Chapter 4
Confirmation (2)
Hans, the loyal aide of Duke Raspe, gave up on the fruitless question of why the Duke had become so strange.
*Whatever will be, will be. It’s not like my worrying will change anything. I might as well enjoy the outing. Come to think of it, when was the last time I was out at this hour?*
Every day, it was off to the Palace before dawn and back only after sunset—and all he ever saw were documents, his insufferable subordinates, and the Duke’s face, which was handsome or not, Hans couldn’t care less. But now, here he was, leaving the Palace while the sun was still pleasant, headed to the Roan Count’s estate.
*I never thought I’d see the day.*
Sitting in the Duke’s carriage—whose coachman’s seat was so steady it barely shuddered—the whole world looked beautiful. Even the purpose of today’s outing.
*His Grace going to see his betrothed unannounced. How romantic! Of course, the romance is half-dead because that Duke happens to be Edmund Raspe…*
After living as if she didn’t exist all this time, why was he suddenly looking for his betrothed? Hans naturally had no idea, but who cared. His Grace must have gone a little crazy today.
And if that was the case, he dearly hoped His Grace would remain *not* normal tomorrow too.
As if even the heavens were helping Hans, the weather was perfect for going out.
He lavishly praised himself for wearing the new coat he’d bought from the tailor on Second Street. All the young ladies on the street seemed to be looking at him with interest.
Of course, they were probably just gawking at the rare sight of the “Duke of Raspe’s” carriage—but they say delusion is free. And truly, they might have been sneaking a peek at the handsome aide on the coachman’s seat as a bonus.
*What is fate, really? One day, a young lady who can’t forget the man on the coachman’s seat sends a letter to the Duke’s household, and that’s where it all begins—*
“Hans. Stop the carriage.”
The Duke’s voice came through the window to the coachman’s seat.
*Eek!* Startled out of his daydream, Hans quickly relayed the order. The skilled coachman brought the carriage to a smooth halt despite the sudden command.
“Where are you going, my lord? There’s nothing around here.”
As he quickly opened the carriage door, Hans asked a question he knew he probably wouldn’t get an answer to.
*If I don’t prod him like this, he only says two things: “Here” and “Leave.”*
As expected, Edmund stepped out of the carriage with his escort knight and said not a single word in reply. He headed straight for a shabby shop with no signboard.
Hans followed the Duke to the shop with cheap glass windows and only then realized—it was a music box shop.
*A music box? No, surely not. This must be something else. A secret meeting spot for the Duke’s household, perhaps.*
Recalling the mystery novel he’d read the other day, Hans opened the door to the ordinary-looking music box shop. But contrary to his expectations, the interior was just a normal music box store.
He was momentarily disappointed by the shop’s aged appearance—but the music boxes displayed on the dusty shelves were clearly not cheap goods, even to Hans’s untrained eye.
“Your Grace, did you come here to buy a gift? I take it the young lady of House Roan likes music boxes?”
“I wonder.”
“Well, I suppose a music box is unique enough to be memorable… but wouldn’t a jeweler on Fifth Street be better? Jewelry is a gift beloved by all, regardless of age or gender. I hear amethysts from the northeast are quite fashionable these days.”
“You mean the amethysts from the Lehmann Viscounty.”
Edmund half-listened to Hans’s pretentious suggestions while browsing the shop.
*Did she like music boxes?*
He didn’t know. Whenever he’d needed to give a gift, he’d simply handed over whatever jewels were in vogue—he’d never carefully chosen and given something himself.
In truth, the reason Edmund had come here wasn’t so much to choose a gift for Elia as it was… to test something.
After making a full circuit of the display cases, Edmund called the shopkeeper over, pointing to two pieces displayed separately in the center.
“Do you have replicas of these two?”
The nervous shopkeeper—startled by the sudden visit of a high-ranking noble—checked the items the Duke had indicated.
*As expected of a noble—he has an eye for quality. To pick these out the moment he walks in…*
The two pieces the Duke had chosen were the shopkeeper’s masterpieces, crafted with a lifetime of effort. The materials alone—ebony wood, painstakingly sourced—were worthy of being presented before His Imperial Majesty himself, or so the shopkeeper proudly believed.
“No, my lord. Not only do I have no replicas, but I spent five full years creating these pieces… I could not make the same again, even for a fortune.”
Despite his pride, the shopkeeper answered in a strained voice, intimidated by the Duke’s gaze. A silence so deep he could hear himself swallow followed.
“Sh-shall I… show you how they move?”
Summoning his courage, the shopkeeper tried to earn the nobleman’s approval.
With the Duke’s expression revealing neither permission nor refusal, the hesitant shopkeeper wound up one of the music boxes. His hands trembled even though it was something he did every day.
As he wound the spring, a simple melody—the kind children first learn on the piano—began to play. At the same time, atop the palm-sized music box, a girl holding a flower danced in circles with a little dog.
“Oh…”
It was beautiful. Even Hans, who had suggested they just go buy jewelry, let out an admiring exclamation at the clear notes and delicate movements.
Edmund was satisfied as well. It was unmistakably the same music box from his memory.
*In the original course of events, two years from now, this piece would have brought the craftsman wealth and fame.*
When Edmund was twenty-four, a famous playwright from a southern duchy had happened upon this shop and purchased two music boxes. He later proposed to his lover, an actress in his troupe, and gifted her the two music boxes along with praise calling them “the source of his inspiration.”
When that story became known, nobles flocked to the shopkeeper, competing to place orders—and the craftsman amassed a fortune.
Now, those two music boxes had fallen into Edmund’s hands.
Would the shopkeeper lose the fortune that was rightfully his and be left to tend his shabby store?
Would the playwright, deprived of his engagement gifts for his lover, be able to hold onto his love?
