Royal Dot (8)

There was only one reason the duty had passed to Alicia.

Because she had married Reichardt.

A brief, hollow breeze seemed to blow between them.

“Shall I swear fealty right now?”

Dismounting, Reichardt spoke with a loyal, resolute face.

“All right.”

Alicia beamed and granted permission.

Sitting sidesaddle on the halted horse, she even looked a little imperious.

Reichardt knelt on one knee as if offering a formal oath of fealty.

“I, Reichardt Tessen, son of Ferdinand II and Idgis of Ibelin, swear to devote my loyalty to Alicia Rain until my last breath.”

Alicia laid her hands, one after the other, upon Reichardt’s shoulders with a mischievous smile.

“Rise, Sir Rei.”

“I’m serious.”

Reichardt stood and spoke with a challenging air.

“So am I. It’s reassuring to have a ‘Demon’ who wields a giant axe as my knight. Let’s go on for now.”

“Very well.”

Reichardt brushed his knee and mounted up.

“How should I address her?”

“Ingrid. That’s enough.”

Hearing his answer, Alicia urged her horse faster toward their destination.

Then, a sudden doubt crossed her mind.

‘But… how does one find hell?’

Alicia and Reichardt’s visit to Orie was unannounced.

As they entered the Viscountess of Loire’s residence, a delighted voice rang out.

“Rei!”

The small figure out in the garden sat in a wheeled chair.

A canopy fixed to the chair’s back kept her face in shade.

Behind the chair stood a middle-aged woman with a severe expression.

When she bent to murmur something, the figure nestled in the chair nodded over and over.

“Ingrid.”

Reichardt waved back to the one waving at him.

Because he rarely did such things, Alicia watched the surprising sight with wonder.

Sensing Alicia’s upturned gaze, Reichardt smiled.

“Alicia—this is Ingrid.”

Henrik, who had lent them horses for the trip, kept his face carefully impassive, though it had clearly tightened.

Connie and Jamie’s expressions had also grown somber.

Contrary to their worries, Reichardt’s face held only the unalloyed joy of seeing someone dear.

Alicia, too, was unconsciously tense.

Reichardt took her hand and led her toward Ingrid.

The slender body nestled in the chair leaned forward toward them— a motion like a curious child.

“Reichardt.”

“Your Highness.”

Camille held the small frame steady and bowed to Reichardt.

“Ingrid, I’ve come.”

Reichardt gently released Alicia’s hand and lowered himself before the chair.

He clasped the hand extended to him and met the gaze within the shaded face.

“Welcome. I’m sorry for worrying you the last time you came by. Would you introduce the guest beside you?”

Reichardt sank to one knee before the chair, keeping his eyes lower than Ingrid’s.

Before her fragile figure, he seemed larger than usual.

Her dry, deeply wrinkled hand caressed Reichardt—who looked far too big for her—with gentleness.

It was a gesture full of love.

Reichardt yielded meekly to that fond touch, then retreated to stand by Alicia.

“Ingrid, this is the person I love. Alicia.”

Alicia bowed deeply, as Reichardt had.

“I am Alicia Rain. It’s an honor to meet you, Ingrid.”

Only after lowering herself fully could Alicia see beneath the canopy.

A little fear pricked at her.

A woman who had lived through the fate that might have been Alicia’s.

Whatever she looked like, Alicia prayed she wouldn’t show surprise.

“I’m glad to meet you, Alicia. Reichardt is such a fool that I never thought this day would come in my lifetime. I’m truly glad.”

The face under the canopy’s shadow showed itself a little.

As she’d heard, Ingrid wore the appearance of an eighty-year-old woman.

Time had etched itself across every visible part of her face.

Yet from the way she smiled like a child, there was no sense of curse or punishment at all.

Cautiously, Ingrid offered her hand.

Her warmth was friendly, if tinged with hesitation.

“Thank you for the welcome. I’m sorry to descend on you so suddenly. May we stay here a few days?”

Alicia enclosed the wrinkled hand in both of hers.

“I can’t remember the last time I had guests! Thank you for staying. Come in— I’ll tell you every story I know from when Rei was small.”

With a full-faced smile, Ingrid spoke.

Alicia glanced at Camille, silently asking if she might push the chair, and moved to the back.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go home and should just stay here. I only just learned Rei actually had a childhood.”

“I would like that.”

“May we go inside?”

Camille meant to warn that a beginner would find pushing difficult.

But before she knew it, she had stepped aside, letting Alicia take the handles.

When Alicia unlocked the brake and rolled the wheels smoothly, Camille nearly blurted a compliment—she was that adept.

“This way.”

Ingrid motioned with her hand.

With strength and good sense, Alicia guided the chair gently into the house.

“Since when have you known Rei?”

“Since he was fourteen. He was angelically pretty then. He’s too big now—but there are good things about the present, too. I have a few drawings I made back then, and I’ll give them all to you. My eyes are so dim these days I can’t see them anyway.”

