Interlude - A Love Song And A Tea Party

Guided by Kennard Adkins, commander of the Second Knight Order, Marquis Blacker descended into the musty underground and passed through two doors before finding the men there.

The Duke of Arclight and his illegitimate son. Imprisoned in adjoining cells and sitting on their beds in much the same posture, the two certainly did resemble each other, even in Marquis Blacker’s eyes.

These two… The thought filled the marquis with the urge to settle matters with his own hands then and there, but he reconsidered, deciding that being publicly judged and having his sentence carried out would be far more humiliating for the man, and suppressed the impulse.

For some reason, however, the man inside the cell looked relieved and approached him.

“Oh, Daryl. You came. Forgive me for asking so soon, but this place is hardly suitable for someone like me…”

(Does this bastard think I know nothing?!)

Fresh murderous intent welled up toward the man addressing him so familiarly. He somehow managed to suppress it, but he could not restrain his words. He slapped away the hand that had reached through the iron bars.

“Do not call me by my name, you traitor! This is all your fault! Because of you, Trisha and Alton… Even His Majesty!”

“Come now, Daryl. Surely you are misunderstanding something? I certainly feel sorry for the royal consort and the Second Prince, but what happened to them had nothing to do with me…”

“Then whose doing was it?”

“That was… ah, damn it! But I had nothing whatsoever to do with that!”

From the Duke of Arclight’s perspective, the deaths of His Majesty and the royal consort had been entirely the Saintess’s doing and had nothing to do with him. It had therefore never occurred to him that Marquis Blacker might condemn him for them.

However, because he had signed a Magical Oath Document imposing a confidentiality agreement regarding what happened during the summoning, he could not speak of it. Consequently, all he could do was remain vague and offer excuses that sounded evasive.

To the marquis, however, such an attitude merely looked like an attempt to conceal the truth.

“Are you trying to say you bear no responsibility merely because you did not kill them with your own hands? I have already heard that you were conspiring with the empire. I have heard about the curse jar as well! And yet you still have the gall to play innocent!”

On the way there, the marquis had asked the commander of the Second Knight Order to tell him whatever he could about what they had discovered, and had managed to learn several facts. Among them were at least some details of the secret agreement between the duke and the empire.

“And you intended to turn our kingdom into a vassal state of that despicable nation! Did you want the throne that badly?! I cannot bear the shame of having considered someone like you a friend all these years!”

“But you yourself said it, did you not?! That compared with such a mediocre king, I would be—”

“Enough! Be silent! His Majesty may indeed have been mediocre, but even so, he cherished my daughter! Nor did he bring enormous suffering upon his own territory and people as you did! And that is not all. Do you even understand how many of our kingdom’s people and soldiers died because of you?!”

“That… But reform always requires sacrifice—”

“What reform?! That was nothing but slaughter! Then answer me this: why are your wife and daughter still alive? And I hear the ducal territory suffered almost no damage from mana pools. Yet you dare call this the sacrifice required for reform?! Do not mock me!”

Marquis Blacker himself had made repeated visits to inspect the damage caused by magical beasts in his own lands and had witnessed the devastation firsthand. He could not forgive anyone for dismissing it so casually as “sacrifice for reform.”

As the marquis rattled off his accusations in one furious torrent, the man in the neighboring cell entered his field of vision. Perhaps frightened by the marquis’s rage, the man looked somewhat intimidated, but the marquis had just been told that this man had apparently been principally involved with the curse jar.

“The Royal Council will convene shortly. There, your fate and that of your accomplices will be decided. I intend to argue for hanging, so prepare yourselves.”

As he spoke, he directed a glare at the men in both cells fierce enough to kill.

“I look forward to the day your sentences are carried out. I will be watching from the very front!”

Leaving those final words behind, he departed. His next destination was the Royal Mausoleum. Along the way, the marquis asked the commander of the Second Knight Order something that had been troubling him all this time.

“Commander Adkins. Where is the Saintess now, and what is she doing?”

Apparently he had not expected to be asked that. After hesitating briefly, the commander of the Second Knight Order answered.

“The Saintess returned from her purification journey yesterday, but afterward she remained extremely busy dealing with the incidents that occurred inside the castle and the curse jar. She is therefore resting at present.”

“I see…”

(His Holiness was there as well…)

The facts and information the marquis had seen and heard began fitting together in his mind, accompanied by an interpretation that was somewhat convenient for him. The conclusion he reached was: Perhaps they did everything they could.

