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King Argen’s eyes flashed open wide.
Grace was the finest mage in the Kingdom of Frozen—but hidden behind her brilliance, Argen was himself a mage of no small ability. Within the kingdom, the only person capable of unraveling his own spellwork was Grace.
I’ll have to find out for certain.
Grace—the woman who had always stood in the way of his ambitions, who seemed to have no interest in power or high society.
To the world, she was a magnificent queen consort. She had been the first to create an instantaneous travel portal. She had invented agricultural machinery that had revolutionized the farming of commoners. Nobles revered her; common people sang her praises.
But that was not the kind of queen consort Argen had wanted.
Being revered and praised is supposed to be my role—the King’s!
What he had wanted from her was ordinary. A queen who managed budgets, decorated the palace for its events, and reigned as the jewel of high society.
The things a typical noblewoman would do.
But if it truly was Grace who broke the dark magic on Aisha…
“Then she would have known immediately that I was the one who cast it.”
Tap. Tap.
The finger drumming against the armrest grew quicker and more agitated.
He didn’t relish it, but he had to know for certain.
I should arrange a tea time with Grace. Tomorrow, if possible.
He was already rising from his chair with that thought when—
“Your Majesty. May I enter?”
A quiet knock, followed by a familiar voice.
“Come in.”
The door opened to admit Tri, his aide.
“Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty, but a disturbance has broken out at the palace gates. A child claiming to possess an Affinity has apparently been causing a scene at the main entrance.”
“…What? An Affinity user?”
Argen questioned his own hearing.
“Yes. Under ordinary circumstances I would have had the matter dealt with at our level without troubling Your Majesty—but with the recent Foss affair still fresh, I felt uneasy dismissing anything out of hand.”
To date, the only known Affinities were ice and poison. Ice belonged to the bloodline of House Krost; the bearer of the Poison Affinity, Duke Foss, was already dead.
Still. One never knows.
“I’ll see to this myself. Lead the way.”
Argen commanded Tri and followed him out. The possibility, however unlikely, wasn’t one he could entirely dismiss.
Duke Foss had left behind two sons—one legitimate heir and one illegitimate child.
But with his own father executed, there’s no reason for the legitimate son to come here…
That left one remaining possibility.
“There, Your Majesty.”
They had reached the palace’s main gates. Tri raised a hand and pointed toward a spot not far off.
Then—
“Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”
A bright, youthful voice—clear as sunlight—rang against Argen’s ear.
“What excellent timing!”
“……?”
He couldn’t have been a day older than seven.
His hair was a deep, near-black shade of dark blue, damp with moisture. His clothes were grimy and his shoes were worn through at the soles—at a glance, he looked every bit like a beggar who had come to beg for coin. But his smile—that impossibly beautiful, open smile—and his black eyes were something else altogether. They reminded Argen of unpolished obsidian, rough and full of unrefined light.
“This should be enough to convince you, I think?”
“…….”
Argen stepped forward without a word, his footsteps deliberate, and looked at the ground surrounding the boy.
He could not believe what he was seeing.
Everything within reach of the boy’s bare feet had rotted away. The trees. The grass. Even the tips of the palace spears held by the knights standing guard at the gate.
“Y-Your Majesty.”
The knights who had been facing down the boy were frozen in place. The expressions on their faces were nothing short of pure, undiluted terror.
Well, well.
Argen turned slowly in a circle to survey the damage, and a slow smile began to curve his lips upward.
“Ha… ha ha ha…”
There he was.
His new chess piece—the one who would take Duke Foss’s place on the board.
* * *
At that same moment.
“Aisha. Watch me. Here we go—hiyah!”
Thwack!
The distinctly underwhelming sound of a wooden sword striking a training dummy echoed across the Krost estate.
Which meant this was—
“A neck strike.”
Oh. A neck strike.
I nodded with carefully maintained composure.
