Purple Heart (8)

“Yes, I will—”

“And what do you think I am about to say?”

Reichardt leaned closer with his blunt grumble.

Alicia stared blankly at the face that suddenly drew close to her cheek.

“…”

Softly, his lips brushed one cheek with a faint sound, then withdrew.

Then they lingered briefly on her other cheek before retreating again.

“It is a shame I am such a modest man.”

The man who seemed to embody luxury from head to toe spoke arrogantly.

The way Reichardt called himself “a modest man” sounded peculiar indeed.

“What?”

Flustered, Alicia stammered.

Reichardt extended his hand toward her bewildered face.

Instinctively, she placed her hand upon his, only realizing when his head tilted lower.

A tickling kiss landed on the back of her hand.

Embarrassed by the hand she had offered, Alicia neither pulled away nor overreacted.

She deliberately acted as if it were nothing.

Reichardt pressed his forehead to the spot his lips had touched, then lifted it again.

With composure, he expressed respect and affection toward his betrothed.

“Grant it to me.”

At his casually thrown demand, Alicia reacted too sharply without meaning to.

“W-what? Grant what?”

The man who had called himself modest smiled.

His golden hair scattered light like sunlight breaking apart.

“Simply heal me. Anything will suffice.”

That face, which could never be associated with modesty, lowered itself to meet Alicia’s height.

“Yes? Y-yes…”

Alicia tried to ignore the face that scrambled her focus.

It was only the suddenness of the request that startled her.

She leaned in and placed a kiss on both his cheeks before pulling back.

Even as her lips touched and lifted away, his amber eyes stayed fixed on her.

As their warmth mingled, she felt an inexplicable, unbearable sensation—but managed to finish the act.

Still staring at Alicia, Reichardt spoke.

“I will take my leave now.”

“Yes.”

“Someone has burdened me with many tasks. Even His Majesty would not work a royal as harshly as this.”

“I am sorry…”

“Wait until your heart has calmed before you move, My Lady.”

With a straight face, Reichardt left the grove after teasing her with his words.

“My heart…”

Only then did Alicia press her chest.

There, a furious pounding shook her palm.

It was a wonder her heart did not burst.

Her vision swam, her head reeled.

How red must her face have grown?

Regret surged, but there was nothing she could do.

It was too late, and the racing of her heart was not something she could suppress.

Besides, the man’s ears were unnaturally keen.

A sigh nearly escaped, but fearing he might hear even that, Alicia kept her lips sealed tight.

As she held her breath, she felt her very ears throb with her heartbeat.

Leaving the Grand Theater Grove, Reichardt let slip a smile.

He paused, turned back to look.

“Did you come from the future?”

The words he had wanted to say all along escaped in a low whisper.

Of course, no reply came to his quiet murmur.

After staring at the grove for a while, he checked the time and moved on.

There was still much to do.

Inside the Imperial Opera House, a long line of noble ladies filed in.

Guests invited to the Night of Opera were seated close to the orchestra.

The royal family occupied the second-floor royal boxes, with the Empress and Emperor in the central box.

That central box was specially decorated and protruded slightly like a terrace.

Alicia, as the Grand Duke of Tessen’s fiancée, remained on the second floor.

The boxes were built to respect privacy, each independent.

“You are here?”

Alicia had arrived before Reichardt, who was busy with his duties.

“Yes. Are you unharmed?”

Reichardt, spotting Alicia already seated, studied her before taking the seat beside her.

“Yes.”

Alicia was busy scanning the surroundings with her opera glasses.

“Josephina has been fine. They said she was occupied chattering and playing with friends.”

“That is fortunate.”

“Among the cords supporting the chandeliers near the stage, some were found worn. Two were faulty in the chandelier by the stage stairs.”

Reichardt leaned close, his voice low so only Alicia could hear.

She lowered her glasses and turned toward him.

“It is strange, considering the opera house is not so large, yet its upkeep costs the palace dearly each year. I have already dealt with the issue and prepared to censure the one responsible.”

“Should we inform Her Majesty or His Majesty first?”

“That is my intention.”

Alicia nodded, still uncertain.

She had wondered if, by burdening Reichardt suddenly, she was making him act on false rumors.

“Pierre Gique has been safely sent home.”

Reichardt kept his voice lowered.

“He was here?”

