Fakes Don’t Want To Be Real Chapter 30

Chapter 30

 

Verndia had expected her to get angry for prying into secrets but he hadn’t expected this question in return.

 

Reluctantly, he answered, “Why would I kill you, Princess?”

 

Yet Psychke’s expression remained tense. Her hand gripped the dagger, and her eyes were full of wariness.

When they arrived at the Lestir carriage waiting in the alley, Berndia lifted her inside.

Psychke asked cautiously, her voice tight with suspicion,

 

“What are you going to do with me?”

“I don’t know why you’d think that, but I have no intention of harming you. I swear it on the Lestir name.”

“Why?”

 

Leaning against the carriage wall, her body trembled in tension. Psychke clenched her fist, though her strength felt weak.

Berndia, hearing the doubt in her voice, buried his face in his clasped hands with a frustrated groan.

 

“Very well. I’ll be honest. I can’t control my ability at will.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t know if Silkisia mentions it, but the Lestir chronicle contains this passage:

‘A gift from the gods was nothing short of a disaster to an unprepared human. Lestir, failing to control the power, was gradually consumed by flames. Without his partner, Silkisia, he would have been nothing but a single blaze.’”

“The high priest also said that the flame in my heart is beyond what the human body can endure.”

“… I see.”

 

Psychke remained silent, unsure why he was suddenly sharing this story or how she was supposed to react.

Should she mourn for the fact that one day, with the current vacancy of Silkisia’s position, he might be consumed by the flame? Or marvel at the sheer power he possessed?

 

Verndia hesitated, trailing off unusually, “So… I need your help, Princess…”

 

The words were barely audible. The word “need” almost whispered past her.

 

Psychke froze. “Excuse me? You need what?”

“Your ability, My lady… the ice that doesn’t melt.”

 

As if trying to erase what he had just said, Verndia spoke without taking a breath.

Still shocked, Psychke stayed silent, giving him time to clarify.

But no matter how long she waited, he did not change his words. His serious expression did not waver.

Her heart sank.

 

‘If I correct the Duke’s misunderstanding now… will I die right here?’

 

But she could not let the misunderstanding stand.

 

After a brief pause, she spoke cautiously. “Can you swear two things, on your family name?”

“If I can, I will.”

“First, do not tell anyone that I have this ability.”

“That goes without saying.”

“Second, swear that you will not kill me, no matter what I say.”

“Didn’t I already?”

 

Even at her question of whether it was necessary again, Psychke’s face remained resolute.

Verndia had no choice but to follow her lead.

 

“I swear on the Lestir name, I will protect you, Princess, no matter what happens.”

“No, you don’t need to protect me. Just… don’t kill me.”

 

Verndia reluctantly agreed. He found her request odd, but decided to hear her out. Psychke pressed her hand over her left chest to steady her racing heart, then spoke.

 

“My… ability isn’t ice that doesn’t melt.”

 

Verndia, his eyes narrowing, crossed his arms, silently signaling her to continue.

She lowered her gaze to the carriage floor.

 

“As you know, Duke, I’m adopted. I am not the real Silkisia. Naturally, the ability that only the true Silkisia could possess is not mine. My ability is… simply…”

 

After a moment of hesitation, she finally spoke.

 

“It’s… a curse.”

“Why do you call it a curse?”

 

Verndia’s voice fell low. Psychke did not realize it.

 

“Because it cannot be controlled—”

“I cannot control my flame either. Is mine a curse too?”

“No… I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then that problem is solved. What else?”

 

He had already decided the conclusion for himself, which left her momentarily dumbfounded. But denying him would diminish his power to a mere curse, so she moved on.

 

“The ice I create melts. So it cannot be called ‘ice that doesn’t melt.’”

“The names of abilities are rarely simple, but let’s answer simply: the flame I wield can be extinguished. So it cannot be a ‘flame that never goes out.’”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“The strength of an ability depends on the user’s will.”

 

Verndia cut her off sharply.

 

“If you use it wishing it would never melt, that’s enough. Problem solved. Next?”

 

There was no way that could be possible. Even if it were, how could she wish for her curse to never fade?

A hot surge of frustration rose in her chest, but she restrained it. She still had one final card; the one thing Berndia could never deny.

 

“I am not my father’s daughter. A paternity test confirmed it. I am not the real Silkisia.”

“The Princess’s parentage is irrelevant. You are the real Silkisia.”

“Duke!”

 

No reasoning worked.

Feeling as if she were speaking to a wall, Psychke raised her head, only to fall silent as she met Berndia’s gaze.

 

“So this is why—”

 

His violet eyes blazed, alive with something almost violent. Though not aimed at her, the intensity made her forget to breathe.

 

“You’ve ruined an entire family.”

 

Verndia’s lips curved in a faint, mocking smirk.

 

“Twenty years ago, a noble house was destroyed, falsely accused of giving the poison-needle necklace to the Crown Princess.”

“… I know of the Leas incident and that the house was Silkisia.”

“Then do you know how the current Silkisia came to be?”

 

Psychke nodded silently and Verndia laughed coldly.

 

“Then you must know this as well.”

 

Leaning closer, he spoke each word with deliberate weight: “The bloodline of the former Silkisia, thought dead, is still alive. And her heir stands before me now.”

“… What?”

 

Psychke froze.

The thought was impossible but before her disbelief could take shape, Verndia’s sharp voice cut in.

 

“Do you think I say this without evidence?”

“….”

“Your ability is the evidence. Quelling my flame is something only the ‘ice that never melts’ could achieve.”

 

The sudden realization made her stomach churn and Psychke covered her mouth with both hands.

Impossible. Absolutely impossible.

Yet Verndia’s unwavering conviction… Her vision blurred.

 

“My Lady, my lady!”

 

She heard his panicked voice calling her, and then… she fainted.

***

When she woke, Psychke was a child again, trapped in a nightmare.

 

“Tell me. What is your name?”

 

She vaguely remembered talking to someone, but the memory was unclear.

Seeing nothing, the young Psychke tried to lift her face but froze when she saw a polished boot in front of her. She bowed instinctively.

The presence radiated light. She could not meet his eyes.

Only now did she realize she was prostrated before such a person.

 

‘What is my name?’

 

She could not remember.

 

Her tiny voice rasped, “I… don’t remember.”

 

Fearing the cursed girl might seem ill-omened, and that he might leave without giving her bread, she pressed herself to the floor.

 

“You foolish thing.”

 

The harsh words sparked tears, but she clenched them back.

He was the only one who ever came to the prison. Though his gaze was often disdainful and his voice cutting, she didn’t care.

He was everything to the imprisoned Psychke and he hated crying.

 

“What… what should I do?”

 

Only five years old, a child, she asked while restraining her tears.

 

“I’ll do anything. I’ll follow whatever you say. So—”

“Psychke.”

“…?”

“From now on, you are Psychke Silkisia.”

 

With a nod from the man, those in the prison’s blind spots appeared, released her bonds, and lifted her up. As she blinked, bewildered, the face of the man who had saved her from the darkness was imprinted on her eyes.

Frowning as if annoyed by the world, yet to Psychke, he looked like an angel. A halo seemed to shine behind his silver hair.

 

“Remember this. Only Silkisia would accept someone like you.”

 

A large, rough hand extended to her.

For the first time, she received such kindness. The young Psychke slowly reached out.

And the moment their hands met,

 

“- My lady, my lady!”

 

She was suddenly thrown out of her childhood memory.