I had to name suspects…… I'd say your friends."

"My friends?"

"The men who were always at your side."

"Ah, right. What were their names again?"

I shot him a sideways glance, and he shrugged with perfect composure.

"Sorry. My memory's gone hazy since I came into the painting."

"Oh. I see."

"Why would I lie to you?"

Truly shameless. He must have left his conscience outside the frame along with everything else.

But I had no desire to waste emotion on the obvious, so I recited the names obediently.

"Guile Pistachio, Pagoda Butere, and Densum Kalanchoe. Those three."

"I'll have to note that down. And why do you suspect them?"

"Well……"

I searched my memories. All three had grown up alongside my husband since childhood, and I'd heard they'd attended the academy together as well.

But if you asked whether that relationship was a good one……

Not remotely. Frankly, the three of them were far too rotten to be called my husband's friends.

First, Guile Pistachio.

"Talent, in the end, comes down to what you're born with. What would some lucky bastard know of it?"

He never bothered to hide his naked inferiority complex toward Camille. Even someone like me, who barely knew the man, could see that his behavior crossed the line more often than not. He was exactly the kind of person who might one day harm my husband.

Second, Pagoda Butere.

"What trials you must endure, saddled with such a dull husband. Should boredom ever strike, you're welcome to seek me out anytime."

He was far too free with women. And on the rare occasions our eyes happened to meet in passing, the look in his was…… unpleasant in a way I couldn't quite name.

And last, Densum.

"……Claudel, was it. I do wonder what Lady Belladonna intended, choosing you as Camille's match."

Of the three, he was the most presentable—though he didn't much care for me either.

But there was another reason I suspected them, one far more decisive than their twisted temperaments.

"Those three showed their faces at every single Ortega event. Yet for some reason, at Camille's funeral, not even their shadows appeared."

"How curious. Joyful occasions they might skip, but investigations? Those are the lifeblood of our circle."

"That's exactly what I mean."

The man, who had listened quietly to my explanation, gave a small nod.

"You're right. Those three are certainly the most likely."

"But that's all I know. Whether the true culprit is even among them……"

"You don't know, do you? My body's already been buried in the ground."

I nodded silently.

"We're short on evidence…… I suppose digging up the grave for a second autopsy is out of the question?"

"……"

"Kidding. Don't make that face."

When I shot him a look of utter disapproval, he grinned roguishly and let the moment slide away as naturally as breathing.

A brief silence settled. Then, after long deliberation, I opened my mouth carefully.

"And you……"

"Not 'you.' Camille."

Ah. He'd been deliberately avoiding calling me by name.

I couldn't fathom why the man was still intent on playing my husband even in this situation. But what choice did I have? I'd gone so far as to make a contract with him—I had no option but to play along.

"……Camille. You……"

"Yes."

"You have no memory of your death, do you?"

The words carried a hidden barb. If you're truly a demon, shouldn't identifying the culprit be child's play for you?

But Camille answered so promptly it was as if he were laughing at my flimsy hope.

"Right. Unfortunately, I remember nothing."

"……I see."

"Still, it's fine. There's another way."

And then he said, perfectly casual:

"We'll kill them one by one—ahem, I mean, interrogate them. Problem solved, no?"

"One by one?"

"Yes."

"Interrogate……"

Reality, of course, was never so accommodating. Camille can't leave this place. Which means I'm the one who has to do it, doesn't it?

Just then, a shadow fell across my vision, and I looked up without thinking. Sunlight broke behind Camille's shoulders as he rose from where he'd been sitting, crowning him like a halo.

"Aub. You're not thinking of me as some ghost trapped in a painting, are you?"

"……I'm sorry, what?"

"Leave every troublesome, exhausting thing to me. You're my wife—and my contractor, aren't you?"

Petals drifted in on the breeze and brushed through his hair.

Leave everything to him?

I couldn't immediately grasp what those words meant. But the mischief was already spreading across Camille's lips.

"Ah……"

A hand, pale and large, reached toward me and gently gathered my hair. I took an instinctive step back—and froze entirely when a kiss landed, featherlight, upon it.

"Now then. Of those three……"

The corners of his mouth curved upward, soft and slow, and a smile spread across his face—so crystalline it sent a chill down my spine.

"who do you want dead first?"

Part 2. The Relief Charity Exhibition

"My lady! Where on earth have you been?!"

Romaine, reunited with me at last, greeted me like someone risen from the dead.

"I'm starving. Could you bring me something to eat?"

"Of course I will, my lady! Good heavens…… My lady, you're nothing but skin and bones!"

Skin and bones. The brutal honesty of it left me momentarily at a loss.

How many days was I in there?

A short while later, Romaine's account jolted me wide awake—apparently I'd been missing for a full three days.

I really could have died.

Only then did the gravity of it all hit me. I'd been beguiled by a demon, forgetting hunger and thirst inside a painting.

No—was a demon. He is one.

In any case, I was already bound to him now, and there was no undoing it. The white magnolia pattern on the back of my hand was still glowing, clear and bright.

So…… what do I do from here?

I turned Camille's assigned tasks over in my mind. Let's see—what needed doing first……

"My lady! Food first. Everything else after."

"……Right."

Yes. Eat first, think later.

After I stuffed down the meal Romaine prepared until my stomach nearly burst, my thoughts finally began flowing smoothly, as if someone had oiled the gears of my brain.

"So, of those three—who do you want dead first?"

First, I had to decide my answer to that question.