The Saintess, the Pope, the chancellor—everyone—had done everything possible to save the lives of those three. He needed to believe that, because otherwise he did not think he could endure what he was about to see.

(It is almost as though the three of them are sleeping peacefully together, like a family.)

Inside the mausoleum, cold enough to make him shiver, his daughter lay in her coffin. Age had left a few wrinkles around the corners of her eyes, but her features remained as lovely as they had always been.

“Ice magic has been applied until the funeral. If you get too close, you may suffer frostbite.”

The guard had warned him of that earlier, but the marquis could not resist gently touching his daughter’s cheek. Its hard, icy sensation forced reality upon him.

He clutched his chest against the crushing pain and repeatedly blinked while slowly shaking his head. Again and again. Yet no matter how often he blinked, he could not stop his overflowing tears.

She had been a little scatterbrained at times, and that had only made his daughter more endearing. Since he already had an eldest son to inherit the family, he had thought that even if she was not especially gifted at her studies, she was such a good-natured girl that he would have no trouble arranging a fine marriage for her. But at the celebration of His Highness’s sixteenth birthday, his daughter had fallen in love with the prince. She had been only twelve.

(I never imagined she would resent me for not making her study harder…)

“They say Lady Shaila speaks four languages! She is deeply knowledgeable about painting and the arts, and apparently even paints herself. And at the recent tea-tasting gathering, she identified every single tea correctly!”

Remembering his daughter shutting herself inside her room, crying as she hurled pillows and cushions about, he gave a bitter smile.

Trisha had fallen far short of the standards demanded by the previous king, who believed those around him should all be highly accomplished.

But his daughter had not given up. Clinging to the faint hope that the prince might someday take a royal consort, she rejected every marriage proposal brought to her and, although late in beginning, desperately threw herself into all manner of studies. Slowly, little by little, she acquired knowledge and proper etiquette.

Then, after the First Prince was born, rumors began circulating that political forces opposed to the margrave’s house were plotting to install a royal consort in opposition to the queen, who was often occupied with diplomacy. Hearing that, his daughter had stepped forward herself.

She would never trouble Lady Shaila. She would never oppose her. Saying as much, she personally petitioned the previous king. The marquis had never imagined she would take such a daring course of action and had panicked, but in the end, out of affection for his daughter, matters were settled with a substantial dowry and his signatures upon page after page of Magical Oath Documents.

Some of the terms were rather disagreeable to him, but none of that mattered.

Because on that day, his daughter’s face as a bride had been overflowing with joy. Curiously enough, he later heard that Lady Shaila had not objected very strongly.

However, some time after Alton was born, unpleasant rumors began reaching his ears. He heard that the queen was harassing Trisha.

Even when he worriedly asked Trisha herself, she merely laughed and denied it, but he had convinced himself that she was forcing herself to appear cheerful so as not to worry him.

Looking back, perhaps those rumors too had been part of the duke’s scheme. The man had probably worn a kindly expression while continually dripping the poison of suspicion between them.

And the words and actions of the marquis, thoroughly poisoned by those doubts, eventually began to influence his grandson Alton as well. Before he knew it, Alton had grown into a young man inclined to view everything cynically and make sarcastic remarks. Originally, he had been an honest, cheerful child. It was all the marquis’s fault for failing to see through that man’s true nature.

His wife had told him how happily Trisha had said, “Actually, His Majesty comes to my chambers more often than he goes to the queen’s.” He should simply have believed those words and rejoiced in her happiness alongside her.

Instead, he had done nothing but suspect that the jealous queen might attempt something against her. He understood now that someone as wise as Lady Shaila would never have acted out of jealousy. His excessive concern for his daughter must have clouded his judgment.

His Majesty had probably gone to his daughter’s bedchamber on the night the Saintess Summoning succeeded as well. And that was why the two of them had both fallen victim to the curse…

If so, perhaps his daughter had been happy in a sense. He decided to think of it that way. She had departed this world alongside the man she loved above all others and her precious child. He could not bear it otherwise.

Had she been happy…? There was no answer when he asked, but in its place came the image of his daughter’s smile on the day she became a bride. He remembered Alton’s tiny hand when he had first held him.

And within the marquis’s mind, a single story gradually took shape…

Some time later, the tragedy became a ballad sung by minstrels throughout the Royal Capital. It was a tale of love about a king and royal consort who lost their lives because of a wicked duke’s conspiracy, and the prince who cherished them both with all his heart.