How much would the world change at Edmund’s hands?
Time would tell.
“I’ll take these two.”
The music box slowly came to a halt as its spring wound down.
The time Edmund had altered began to flow—slowly, inexorably.
—
* * *
—
The wrapping of the music boxes was terribly shoddy for their quality. Hans, unable to restrain his meddlesome nature, repeatedly urged the shopkeeper to redo the packaging—until he finally exploded and dragged the Duke out of the shop.
“Wait here, just a moment! I may look like this, but I’ve been the Duke of Raspe’s aide for four years! I cannot let His Grace walk around carrying a box that looks like *that*!”
Hans ran across the street to a satin shop and spent a full gold coin on expensive fabric. Then he wrapped the gift himself inside the carriage.
It was nothing more than wrapping the boxes in fabric and tying them with free string from the shop, but the finished product looked rather decent.
“Ahem. What do you think? I’m quite useful outside the study as well.”
The carriage departed with the aide desperately seeking praise, Edmund, and the taciturn knight. The destination—the Roan Count’s estate—wasn’t far from the shopping district.
As the carriage raced down the southern road, the scenery changed, revealing a green plain where new sprouts had begun to emerge.
“Wow. Living in the suburbs isn’t so bad, is it?”
Hans, accustomed to the bustling capital’s shopping district, hummed a tune as he gazed at the quiet road. Soon, the Roan Count’s mansion appeared at the end of the straight path.
*I have a feeling I’ll be coming down this road quite often from now on.*
—
* * *
—
The last time Edmund had visited the Roan Count’s estate was after his wedding in his previous life. Before that, his only visits had been when the elders of both houses were still alive.
It wasn’t a particularly memorable mansion. Traces of age were visible throughout the estate, and the garden—the only thing worth looking at—was still too early in the season to be anything but desolate.
Stepping out of the carriage, Edmund left the unremarkable garden behind and gazed up at the fourth floor of the mansion. He had held his wedding ceremony there and, following Imperial custom, spent the night in Elia’s bedroom on that very floor.
Those who attended the wedding had offered Edmund unsolicited advice: “Even if your wife cries, it’s not because she doesn’t want to be married—so comfort her well.”
But Elia hadn’t cried. She’d merely grumbled that her wedding gown was uncomfortable. It wasn’t an idle complaint—it had taken ages just to remove all the excessive ornaments for fear of tearing the dress.
*Careful, careful… please. If it tears… this was my mother’s gown, you know.*
That was the first day Elia had spoken to Edmund with formal deference. It seemed she’d made a private resolution—”from today onward”—though no one had asked her to.
It was awkward—no, Edmund had stolen away any spare moment for chit-chat, so she’d only managed to say a few things at most.
As Edmund recalled the past, the Roan household’s butler came running up, out of breath.
“Pardon? Y-you have business with the young lady?”
“His Grace met with the Count of Roan at the Palace earlier—it seems word hasn’t been passed along yet.”
“Yes, we hadn’t heard of any visit… I apologize.”
The Count of Roan, flustered by the unexpected news, had apparently failed to inform the household of Edmund’s visit.
*He must have been caught off guard. Yes. I’d have been too stunned to remember anything myself.*
Hans graciously overlooked the mistake of the Count’s people at the Palace, explaining the situation to the butler. Not that it mattered to Edmund either way.
The Count’s people were flustered—but that was merely the concern of underlings.
“I apologize. You’ve come all this way, and we’ve shown you such poor preparation…”
As if to prove his authority, the Count’s household was busy apologizing for their lack of preparation to the Duke who had arrived unannounced.
“His Grace intends to stay only briefly for a conversation.”
“Yes, yes. Then we shall prepare a place where the two of you may speak privately.”
“I’ll wait here.”
The flustered butler of House Roan, after obtaining the Duke’s permission, gathered the servants waiting in the corridor. There were many merchants and lower-ranking nobles visiting the estate today—so they needed to move the Duke elsewhere.
“With so many outsiders today, we should bring him to the fourth floor.”
“Yes, the fourth floor should be well-maintained—Daisy takes good care of it. The problem is Lady Elia…”
Hans, eavesdropping on the servants’ flustered conversations through the door gap, caught sight of curious glances.
If these had been people of the Duke’s household, they’d never have dared to stare—but the servants here seemed driven by innocent curiosity rather than wariness toward Edmund. Probably a reflection of their master’s character.
“Ahem. I’ll just take the gifts up to the fourth floor and wait here.”
If the Duke’s knight guarding the carriage had heard that, he’d have scolded Hans for “violating security protocols”—but Hans absolutely did not want to insert himself between the two of them.
*I’d much rather be treated well downstairs while being called “Aide” than stuck in the middle of whatever’s going on up there.*
The servants’ urgent voices still echoed through the corridor. As the butler asked about the condition of the fourth-floor sitting room, several servants could be heard calling the young lady’s name, running about in a hurry.
“What do we do? Lady Elia didn’t know either.”
“Daisy is checking the sitting room—let’s at least search among ourselves for now!”
“She’s not in the kitchen! Are you sure you checked the study?”
“My lady! Lady Elia!”
Edmund, who had been gazing at the unimpressive decorations in the sitting room, shifted his gaze toward the door.
“Hmm. It’s rather noisy out there. Should I close the door for a moment?”
“No, there’s no need.”
Elia’s name echoed in the fading voices of the servants. Even hearing her name spoken by others was sweet.
And more than that, the Elia who was still just a name seemed to call out to him with the very voice he’d heard all night in this place—on this very fourth floor.
*Ed… Eddie, Eddie.*
An auditory hallucination. Edmund found it all absurd and unfamiliar.
*Perhaps I went mad after dying once.*
