Isierd studied his father in silence.
Calius sat by the window, unhurried, savoring his tea and gazing out at the view without sparing Isierd so much as a glance. It was as though Isierd didn’t exist in the room at all — as though he were simply not there.
Yet Isierd felt nothing in particular about it. He had never held any expectations of the man to begin with.
After a long, leisurely moment of enjoying his tea, Calius spoke in a voice that carried a faint note of amusement.
“You seem rather comfortable with courtly etiquette. At least you won’t make a fool of yourself in front of the nobility.”
“The Arachrene family extended me considerable guidance.”
“And so you decided to return to the capital riding on the Young Duke’s coattails?”
“It just worked out that way.”
“What did you promise the Young Duke in exchange for his backing?”
“I thought you had no interest in me… Was I wrong?”
Isierd deflected with practiced ease. The expression on Calius’s face stiffened — only briefly — before he let out a dismissive snort, as though he’d just heard something absurd.
“I have interest in you?”
Calius had no interest in Isierd himself. What he was curious about was simply what the Arachrene family had been thinking, raising Isierd the way they had.
“You’ve secured one Arachrene alliance and already you’re getting ahead of yourself. Even if a place opens up for you at the imperial palace, nothing changes. You would do well to rein in that insolence of yours.”
“But Your Majesty intends to make use of me as a convenient piece, doesn’t he? Am I mistaken?”
“You are not.”
Calius saw no reason to deny that his intentions had been seen through. It wouldn’t change anything regardless.
That was how little he regarded Isierd’s existence — something inconsequential, easily managed.
He continued, his tone generous, as if bestowing a gift.
“When you return to the imperial palace, I intend to extend you every courtesy.”
Isierd said nothing.
“A father who has found his lost child after eight years — it would only be natural for him to do so, would it not?”
Isierd laughed inwardly.
He understood immediately what the Emperor was after. Calius intended to publicly express his support for Isierd, then sit back and watch as the nobility descended into a scramble for power and influence. The nobles who had been pushed onto the defensive would come charging in with gleaming eyes, seizing the opportunity — and the Emperor would use that chaos to consolidate his own position.
With a second imperial prince now in the picture where there had only ever been one, Calius’s standing would be all the more pronounced.
Not that it was a bad arrangement for Isierd, either. Until he was capable of protecting himself within the palace walls, the Emperor would keep him shielded.
Of course, Isierd had no intention of stopping there.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“As well you should. But if you want to survive long at the imperial palace, you had best stop conducting yourself so impudently in my presence.”
Isierd remained silent.
“Remember that you are nothing more than a piece on my board. If you have no desire to lose everything by reaching beyond your station — keep that in mind.”
“I will bear it in mind.”
Isierd dipped his head in a bow, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Lose everything, he says.
Isierd had never owned anything to begin with. He had nothing to lose, and nothing to fear — and the Emperor simply didn’t know that.
Calius rose from his seat.
“I’ll give you one week. Settle whatever needs settling, then present yourself at the palace.”
⁂
By the time Isierd returned, the sun had long since set and the dinner hour was well past.
The moment Riersha heard that the carriage had arrived, she sprang to her feet and rushed outside.
Isierd was stepping down from the carriage when he spotted her waiting for him, and his expression shifted to one of genuine surprise.
“Riersha? What are you doing out here? …Were you waiting for me?”
“Of cawse I was waiting — you didn’t come back for so long. Nothing happened, right?”
Riersha wore a deeply serious expression as she began circling him, inspecting him from every angle. Isierd held his hands up awkwardly at his sides and watched her with quiet amusement before a small laugh escaped him.
“No, nothing happened. I’m fine.”
“…Phew. Thank goodness.”
“Were you worried about me?”
“Mm-hm.”
At Riersha’s nod, Isierd looked at her with an expression he couldn’t quite name.
“I see.”
“Mm. Come on, let’s go inside. Did you eat?”