The song was titled “Little Pretty.” It was the name of a rose James IV himself had given his bride when it was decided that he would take her as his royal consort. It was an orange rose with softly scented, medium-sized, charming rosette-shaped blossoms.

And on the day of the funeral, the temple and the surrounding grounds overflowed with “Little Pretty” roses that the marquis had prepared especially for the occasion.

The love I found in childhood was a love ordained by fate

Even along a road beset by hardship

Still shall I walk

Beside you, my beloved

For the day I may at last stand at your side

————Omitted————

She was the one woman I cherished

The Little Pretty within my heart

Though this body should perish

I shall be born anew and love you once more

————Omitted————

To you, to whom I gave my heart

Beyond the passage of time, until my heart finds yours

Forever, I shall simply continue to love you…

“What in the world is that song supposed to be?!”

“Is it not a fine song? I have also heard that not only women, but even men are moved to tears when they hear it.”

“How can you call that a ‘fine song’?! It makes it sound as though the queen was never loved by His Majesty!”

The day after the funeral and coronation had concluded without incident, Shaila had invited the chancellor to tea to thank him for the extraordinary burden he had borne over the past two weeks, but her guest was drinking his tea with a thoroughly displeased expression. The sight made her smile wryly.

Aldridge, her longtime friend, had always been somewhat overprotective of her, but she had never expected him to continue treating her this way even at her age.

(Well, I was the only girl among the four of us…)

“I understand His Majesty’s feelings better than anyone. It is hardly something worth becoming so angry over, Ren.”

With only people she trusted around them, she inadvertently addressed him by the nickname she had used long ago, and the stern chancellor fell silent.

Admittedly, the lyrics contained phrases such as “my one true love” and “to you, to whom I gave my heart,” so perhaps many people would interpret the song that way.

“Still, I never imagined the marquis was such a romantic. I heard that he wrote most of the song himself.”

“It is the product of delusion.”

“But if it brings the marquis some peace, surely that is enough. He lost his daughter and grandson at the same time. Perhaps this was his way of coming to terms with his grief.”

“There are still limits to such things…”

“Besides, unlike Lady Sharley, Trisha’s feelings were genuine.”

(Yes. Unlike the Duchess Dowager Bamford, who sought to become crown princess merely because she desired the highest possible rank, that royal consort may have lacked judgment in certain respects, but she truly loved His Majesty with all her heart. More than anything, I witnessed that young girl fall in love and then, in the very next instant, collapse into despair from heartbreak…)

At the banquet celebrating the crown prince’s coming of age at sixteen, the girl had visited the royal palace for the first time. The moment she was granted an audience with His Highness, her cheeks flushed rose-red. Then, in the very next moment, she noticed Shaila standing beside him, and her face went deathly pale with despair. It had been so pitiful that merely watching her had made Shaila’s heart ache.

Yet those feelings had not been a childish infatuation. They had been genuine. It ultimately took many years, but she had fulfilled that love. And His Majesty, in turn, could hardly have disliked being adored so deeply.

“Was that why you did not oppose it when the marquis forced the issue and insisted that she become His Majesty’s royal consort?”

Rather than answer the question, Shaila merely smiled gently.

Shaila and James had been more like comrades united by their concern for the kingdom than passionate lovers. They certainly shared affection as family, but Shaila herself had always understood that their bond was somewhat removed from passionate love between a man and a woman.

For that reason, she had felt that eventually he would need to take either a royal consort or a mistress, but she saw no reason to explain that to this friend. Matters private to husband and wife belonged to the husband and wife alone.

“And what is this nonsense about the Saintess and the Pope recognizing the love between those two and praying to the goddess that they might be united in their next lives? Where did that story even come from? And then there is the claim that Prince Alton will be reborn as their child once again. There is nothing of the sort anywhere in the goddess’s scriptures.”

Watching her friend grumble with an expression as though he had bitten into something exceedingly bitter, Shaila laughed and told him that at the very least, the cause of her stomachaches was now gone, so surely that was something to be grateful for.

(Yes. It is the right of those left behind to mourn the ones they have lost. And if enough people wish for it, perhaps the merciful goddess may even grant that wish.)

Imagining that someday, beneath peaceful skies, a happy family might live together, the queen picked up one small confection and placed it in her mouth.