My Former Wife Remembers All Past Cycles

༺ 𓆩  Prologue (1)  𓆪 ༻

「Translator — Creator」

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The House of Taelis and the House of Emilhood.

Within the Kingdom of Weyland, there were no families more infamous as mortal enemies than these two.

To say they had lived their entire lives with the singular purpose of devouring each other would not have been an exaggeration. Their fierce, unrelenting battles, often bolstered by the shadowy forces of the underworld, showed no signs of ceasing until one family finally bled the other dry.

What had sown such blinding hatred and scorn between them?

One did not need to delve far into the past to uncover the answer.

It all began with a foolish, excessive pride—an inflated sense of competitiveness that soured into a deep-rooted desire for vengeance. A petty dispute over a meager tract of land had snowballed into a full-blown emotional feud. The proud heads of both houses began to value their enemy’s humiliation more than tangible profit or political gain, and the end result was an outright war between the two bloodlines.

It had been a truly foolish and wasteful conflict.

Driven not by reason, but by stubborn impulses to suppress the other, to steal away what the other most desired, the two houses built a wall of blood at their borders—brick by brick, corpse by corpse.

Though the origin of the enmity faded into obscurity with each passing generation, the vendetta birthed from the vanity and bravado of two idiotic patriarchs endured. It was carried on through the generations, written in blood by the descendants who inherited nothing but their hatred.

Even to the present day, the title of ‘sworn enemy’ sat heavily in their households, like an unwelcome tenant squatting in the living room, ceaselessly carving wounds into their kin.

Time, to some degree, had dulled the ferocity and frequency of their battles. But the Houses of Emilhood and Taelis still honed their fangs in secret, prepared to tear each other apart; they had long ceased to be noble families—they were now ravenous beasts, their eyes blinded by vengeance, their legacy slowly decaying with each passing year.

A brutish struggle marked by waste and loss.

And in such a prolonged war of attrition, the limits of material endurance inevitably began to show.

“Darren.”

“Yes, Father.”

It’s often said that nothing in this world lasts forever.

And this wretched, childish blood feud was no exception. One day, Father summoned me. Rumors had been circulating about an engagement, as I had reached the age of marriage. I thought to myself: so, it’s finally happening.

It didn’t take long for me to realize how foolish and naive such a declaration had been—just the ignorant assumption of a sheltered youngest son of a noble house, utterly clueless about the world.

“Your betrothed has been decided.”

“I see.”

My ears perked up.

For a moment, I allowed myself to hope that perhaps, at last, I might find someone I could open my heart to—someone far removed from my family’s rot of vanity and revenge.

Well…

“Your fiancée is Lady Lirian Emilhood.”

My perked ears drooped almost instantly.

“…Pardon?”

I blinked and scratched my ear, wondering if I had heard him wrong.

Lirian Emilhood.

It was a name I had never expected to hear—a name that, in truth, I had never even considered to be within the realm of possibility.

“As you know, both houses are utterly exhausted. Even fighting requires stamina, and stamina is bred only when the storehouses are full.”

“F-Father… but the House of Emilhood is our sworn enemy…”

“There are no eternal enemies, nor eternal allies. Only changing times and shifting circumstances.”

“So you intend to use Lady Lirian and me as pawns, as collateral for the next battle?”

I couldn’t comprehend it. No matter his duty as the head of our house, how could a father so casually declare that he would use his own child as a bargaining chip?

“Whether it becomes fuel for the next battle, or a step forward into the next era… that remains to be seen.”

“…It sounds like the former to me. And only the former.”

“Do not place blind faith in what you hear.”

“Is that all you have to say to me?”

Perhaps it was the first time.

The first time a weak puppy dared bare its teeth before a mighty tiger.

Of course, it was little more than a pitiful resistance, one that couldn’t even reach his ears.

