Sion Senuart’s expression turned cold and rigid as he skimmed through the contents of the latest commission.
This was no ordinary formula.
It was one of the forms of black magic strictly prohibited within the Declair Empire.
“So there’s been a rat hiding in my tower.”
Black magic of this caliber was only possible for someone affiliated with the Mage Tower — someone with real power.
The corner of Sion Senuart’s mouth curved into a sharp arc. His violet eyes flickered with a brief, mysterious gleam. His magical energy was responding to his emotions.
“How dare they.”
Who had laid hands on black magic without so much as asking his permission?
“What shall we do, Tower Master? Shall we decline this commission?”
The moment it became known that these documents were related to black magic, the Mage Tower would not be able to escape responsibility.
The Tower was, after all, the institution currently responsible for ensuring that information about black magic did not leak to the outside world.
And if this particular fact were to come to light…
The Temple.
Those people would come running like beasts that had caught the scent of prey.
“Ha. Are you out of your mind? If we decline and the Arachrene Ducal House goes looking elsewhere, what then?”
“…”
“Where was this document discovered?”
“They didn’t specify in detail, but after conducting our own investigation, it appears to have been found at the Charlotte Countship.”
“Ah. I’ve heard of them.”
The Charlotte Countship — renowned for producing loyal servants and brilliant strategists for House Arachrene — had been swept away overnight. That news had reached even Sion Senuart’s ears, indifferent as he was to the affairs of the world.
…I’d rather it turn out to be a false alarm.
The Mage Tower kept a close watch on the movements of the Empire’s most powerful nobility. And lately, Sion Senuart had been feeling something he couldn’t quite articulate — a strange, unsettling sensation.
It was as if someone was deliberately constructing the current situation, piece by piece.
Who on earth is engineering all of this? Arcmund? Or Pernoa?
At first, it had seemed like nothing more than a minor reshuffling within House Arachrene, beginning with Marquess Krende. He had assumed the noise would end there — but instead, that had only been the beginning. Things had slowly, steadily escalated.
And now it had come to a point where it was making quite a few people uncomfortable, its aim directed squarely at the Imperial family.
No — more precisely, at Duke Kineart and the Empress?
They would certainly be the most unsettled by the rumors circulating these days.
He simply couldn’t make sense of it.
What was it that the person behind all of this truly wanted?
Moreover, the incidents he had just recalled weren’t directly connected to one another. So why did he have this nagging feeling that they were?
“I suppose I’ll have to see for myself.”
Sion Senuart spoke calmly, his gaze still fixed on the window.
“I’ll need to pay a visit to the Arachrene Ducal Castle.”
“Pardon? You personally, Tower Master?!”
“Yes. Myself.”
He would have to be especially careful not to let those Temple dogs catch wind of it.
Sion Senuart smiled — beautifully.
⁂
After emerging from the Petite Boutique laden with an armful of new clothes, Riersha found herself in an unexpectedly awkward predicament.
“Whose carriage will you be riding in, Riersha?”
“Mine, naturally.”
The two men who had been clashing over opinions throughout the entire shopping trip were now engaged in a battle of nerves over which one of them Riersha would ride home with.
“Well then. The choice is yours.”
Arcmund handed the decision to Riersha, and Pernoa gazed down at her as if to say, What are you going to do?
The spark had landed on her out of nowhere.
No matter who she chose, the other would be hurt.
There’s only one thing to do.
After a moment’s deliberation, Riersha let out a small, quiet sigh.
“I’ve decided,” she announced, lifting her head with sudden resolve, and marched straight toward both men with determined little steps.
And then—
“Pfft—”
“—hh—”
Rosinante and Sona, who had been watching Riersha’s unexpected move, finally lost the battle against their laughter and burst out.
Because the scene that unfolded was, frankly, quite ridiculous.
“…What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
Pernoa’s eyebrow arched upward.
Understandably so — because Arcmund and Pernoa were now standing side by side, each one’s hand held firmly in Riersha’s, looking for all the world like they were getting along splendidly.
“Make up!”
“…”
“Gwandpa and Daddy hafta get along!”
Riersha gripped both adults’ hands tightly, refusing to let go, and declared this with absolute conviction.
