Even if the Dawn Abandons You - Chapter 10

Anais, who had trouble sleeping that day, absentmindedly opened the door, wondering if she needed to visit a patient in the hospital. Standing at the door was a tall young man with red hair, panting, and holding a girl who appeared to be around ten years old.

“Oh, I’m sorry for coming so suddenly and surprising you, sir. Well, my sister fell from a tree, and her head seems to be bleeding a bit…”

The young man spoke incoherently, and Anais suggested moving his child to a bed. Thankfully, compared to the young man’s pale blue face, the child’s condition was only a slight cut on her forehead. The girl, despite falling from a tree, was surprisingly calm, wandering around Anais’s house with her wide eyes, not shedding a tear. Anais swiftly applied anesthetic and stitched up the girl’s forehead. It was an unusual occurrence in her house.

The treatment was quickly completed, and although Anais repeatedly assured the young man that it wasn’t a serious injury, he expressed his gratitude by bowing his head several times.

“Thank you very much, Miss. I know it’s a really big deal…”

“No, you don’t need to thank me so much. Today wasn’t such a big deal, but there’s no guarantee that next time you’ll be as lucky, so tell your sister to be careful when climbing trees.”

“Okay, I will. Thank you.”

The young man thanked her once again and started chatting with the friendliness of a person from Dunang.

He said, “Because Ms. Belle Martier came to our village, I wanted to come and say hello to her. And now, I can see her. It’s quite fortunate, haha.”

“Come to think of it, this is the first time I’m seeing you. As you may already know, I’m Anais Belmartier. I wish you all the best in the future.”

“I truly appreciate it.”

The young man extended his hand for a handshake and introduced himself.

“My name is Marcel Blanc.”

Marcel.

The moment Anais heard the name, she thought she was still dreaming.

? ? ?

The funeral of Marcel Belmartier, officiated by the imperial family, was grand.

However, it resembled more of a banquet than a funeral. On the surface, there was a justification for honoring the hero who nobly sacrificed his life on behalf of the crown prince, but everyone knew that the imperial family did not value Marcel Belmartier’s sacrifice as much. The scene of fireworks exploding and flowers fluttering in the streets reminded Anais of the prince’s birthday procession, where Marcel was sacrificed. To the imperial family, the funeral of Captain Marcel Belmartier, who had been promoted to the second rank in recognition of his sacrifice, was nothing more than a victory celebration to commemorate Prince Henri’s safety.

These circumstances caused immense pain to the girl, who had lost her one and only brother overnight. Anais was twelve years old at the time, and she partially understood the scene as if the whole world was celebrating her brother’s death, but that was only half of the truth. The other half, incomprehension and a torn heart, constantly stimulated her tear glands.

The adults around Anais, including Frédéric Belle Martier, feared that her emotions would disrupt Marcel’s funeral. Some more level-headed individuals thought that Anais’ tears alone could harm everyone around Frédéric and Marcel.

The noble sacrifice of Marcel Belmartier, who died in place of Henri Georges de Charleroi, was an honor. At least, that was the position of the imperial family. From their perspective, it was a great honor for the Belmartier family to have him board the carriage of the crown prince, the son of the sun, and meet his death, even if it was deceitful.

However, it was unacceptable for Marcel’s bereaved family to shed tears of sorrow at the funeral, even if it was a funeral held in that glorious death. The funeral took place at Aude Correz Abbey, which was attached to the summer palace of Le Aveyron, as a state ceremony. A funeral at the Abbey of Haute Correses would have been unimaginable for anyone other than the royalty or great nobles who held one of the twenty Legions of Réans as their fiefdoms. For the esteemed bourgeois but by no means noble Belmartier family, it was also an extraordinary event.

“Marcel’s death… It was an honor, Anais. That’s why you must never cry.”

Under that silent pressure, Anais’s father, who had lost his son a few days prior, referred to his son’s death as an ‘honored event’ when talking to his only remaining daughter. Frédéric Belmartier, struggling to hide his grief, held Anais by the shoulder and emphasized several times that she must not shed tears at the funeral. Frédéric’s colleagues and the adults around Anais echoed the sentiment. They acknowledged her pain and heartbreak but urged her to be patient, assuring her that she could cry as much as she wanted once they returned home, but a few drops of tears could ruin everything at that moment.

Twelve-year-old Anais Belmartier then experienced fear for the first time. A world where a few tears could destroy everything. She was in immense pain, her heart breaking, yet she couldn’t cry at will. Besides, what was so honorable about her brother’s death? He had left forever to a place from which he would never return. What an honor. She was told that he had been shot three times. How much agony and pain must her brother have endured?

Frédéric and Marcel were wise guardians to not place a gun in the hands of a twelve-year-old girl. Anais had never even touched a gun before that day, but she knew it was a frightening and painful weapon. She overheard in secret what the adults were saying, how a bullet had pierced through Marcel’s head, and the condition of his body was incomprehensible. It was even decided to hold the funeral with an empty coffin, so as not to taint the eyes of the royal family.

In the end, Anais couldn’t even say her final goodbye to Marcel. There would be nothing good for her to see, but she had sent her beloved brother away forever without the chance to bid him farewell. She was now in a position where even her farewell tears couldn’t be shed.

The funeral, which stripped the bereaved family of their tears, was held solemnly and sorrowfully, with members of the royal family sitting at the head of the table, gazing down at the empty coffin with haughty eyes.

Marcel, a promising soldier, had received numerous condolences as Frédéric had just become the rector of Beauharnais University. However, many mourners were filled with anxiety, afraid of making the slightest move that might offend the royal family. On the other hand, the aristocrats who attended under the pretext of ‘paying respects to the hero who died on behalf of the crown prince’ were busy laughing and chatting as if they were at a ball, displaying their social skills.

An ironic situation arose where many people who genuinely mourned Marcel’s death couldn’t attend because their seats were given to nobles who saw it as a social gathering, or because the funeral was held at the villa.

Meanwhile, standing next to the coffin like a doll, Anais, following her father’s and others’ advice, struggled hard not to shed tears. As the mourners approached one by one and placed a single white flower in the empty coffin, Anais stared blankly at the colorful embossed pattern inside the coffin to hold back her tears.

Near the end of the wreath-laying ceremony, a white handkerchief suddenly entered her field of vision, as she desperately tried to hold back her tears. Anais was startled and looked straight ahead.

The owner of the handkerchief was a boy holding a flower for the wreath in his other hand. He was a boy about her age but a head taller, and he extended the white handkerchief to Anais with a puzzled and guilty expression on his face. Anais, even more bewildered, took the handkerchief from the boy. Just then, a voice expressing clear confusion came from beside her.

“Your Highness… Now, go and greet her. Anais, come and say hello.” Frédéric Belmartier patted Anais on the back with a trembling voice. Was he a prince? People had said that she shouldn’t cry at this funeral because of the royal family. But this boy, her prince, had come down from his high position to make a wreath for her, an act he didn’t have to do, and even offered her his handkerchief. Anais, even more confused, stood up with her knees trembling.

“Wow, Your Highness the Prince… Nice to meet you.”

The boy, after briefly looking down at her, bent his knees slightly, met Anais’s eyes, and spoke. His voice was calm yet gentle and low, a friendly tone that no one had heard since Marcel’s death, like a short melody.

“You can cry.”

“… Yes…?”

“I came to tell you that.”

At that moment, a clear tear rolled down the girl’s cheek like a revelation.