“That is all. The betrothal ceremony will be held soon, so keep your body and spirit in proper condition. It will be celebrated grandly as a symbol of our peace accord, and His Majesty the King will be in attendance. Ensure you are well prepared. Do not bring shame to the house.”

No excuses made for the sake of the family.

No pleas for understanding or sacrifice.

No apologies for an unstoppable tide.

He spoke none of those things.

All I received… was an order.

Fury swelled within me, but I forced myself to find solace in one thing—that perhaps, just perhaps, this arrangement might afford my family a brief moment to breathe.

A noble family’s youngest son.

Always pushed to the sidelines, always overshadowed by the rise of his brothers, the youngest could only contribute like this.

Only in this way could he prove his worth—just enough to be allowed to live.

“…Understood.”

“Then you may go.”

“……”

And that was the end of it.

A marriage, a turning point that would define the course of my entire life, had been decided so effortlessly, so hollowly.

And so, a few days later—

I was wed to Lady Lirian Emilhood, a woman I had never once laid eyes upon.

🎕

There wasn’t much for the youngest son of a noble family to do.

Within the estate, his role was marginal at best. He was rarely sent outside the domain on official business, and there was no scenario in which he would be the one to deliver declarations to a rival house.

‘…She’s beautiful.’

And yet, before my very eyes stood Lirian Emilhood—a vision of true beauty.

Vibrant red hair and pure blue eyes.

Her flawless smooth skin was so white it dazzled, and her delicate features, perfectly positioned on her small face, displayed an exquisite elegance.

So striking was her presence, so bewitching her appearance, that I found myself thinking—almost foolishly—Perhaps this marriage… might not be so bad after all.

Though I wore the title of a noble son, I’d seen my fair share of noblewomen. Some inspired awe. Others left you breathless with a whistle. But this one—

She was without peer.

Of this, I felt confident; this was no naive declaration born of inexperience. This was certainty.

Could this be what they call love at first sight?

How absurd, to fall for the daughter of our sworn enemy the moment I first laid eyes on her.

But as the saying goes—there’s nothing in the world more fickle or duplicitous than the human heart.

“Um… It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Darren Taelis.”

I had practiced that foolish greeting hundreds of times, but when the moment came, my throat felt parched, as though scorched from within.

I had never in my life felt such dryness.

“…I’m Lirian Emilhood.”

She returned the greeting with a flat expression, her tone impassive, businesslike.

That cool, detached response snapped me out of my daze.

Reminded me, however briefly, of what I had allowed myself to forget—of the reality behind this betrothal.

The wedding proceeded as grandly as Father had said.

His Majesty the King attended, along with a parade of the kingdom’s most prominent dignitaries.

In their desperation to flaunt their strength, both houses spared no expense—endless feasts, lavish performances, and extravagant displays of wealth continued for four whole days.

And then came the final night.

By tomorrow, we would be husband and wife in the eyes of the world, and our days as pawns of this peace accord would begin.

It wouldn’t be easy.

Yet strangely, I felt I could endure it—so long as Lirian was beside me.

“Um… Lirian? Is it alright if I call you my wife now?”

It was the last night, and we shared a room together—seated on either side of a round table.

“..............”

Her pale blue eyes flicked toward me, dry and unreadable.

She clearly disapproved of this political farce, and yet, I caught glimpses of her restraint. She was making an effort not to tarnish the ceremony.

In that, I felt we might be of one mind.

[I hate this, but I have to do it.]

Surely, that was how she saw this betrothal too.

“Yes.”

Thankfully, she replied without protest or discomfort.

“Thank you.”

“…Thank you? For what?”

“I… I just thought you might not like it.”

Trying to ease the tension, I offered a bit of nonsense—clumsy words to lighten the mood.

Lirian, who had been staring at me blankly for a moment, finally spoke.

“…Since we’re married now, I suppose it’s only natural.”

Though her expression remained somewhat dreary, she even offered a faint smile as she said it.