“…No.”
“What? You were gone all that time and he didn’t even feed you?!”
Riersha’s eyebrows shot up like two sharp peaks, her face a picture of indignation.
The nerve — being Emperor and all, and not even offering a meal!
Isierd wasn’t particularly bothered himself, yet watching Riersha get worked up on his behalf, he blinked at her with curious eyes. Still, it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.
Seeing her so incensed on his account stirred something oddly warm in the space behind his ribs.
“You must be hungry. Let’s go in and eat. I’ll stay with you.”
“You’ll stay with me?”
“Mm-hm. It tastes better with two people than eating alone, right?”
Riersha took his hand and pulled him along. Isierd followed without any thought of refusing.
When they entered the mansion’s dining room, the head cook, who had been tidying up after dinner, looked up with a puzzled expression. Riersha had already eaten and had her evening snack — and yet here she was again.
“Miss Riersha? …Didn’t you finish both dinner and dessert earlier?”
“Mm-hm. But Isierd hasn’t had anything to eat yet.”
“Ah! Of course. I’ll have a meal brought out right away.”
“Thank you.”
“Not at all — this is my job.”
The cook smiled warmly and disappeared back into the kitchen. Riersha turned to Isierd and urged him to sit down.
Then she settled into the chair across from him.
A peculiarly awkward silence hung between them.
Riersha reached for something to say, if only to break it.
“Dinner tonight was really good. You’ll like it too, I’m sure. There were two desserts, but… since you don’t really like sweets, I’ll be generous and take care of the other one for you.”
“Sure. Thank you.”
Silence fell again.
Riersha hesitated for a moment before deciding to ask what she had really been wanting to ask.
“…So. When are you going back to the imperial palace, Isierd?”
“He said he’d give me a week.”
“…I see. Then we won’t be seeing each other for a while.”
“Right. Things will be hectic once I return.”
Isierd answered calmly and evenly.
Hearing that tone, Riersha felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite define. She had thought, in her own way, that they had grown close over these past weeks — but Isierd didn’t look the least bit reluctant.
It seems like I’m the only one who’s sad about saying goodbye.
Riersha dropped her gaze to the pattern on the tabletop, subdued. Not a word passed between them until the food arrived. Then Isierd set down his glass of water and spoke.
“That being said — Riersha. Can I ask you for something?”
“…Mm? A favor? What is it?”
“For the one week I have left here — will you have dinner with me each evening?”
“…What?”
“Like you said. It tastes better when you’re not eating alone.”
At that, Riersha broke into a bright smile and nodded.
⁂
Past midnight, at the Declair Imperial Palace.
Karla had come from the temple earlier that day, and the memory still had her biting down on her lip, hard, with humiliation.
“How dare they — how dare they — humiliate me like this!”
She had gone to see the Pope. Her purpose had been straightforward: to confirm, once again, the promise she had been given — that Adrian would be invited to the temple’s annual ceremony.
“The invitation to Adrian for the temple’s annual ceremony — that is still certain, is it not?”
“Ah, is that what brought you all the way to the temple in person, Your Highness?”
“Surely the Pope is aware of how turbulent things have become.”
“Indeed. I heard the news. You must have a great deal on your mind.”
Christia had nodded with a look of sympathetic understanding.
Karla had felt half-relieved at that. The fact that he seemed to grasp and empathize with her situation meant, she had assumed, that he would honor the promise he had made.
But then —
“Naturally, our temple will be extending an invitation to the Crown Prince for the annual ceremony.”
Something about those words felt wrong. Karla paused with her teacup halfway to her lips, and when she looked at Christia, he returned her gaze with a pleasant smile and added, with careful emphasis:
“I distinctly remember giving that promise. That we would invite the Crown Prince to this year’s annual ceremony.”
It was only then that the true meaning of his words settled over Karla like cold water.
Whoever held the title — the temple would invite the Crown Prince.