Pleased by my reaction, Kyle broke into a proud smile and shifted into a new stance.
“Right, and watch this one. This is—hiyah!”
This time he hit the dummy in the midsection, so—
“A torso strike.”
Oh. A torso strike.
The naming conventions were certainly direct.
“Well? I’m good, right? I came up with the names myself.”
Kyle planted a hand on his hip, wooden sword still in hand, and beamed at me.
He clearly wanted praise.
“Mm. Yes, very good.”
I nodded, but inside I was quietly wrestling with something significant.
Should I go find Father before it’s too late and suggest a career change?
As someone who was, in a manner of speaking, Kyle’s guardian—I had to be honest with myself. The odds of Kyle becoming a celebrated knight were not looking favorable.
Just then, Kyle bounced with enthusiasm.
“I practiced all week.”
“Good heavens. You practiced a whole week and this is what you’ve got?”
This was a problem. A real problem.
“…Hm?”
My mouth had fallen open before I could stop it—but Kyle, interpreting my reaction as something entirely positive, looked at me with eyes that sparkled even more brightly.
“What? Is it too good for just a week of practice?”
“Oh—uh, well, it’s just that—”
While I was floundering—
“You little fool. A week of practice and this is all you can manage—no wonder the young lady is speechless!”
A hand descended suddenly and vigorously ruffled Kyle’s white hair.
Looking up, I found Captain Iris, the knight assigned to oversee Kyle’s swordsmanship training, standing over him with a wry grin.
“Good day, my lady.”
“Good day to you!”
“Ah. Captain Iris. Why are you here?”
“Why am I here? Does a little shrimp like you really use that tone with an adult?”
“Hm? I called you Captain.”
“Yes, good—that part was right. But what comes after? How are you supposed to speak to an adult?”
“Oh. Um.”
Scrub, scrub, scrub—
Still having his white hair thoroughly ruffled, Kyle thought it over carefully and let out a small sound of realization.
“Why are you here, sir.”
“It’s ‘Why are you here, sir?’—not ‘Why are you here, sir.’ You need the question mark.”
“So close. I was one word off.”
“One word off, so you can run three laps around the training grounds.”
“All right. I will.”
“Drop the ‘all right’—that’s informal! How many times do I have to tell you?”
Iris groaned in exasperation, but Kyle had covered his ears against the ongoing lecture and was swiveling his head back and forth with a serene expression of total non-reception.
Then he turned to me with a cheerful wave.
“I’ve got to run my three laps. See you later, Aisha.”
“All right! Do your best!”
I waved back at his retreating figure.
Then—
“Iris.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“He really is a good-hearted kid, you know.”
I had been unable to say this in front of Kyle, but now that he was gone, I let it out. Iris gave a single solemn nod.
“…I know. The boy is genuine.”
It was a relief—he understood that Kyle’s behavior came from innocence, not any bad intention.
The neck strikes and torso strikes had given me a momentary flutter of worry, but—
Still, I’m glad Kyle seems to be settling in with the Krost knights.
He was in uniform and he had a sword in his hand. That was remarkable progress. When he had first arrived here, even wearing shoes had made him uncomfortable.
And now he was learning to hold conversations, and working through his sword training—even if the pace was leisurely.
He’s doing well, our Kyle.
I looked after him with the warm, faintly moist gaze of a proud parent as he ran his laps around the training grounds.
Since Duke Foss’s execution, the duchy had reclaimed its ordinary rhythms. Calypse threw himself back into his duties as duke. I was thoroughly spoiled as a “proper” young lady of the house. Kyle was working hard as the youngest member of the knightly order, and Lucas was applying himself to his studies as the heir to the duchy.
Kyle seemed fine—no need to worry there. Perhaps it was time to go check on Lucas.
“I’ll be heading in now!”
“Of course, my lady. Safe travels.”
After a quick farewell to Iris, I set off on my stubby legs, trotting back toward the manor at full speed.
