Obituary: Sonata for Two Lovers - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Translator: Yonnee

—

Bolton was a republic.

A nation without a king.

Among the neighboring countries around Orthuran, there were a few that had recently become republics, but Bolton had been without a king far longer than that.

It was Ray Crawford’s first time stepping foot in a land without a monarch.

“It’s not so different, is it. Spencer, do you also believe the people of Bolton have tails?”

Surveying the mourners gathered at a small rural church in Bolton, Ray asked his secretary.

“I’m not sure, but I imagine the older generation thought differently.”

Paul Spencer, his secretary, answered faithfully even when his superior brought up an old mocking fable that only ancient elders still remembered.

As the old fables suggested, Orthuran people’s disdain for Bolton was not merely because they were the sort to recoil at words like ‘republic’ and ‘democracy’.

It stemmed from a complicated history full of conflicts, and from the vast differences in character and temperament between the two peoples.

The Boltonians’ excessively frank manner of speaking, their fiery tempers driven by emotion, their voracious appetites that seemed to turn everything under the sun into food—Orthurans looked down on all of it without hesitation.

“Well, perhaps.”

His superior, with his strange sense of humor, let out a quiet chuckle, though it was unclear what he found amusing.

When Elliot Davis, who had been speaking with the bishop for some time, approached them, Ray quickly wiped the smile from his face as if it had never been there.

“Ah, Minister, Minister.”

“I’m not here in an official capacity. It’s burdensome to be called that. Please, call me Lord Crawford.”

Ray placed a finger against his lips and shook his head slightly at Elliot, who was being overly formal toward a man twenty years his junior.

“My condolences. May your wife rest peacefully in God’s embrace.”

“Thank you, Minister—no, Lord Crawford.”

“I would also like to offer my condolences directly to your daughter. If she is indeed to be my fiancée, that is.”

Despite Ray’s polite expression and tone, Elliot seemed to sense something underneath and glanced around the church awkwardly.

Ray was well aware that the woman who was to become his fiancée was not inside the church.

Standing far from the crowd, he had spent the entire service observing the back of the woman standing beside Elliot.

Wearing a hat adorned with a black satin ribbon, she had slipped into the crowd and disappeared the moment the ceremony ended.

“My daughter was very attached to her mother. She’s having a hard time. She’s not herself today. Though it was only proper to send you the obituary, I fear today might not be the best time to meet her…”

“I’ll wait.”

Ray cut him off smoothly.

“I’ve crossed the border. Waiting a little longer is hardly a burden.”

“…Then please wait just a moment. I will go and find her.”

After offering a brief bow, Elliot hurriedly retreated. Ray maintained his formal smile until the end.

His secretary, Paul Spencer, stole a cautious glance at him. Ray’s lips were curved in a perfectly measured smile, just enough not to be a straight line.

His superior was not a man who withheld smiles, but it was rare for them to be genuine.

“It looks like it’ll take some time. I’ll step out for a bit.”

By stepping out, he meant he would go for a smoke.

As the secretary instinctively moved to accompany him, Ray waved him off lightly.

“No, I’ll go alone. No need for us to miss each other.”

Behind the church stretched a wide cemetery.

The dense trees surrounding it helped to soften the bleakness of the rows of gray headstones.

Seeking a place without people, Ray approached a large tree beside the cemetery.

A strong, sweet scent pricked his nose.

A strange fragrance…

He found himself staring, as if bewitched, at the purple fruits emitting the sweet smell, but soon, his gaze was stolen away by the sight of a black hem peeking out from behind the tree trunk, fluttering in the breeze.

Without thinking, Ray stepped around the tree and found a woman, dressed in a black dress, crouched against it.

The hat perched atop her head was adorned with the same black satin ribbon he had been observing throughout the service.

The moment the familiar ribbon fluttered in the wind, Ray understood. She was his fiancée. The woman who would become his wife.

Had she come out to cry in secret?

He briefly considered whether he would need to attempt a clumsy consolation, but just then, the woman moved.

Soft green eyes looked up at him to confirm the presence of an intruder, and from her pale lips, a thin white plume of smoke escaped along with her breath.

The sweet scent of the unknown fruits and the acrid smell of tobacco swirled together dizzyingly.

Ray glanced down at the stick precariously dangling from her fingers—and ended up laughing.

His fiancée was, indeed, very virtuous.

Very much so.