“In that case, Miss Riersha, which carriage should the two of them ride in?” Sona chimed in, as if this were perfectly reasonable.
“Dat one.”
Riersha pointed to Arcmund’s carriage, parked at the front.
Understanding his granddaughter’s meaning, Arcmund’s expression crumpled into something deeply pained.
It had been quite some time since he had held his fully-grown son’s hand like this — and with such stubborn insistence, no less.
Pernoa was equally displeased. He had intended to let go the moment they were settled in the carriage.
But when Riersha climbed in right after them, every plan he’d had dissolved into nothing.
“Be nice.”
“…”
“Ow’erwise Riersha will be sad.”
⁂
Clop. Clop. Clop.
Silence. A heavy, profound quiet.
There were no better words to describe the situation inside that carriage.
Pernoa, seated as far from Arcmund as physically possible, directed his words toward the door.
“Tell the coachman to get us there as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The knight obeyed and disappeared, leaving Arcmund to wear an expression of distinct irritation.
“And why did you follow along in the first place, only to subject me to this embarrassment?”
“As though I’m enjoying this any more than you are.”
“Revolting.”
“Likewise.”
It was so thoroughly awful that Pernoa was almost willing to say the days he’d spent on the western border of the Declair Empire had been positively peaceful by comparison.
Whether or not she understood the misery of the two men beside her, Riersha was smiling brightly.
“…Riersha, surely you can let go of this hand now?”
“When we get home.”
Arcmund had tried reasoning with her, but Riersha shook her head — absolutely not.
The firmness of it made Pernoa let out a quiet, involuntary smile.
“By the way — how are things going with the court case against Duke Kineart? It seems like the situation has gotten rather complicated.”
“There was such a thing?”
It was the first Arcmund had heard of it.
He turned his gaze toward her, indicating she should explain, and Riersha began carefully recounting the details.
“Duke Kineart filed a suit against Ivernay Sonnet. Sonnet is in my troupe. But it seemes like Duke Willias is helping him.”
“That sounds like serious trouble.”
Arcmund’s expression grew grave.
Having already witnessed one of Riersha’s planned performances, he had anticipated that Duke Kineart might well file a lawsuit. But now Duke Willias’s house had joined the fray as well.
Just as Pernoa had said — the situation was unfolding in complicated ways.
But Riersha shook her head, unconcerned.
“Duke Willias isn’t gonna help. I already sent him proof that he took a bwibe.”
Duke Kineart might be counting on Duke Macton Willias, but regrettably, that support would amount to very little. Willias had no desire for evidence of his bribery to be laid bare in open court.
“Well done. And when is the first hearing?”
“One week fwom now!”
“Duke Kineart is going to fall right out of his chair.”
Pernoa looked satisfied, impressed.
But Riersha hesitated, as though she still had something more to say.
Arcmund noticed the shift in his granddaughter’s expression and gave an encouraging nod.
“Is there something troubling you? Shall your grandfather help?”
“Well…”
Riersha wavered, then spoke.
“I want to reveal the twuth about Isierd at the trial.”
Isierd still didn’t know.
Her plan had been to get Pernoa’s permission first, and then go to Isierd.
Pernoa’s expression went rigid.
If the existence of the Imperial Prince were brought to light there, it would become a matter that would draw even the Emperor himself into the fray.
It would no longer be something that could be contained quietly among the nobility.
Arcmund bit back a sharp remark.
Even for Riersha’s sake, there was no way Pernoa would agree to something this dangerous—
“Go ahead. Do it.”
“…Have you finally lost your mind?”
Arcmund stared at him in disbelief.
Riersha was equally stunned. She had expected to need at least several rounds of persuasion.
“Do what you want to do, Riersha. Don’t worry about what comes after.”
“…Daddy.”
“I’m capable of handling the fallout.”
Pernoa smiled lightly as he answered, and Riersha’s face bloomed with something close to reverence.
Arcmund, who had been listening to the exchange between father and daughter in a daze, suddenly remembered something he had temporarily forgotten.
Right. Pernoa was the man who had once said he would seize the throne itself if it came to that.
So Riersha poking at the Imperial family a little was hardly going to make him so much as blink.
