Arcmund didn’t stop there. He pressed on.
“I understand that Her Majesty the Empress is currently tracking down the culprit who abducted Prince Isierd… and yet you still haven’t confirmed where the prince was found?”
“…What do you mean. Why would I not know that?”
“Then we can simply say it at the same time, can’t we.”
Arcmund’s eyes flashed with the gleam of a trap sprung. Karla caught herself too late, snapping her mouth shut.
She had just realized she’d walked straight into his snare.
Because no matter what location Karla named in this moment—
The Kineart ducal house was something she would never bring herself to mention, not even in her final breath.
In the end, she wouldn’t be able to answer at all.
It was a perfect impasse: become the irresponsible Empress who had neglected her duties before all these witnesses, or speak the name of that house aloud.
She was trapped, with nowhere left to turn.
Wow, Grandfather is the best!
Riersha, who had been secretly lowering her hands from her ears, caught Pernoa’s eye and broke into a bright grin—quickly pressing them back up again. Then she turned her gaze back toward where Arcmund and Karla stood.
“…Are you accusing me of something, Duke?”
“Should that be a problem? If I’ve misjudged, I’ll apologize.”
It was then.
“Enough.”
Calius Declair brought the situation to a close.
“Today is a day for celebration. I would prefer it remain free of unpleasantness.”
“Your Majesty…!”
Karla approached the Emperor with an expression of barely-contained relief, as though she couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard.
From across the hall, Berun Kineart, who had been watching with rigid tension, finally let his shoulders sag. He swayed and leaned back against the wall, his cane slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor.
He’d been so tightly wound that he hadn’t a moment to spare worrying about appearances.
“It seems she didn’t expect the Emperor to take her side,” Pernoa remarked.
Riscal nodded, as though it all made perfect sense.
“Well, whatever else you might say about him, the Emperor absolutely despises anything that diminishes the imperial family’s standing.”
The most obvious example was Prince Adrian’s consistent absence from the annual Hunt Festival every year without exception.
“Word has it that Prince Adrian prepares devotedly for the Hunt Festival, and yet he’s never once made an appearance.”
The Hunt Festival was one of the grandest events hosted by the imperial family—a day set apart for all the nobility to come together in fellowship and unity.
Given its significance, attendance from the imperial family was considered not merely expected but natural.
There was, however, one condition: only adults were permitted to participate in the hunt itself.
Younger nobles in attendance substituted the hunt with other activities suited to displaying their talents, using the occasion to build bonds among themselves—
And Adrian had offered various excuses every year, never once attending.
Given that he supposedly wanted very much to come, yet had never managed to appear, the reason was rather obvious.
His skills hadn’t met Calius’s standards, and so permission to attend had never been granted.
Riersha joined in on her brothers’ conversation.
“The Hunt Festival? What do you get if you win?”
“It’s just an honor, really. Oh, and unmarried nobles sometimes do pointless things like publicly confessing their feelings to a young lady they like.”
“Ah, I see.”
“…”
“…”
“What happens after you confess?”
Riersha tilted her head in puzzlement as she suddenly felt the weight of her entire family’s gaze bearing down on her.
The atmosphere had shifted into something intensely serious without warning.
“Everyone make sure to do your very best at the Hunt Festival when the time comes.”
“Yes, Father. Don’t worry. Whatever else may happen, there is absolutely no chance Riersha will be receiving any confessions.”
Riersha looked around at her family in bewilderment, then shook her head slowly from side to side.
They’re worrying about things so far in the future.
Riersha still had a long way to go before she’d even be old enough to attend the Hunt Festival. They were being far too excessive about it.
At any rate, it was a relief that the confrontation between Arcmund and the Empress hadn’t escalated into something larger.
“Ugh. What a headache.”
Riersha was muttering to herself with a sullen pout when—
“I know, it really must be a headache.”
Sion had appeared at her side without a sound and chimed in with a perfectly casual air, as though he’d been part of the group all along.
Riersha startled at his sudden appearance.