Had it not been for the peace accord chaining our two enemy houses together, I might have foolishly returned that smile—entranced by it.

That was the kind of smile she had. Soft and fleeting, and yet powerful enough to melt through stone.

Then, all of a sudden, she asked—

“Then… are we sharing a bed too?”

Pfft—!!!!

At the question that came without warning, the wine I was about to swallow sprayed from my lips.

On this final night that would herald our beginning.

I had made such an unseemly display before my wife.

I hastily unfolded my handkerchief to wipe my lips and clean the droplets that had splattered around.

Despite my floundering, Lirian simply sat there calmly.

After composing myself and clearing my throat with a few coughs.

I answered.

Hoping the crimson candlelight illuminating the darkness would hide my flushed face.

"I-if my wife wishes, we shall, but I have no intention of rushing."

“…I see.”

Sitting up straight, still composed like a porcelain figure, Lirian reached for the wineglass that had sat untouched between us all night, little more than an ornament until now.

At the first tilt of her wrist, the liquid inside began to sway—delicate ripples dancing with grace.

"Do you... enjoy drinking?"

I asked, trying to dispel the awkward atmosphere.

The ripples of wine reflected in Lirian's blue pupils.

After staring down at it until the surface calmed, she suddenly extended her glass toward me.

“.......…?”

“I’ve never had it before.”

“…What?”

Wine was the lifeblood of noble society—ubiquitous as water. It was inseparable from banquets, diplomacy, courtship, and even idle gossip. Noble children were taught early on not just to drink, but to taste, appreciate, and perform the rituals of refinement that came with it.

No exceptions, not for sons or daughters.

And yet, here was Lirian, calmly offering me her glass, saying this was her first time.

“Is it… any good?”

“Well… it’s not bad. What’s in your glass now is actually one of the finest vintages.”

“I see.”

Still holding the wineglass out toward me.

“My arm’s getting tired.”

“Oh—right.”

With the softest hint of girlish petulance, she broke through the solemn air, and I quickly raised my glass to meet hers.

Clink—!!!!

A clear chime of crystal against crystal rang out, and she shut her eyes tightly as she took a sip.

I watched her, spellbound.

Every moment I spent with her felt new. Foreign.

“Ugh…”

Her shoulders tensed, and her brow furrowed as she swallowed the wine.

And then, for just a fleeting instant—

She slowly uncurled her shoulders and opened her eyes.

In those striking blue irises, a glimmer of wonder sparkled.

“Wow. This is actually… really good?”

Her voice, filled with genuine admiration, belonged not to the aloof princess I had imagined, but to someone truly tasting joy. Without realizing it, I found myself smiling and took another sip of wine.

It was, indeed, delicious.

As I set my glass down, emboldened by the softened air between us, I tossed out a light-hearted jest.

“For a first timer, your toasting technique is pretty refined.”

Her lips, stained a gentle garnet from the wine, curved into a soft arc.

It seemed tinged with something bittersweet… but even that quiet sadness was so beautiful it slipped easily from my thoughts.

“Oh, I practiced,” she said.

“Really?”

So noble ladies even practice toasts, I mused idly, ready to let the comment drift by—but her next words made my hand, halfway to my wineglass, freeze in place.

"I wanted to toast with my husband, when I got one."

“............”

“I wanted to drink my first wine with him, too. Sharing firsts like that… feels special, doesn’t it?”

“.............”

Suddenly, I understood.

That faint bitterness that had traced her smile—what it was.

And with that understanding came a quiet guilt that settled in my chest.

I had ruined something sacred.

That pure, dignified hope of a young girl—something beautiful and sincere—had been forced into the role of a bargaining chip. And I, no matter how unwilling, had been complicit in tarnishing her dream.

Lirian looked down into the calm surface of her wine, an enigmatic smile resting gently on her lips.

And so passed the night of our beginning—our first night as husband and wife.

END σϝ CHAPTER