Nicolas still remembered that face for the last time. Those sorrowful eyes. Pale, trembling lips. Wild, tangled hair cut short to her chin. Meanwhile, the people’s roar continued to rumble beneath the pounding of drums.
“I hope God will forgive my sins.”
Ilona gazed at him sadly, then closed her eyes. Giving herself in absolute surrender to the Creator’s fate.
Then everything happened so quickly. The guillotine blade was drenched in red liquid, splattering in every direction like paint. Cheers rang out once more, filled with boundless joy and satisfaction.
In an instant, Nicolas’s heart sank. The young man could do nothing but lower his head, without words or tears. Ilona Magritte Baudelaire was innocent. She had been condemned for nothing but wild prejudice, love, and a suffocating fate. She should never have died that way. She had never killed anyone. She had never tortured a soul. Sadly, society had laws of its own. They had delivered a terrible verdict in the name of God. They had upheld justice through the most legendary beheading machine of all time.
Nicolas could only turn his face away as the executioner’s assistants lifted Ilona’s rigid body and threw it toward the coffin. He could not bring himself to watch the assistants’ footprints as they circled the execution platform amid the people’s jubilant uproar. He could not bear to see any of it. His soul died along with Ilona.
From that day on, the world felt far emptier than before. Everything seemed colorless. Every step felt unbearably heavy. Whenever he closed his eyes, the blood and the blade continued to haunt his vision. Since Ilona’s death, Nicolas could no longer look at the world the same way.
In his despair, Nicolas made the biggest decision of his life: to leave France and sail to England. Perhaps there, he could heal his grief. He could bury his wounds. He could forge a new identity. Free from the shadow of the past.
London, 1815
Nicolas kept driving his long legs forward in broad, hurried strides, slipping between the people walking around Big Ben. He did everything he could not to lose sight of her. Several residents clicked their tongues in surprise at his haste. Others patted their chests after nearly being run into. Seeing that, Nicolas quickly removed his hat and bowed apologetically, then turned around again within seconds.
He rose onto his toes once more, trying to widen his field of vision until he could see through the crowd. Ever since childhood, he had stood taller than the others his age. A stroke of luck that proved useful in an urgent situation like this.
There she was!
The blonde girl was not far ahead. Nicolas quickened his pace again, trying to catch up with the young woman in the pale blue satin dress as she walked toward the bakery.
Ilona isn’t far ahead. I have to catch her!
Once the distance between them had narrowed, Nicolas immediately adjusted his pace. He had to look like an ordinary traveler, not a stalker, much less a kidnapper. From behind, he could see the girl strolling casually with a basket in hand. Beside her, a middle-aged woman matched her stride. They wore identical dresses, like members of the same family.
Since when did Ilona have an aunt? Nicolas wondered. He seemed to remember Ilona telling him that she lived only with her adoptive father, who had never married. Then who was this woman?
The girl and the woman beside her turned toward the bakery. Another young man was waiting there. He smiled brightly and approached the girl. Nicolas froze, especially when the two embraced and the girl’s face emerged from beneath her wide-brimmed hat.
She wasn’t Ilona.
At that very moment, Nicolas’s world collapsed. Flashes of memory raced through his mind, flickering like a film. Little by little, they breathed life into a truth he had failed to realize until now.
Ilona was gone. She had left forever. Why was I looking for her here?