He had been far away just moments ago.
“…What? Why did you come over here?”
Sion helped himself to the nearby refreshments, crunching away contentedly as he surveyed the scene with great interest.
“Ha. I didn’t really know anyone here, so I came this way… but that reaction’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? We’ve met before. ‘Why did you come over’—really…”
Ricador cut in with a look of distaste.
“We never said you could act familiar with us. Does having met once entitle you to that?”
“…”
“Right, Riersha?”
Riscal added sharply, then turned away with a snap.
At the unwelcoming atmosphere, Sion’s shoulders drooped in dejection.
Riersha glanced around curiously, then looked back at Sion.
The person who had always been glued to his side was nowhere to be found.
The man who had followed Sion around day after day inside the Arachrene estate, as though convinced he might cause some disaster at any moment.
Basen, wasn’t it?
She had naturally assumed he would come along today—but there was no sign of him anywhere.
Riersha asked, full of innocent curiosity.
“But where’s the other one?”
“Hm? …Who do you mean? The other one, you say. Didn’t you notice me entering alone earlier, miss?”
“The mister who always went around with you—he didn’t come together?”
Riersha asked with complete guilelessness.
Sion winced at the word choice.
Did Basen really look old enough to be called a mister by a child?
Did I work him too hard?
Even so. A mister.
“…That mister didn’t come with me today.”
Had Basen been present to hear himself described that way, he would have wept openly.
⁂
Meanwhile, Basen had infiltrated the imperial palace in secret, on Sion’s orders.
He was there to search for traces of a man the magic tower had been tracking for a very long time.
But is it really true that this person is the one who newly placed the dark magic on Prince Adrian?
If it was—
“Is he still alive?”
Basen’s expression darkened with gravity.
Because if that were the case, it presented its own set of serious problems. If this person’s existence were to become known… Basen squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to think about what came after.
Then he resumed moving, pressing himself carefully into the shadows.
But where exactly am I?
He wasn’t familiar with the layout of the imperial grounds, so he had simply headed toward the castle where the imperial family resided—
And it seemed he had gotten thoroughly lost.
Am I done for?
Was all that awaited him now going back to Sion and getting an earful?
Cold sweat trickled down his spine.
At this point, simply vanishing into thin air from here didn’t actually sound too bad.
It was then.
“Hm?”
A small white ball of fluff was strutting proudly down the corridor, its tail swaying with majestic authority.
Given the perfectly self-assured way it walked straight down the center of the hall—
“Is that someone’s dog they keep here?”
As Basen muttered blankly to himself, the ears of the little white fluff perked up. It stopped walking. Then it whipped around with a fierce expression—!
“Kyeong!”
“…It’s a dog.”
“Kyeong!!”
It launched into a spirited round of barking.
Basen smiled with an expression that clearly said how adorable and walked over, scooping the little creature up into his arms.
Something very small dropped neatly into his embrace.
“You’re tiny.”
“Kyeong!!”
It scratched furiously at his chest with its front paws, clearly protesting the assessment—
“Okay, okay. I get it. I’ll give you a treat later.”
“…”
“Whoever keeps you sure raised you well. Your coat is absolutely gleaming. …Actually, looking at how well-groomed you are, this does seem to be the right castle for the imperial family after all.”
“…”
“Now then, little one. Where does your owner live? Can you take me there? Here, have a sniff and lead the way.”
Basen urged it along cheerfully. At that, the puppy’s eyes slid open with a distinctly delinquent gleam. And then, impossibly, it spoke.
Oh, you’ve got some nerve. I’m lost too, so where exactly am I supposed to lead you? And why do you keep calling me a dog? What about me looks like a dog to you? How dare you lay hands on this exalted form. Do you have any idea how long it takes to maintain this coat.
“Oh? …It can talk?”
“…Kyeong.”
And then the puppy went limp in his arms. From the slow, even rhythm of its breathing, it had apparently exhausted itself and fallen asleep on the spot.
Basen stared down at it, completely at a loss for words.