“Yes. Did you not request it knowingly?”

“I… did not know.”

By the original course of events, Pierre Gique would have come to see the opera, then aided Josephina after she was injured, leading to romance.

Had it all been mere coincidence?

If so, it was strange Josephina had not been harmed tonight.

If her injury had been only an accident, then it should have happened—but it had not.

Perhaps her conversation with Alicia earlier had somehow altered things.

Perhaps events had diverged so far already that the accident never occurred.

“No issue was found in the second-floor boxes.”

“…”

“Or perhaps I failed to notice.”

Reichardt admitted the possibility.

“Since it is the obvious place for Their Majesties and royals, its security is already the most thorough. Knights triple-checked the area. Any flaw they could not find would be difficult for me as well.”

He spoke of his own potential fallibility.

“Perhaps so.”

But without knowing what the accident was, Alicia’s unease only grew.

“I have ordered more guards stationed around the royal boxes.”

As Alicia, outwardly calm but endlessly watchful, listened, Reichardt offered reassurance.

She nodded just as the lights on the first floor dimmed in sequence.

The curtain rose.

The performance began.

The Empress’s opera was both refined and entertaining.

Alicia’s eyes stayed on the stage, yet her mind lingered on the danger.

Hidden weapons. Assassins. Intruders.

Attacks from afar, made possible in the limited sight lines.

She watched the elegant soprano and thought of brutal combat.

On stage, the actress playing a noble lady faltered, stomping her foot.

Struggling not to fall, she drew sympathetic cries from the audience.

With a bright smile, she overcame the slip.

Whether scripted or not, her movements looked natural.

But her heavy stomp sent a prop rolling off the stage into the orchestra pit.

The musicians, unperturbed, simply returned it to the stage.

The audience laughed lightly at the comic turn and moved on.

The scene ended, and the curtain closed.

But Alicia still saw the rolling prop in her mind’s eye.

There were no weapons in the royal boxes.

On performance days, the opera house was guarded by knights.

So no hidden assassins either.

Then what if not a weapon, but the railing itself collapsed?

As dread gripped her, Alicia leaned forward and looked aside.

The only protruding box on the second floor was the central one, where the Emperor and Empress sat.

“Alicia?”

At Reichardt’s call, she voiced her realization.

“What are the chances the opera house’s royal box railing might fall?”

“It must not.”

Reichardt rose at once.

“Your Highness?”

“Leave here.”

He headed toward the adjoining box.

Alicia rose, scanning the stage.

The final act was in progress.

When she stepped outside, Reichardt had already evacuated the Emperor and Empress from their box.

His speed unsettled her.

Within three minutes, he had risen from his chair, closed off the main box with ropes, and led Their Majesties to the first-floor seats.

Neither Emperor nor Empress questioned him; they simply obeyed.

Starting with them, nobles left the second floor for the ground level or departed entirely.

The performance ended safely.

The Empress moved her closing address from the stage to the banquet hall.

The performers and musicians packed up their things, prepared by imperial attendants, and left.

Royals and guests also left early, guided to move toward the banquet.

Silence soon filled the opera house.

After all was over, Reichardt and Alicia returned with imperial leave.

Alicia felt puzzled.

Reichardt set her upon the safe, bare stage before ascending to the second floor.

“Your Highness?”

The brightly lit stage was beautiful, but standing alone there felt strange.

“Here.”

From the central box above, Reichardt answered her call.

“Your Highness, no—Your Highness!”

She saw him and tried to warn him.

But he stepped onto the railing, putting his weight upon it.

Crash!

The once-sturdy edge of the elegant box crumbled.

“Your Highness!”

Alicia dashed from the stage to reach him.

Thanks to his earlier strict orders that no one enter, no one else came in.

From outside came cries of “Your Grace!”

At the sound of collapsing stone, Alicia’s heart plunged.

“Do not come closer!”

Reichardt dangled from the heavy crimson curtain hung for privacy.

Sliding down its slant, he reached the ground.

Covered in dust, he brushed his shoulder and hair.

“Wh-what are you doing?!”

Alicia shouted before she knew it.

“…Forgive me. Did I frighten you?”

Reichardt asked gently, halted by her outburst.

“Of course you did!”

On the resonant stage, Alicia could not contain her cry.

Her eyes glistened red, her face still shadowed by fear and dread.