Cheerfully, Ingrid chattered on, then spoke softly to the staff.

“Serve tea for the lady, please. And bring dessert. When you’ve finished, fetch the canvases in the gallery—the ones with the dust covers.”

She invited Alicia to sit wherever she pleased.

“Are your eyes unwell?”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s just age; I’m not especially sick. Ah, some days I lose my memory completely. On those days, I might not recognize you. Will you understand?”

Ingrid possessed the gift of speaking tragedy peacefully.

When she spoke so serenely, the terrible reality felt like nothing much.

“…Yes. I will.”

Alicia hesitated, then answered evenly.

“It’s all right. I only said it so you wouldn’t be startled. What is Rain like? I’ve never been.”

“Rain is a quiet place. Cold, too. People’s faces all look so frosty that everyone gets misunderstood. Ingrid—are you really going to tell me about Rei from fourteen to now?”

“Shall I? I worried I might talk too much…”

Bathed in sun by the window, Alicia and Ingrid chatted merrily.

Reichardt watched from a step away as the two discussed him.

With the subject present, they gossiped that his default expression looked unfeeling these days and wondered what on earth he’d eaten to grow so tall.

Ingrid confessed that when she first met him, Reichardt was already as big as she was—though not as sprawling as now.

“……”

Beside Reichardt, Camille listened to their talk.

Ingrid recounted instances of Reichardt’s obliviousness in detail, and Alicia chimed in,

“So he’s always been oblivious, hasn’t he?”

Hearing the situations Alicia knew, Ingrid clutched her stomach with laughter.

“Your Highness is very bold.”

Camille murmured softly.

Reichardt knit his brow slightly and replied:

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you joke.”

The conversation drifted to Reichardt’s clothing.

It was a story from when he had begun rebelling after years of wearing whatever Henrik recommended.

“I’m not joking, Your Highness.”

Camille’s face turned grave again, while she still kept half an ear on Ingrid and Alicia.

Henrik, who favored flamboyance, had put Reichardt in many hot-pink shirts and jackets with gaudy trim until he turned sixteen.

Reichardt had loathed those outfits.

Listening to Ingrid say that Henrik had probably cried the day Reichardt refused to wear such things any longer, Camille’s lips twitched.

All of Reichardt’s oversized signet rings had been Henrik and Connie’s taste, too.

Thanks to the pair, before he became a young man he dressed smartly—like a proper prince.

Ingrid’s anecdotes about Reichardt were endless.

Alicia nodded and responded to everything with delighted admiration.

Eventually they arrived at the fact that Reichardt disliked—and feared—fish.

At last, he stuck his sturdy frame between them and brought the cheerful tea time to a halt.

“Let’s dine.”

Expressionless, brusque voice— and a clumsy, mood-killing remark to finish it off.

By the time Alicia and Reichardt finished their first dinner in Orie, the grand duke’s guard had joined them.

The next day, Daisy and the rest of the party arrived.

Given Ingrid’s condition, only Alicia and Reichardt stayed in the main house.

Their days in Orie were pleasant.

Contrary to worries, Ingrid lived a healthy, peaceful routine.

A few days flashed by.

Alicia spent much time with her— talking through many stories, and sharing many comfortable silences.

They looked at paintings and scenery, perused inscriptions and trinkets Ingrid showed her, and shared a rhythm of life.

Though Ingrid needed regular rests between activities, she otherwise seemed fine.

So long as they didn’t overdo it, all was well.

On the morning of the seventh day, Alicia received a letter.

The Aengkeo Orchard of the Brennel viscounty had burned.

In response to Brennel’s outrageous threats, Manners had sent a warning.

Alicia issued detailed orders for Anne’s protection and for a refuge in case of ensuing incidents.

Finishing the letter, Alicia lifted her gaze—and started.

Ingrid stood in front of the study, hair down around her shoulders.

Alicia hurriedly put the letter away and was about to ask why she hadn’t called her—

“Who are you, my lady?”

Ingrid addressed Alicia gently.

The sudden change in someone with whom she’d just shared breakfast made Alicia falter.

“…My name is Alicia Rain…”

At her answer, Ingrid smiled as innocently as she had that morning.

A prank?

So she thought—when:

“My lady, your eyes are violet.”

Ingrid peered into Alicia’s eyes.

“Yes…”

Alicia wavered, unsure.

Ingrid stepped into the study, closed the door herself, and beckoned Alicia closer.

Her frail body looked unsteady, but thankfully she did not fall.

Baffled, Alicia did as she was told.

Ingrid gestured for her to lower her voice.

Were they… playing hide-and-seek?

Ingrid gripped Alicia’s hand tightly.

Not satisfied with simply standing close, she motioned again, bringing their faces near.

Alicia obeyed politely.

“Lady Rain. Did the House of Rain send you here?”

“No.”

Uncertain of Ingrid’s current memory, Alicia did not use an honorific title.

Ingrid, it seemed, was not one to fuss over forms.

Though Alicia’s answer was brief, she did not mind at all.