He pinched Riersha’s puffed-up cheeks between his thumb and forefinger and began to squish them gently.
Every time her cheeks were pressed, her lips popped forward like a duck’s bill.
Squish.
Squish.
Pernoa showed no signs of stopping, watching with fascination as her lips jutted out again and again. Finally, Riersha spoke in a thoroughly squashed voice.
“Thtop it.”
“Hm?”
“If you keep doing that…! If you keep doing that…”
“If I keep doing it?”
If he kept doing it…
What was she supposed to do?
Riersha realized she had no follow-up and bit down on her lower lip. She simply had nothing to threaten him with.
“What are you going to do if I keep it up? Hmm?”
“…I came here to make you a bracelet to give to you, but now I’m not giving it to you today.”
She couldn’t quite bring herself to say she’d never give it to him at all, so she settled for the fearsome ultimatum: today, she would not be giving it.
Sona, who had been watching the two of them bicker, dropped her gaze and shook her shoulders to suppress a laugh.
She had never once heard such an adorable threat.
Weren’t threats supposed to involve something like, oh, a person’s life on the line?
“Is that supposed to be a threat?”
“Yes!”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard this particular variety of threat before in my life.”
“…”
“So you’ve learned how to make threats now, have you. Who taught you this sort of thing?”
Pernoa’s voice was still warm with amusement, but Riersha’s pouty expression had already started to soften at the edges.
“Sona!”
“Yes, Miss Riersha.”
“Bring the gift over here.”
“Of course. Here you are.”
Sona carefully carried over the gift box she had been holding. It was wrapped with meticulous care in soft pink paper.
Looking at it, Pernoa experienced a rather novel sensation.
So this was what it felt like to have a gift placed right in your lap.
“I finally get to receive one.”
“Yes! I worked really hard on it today.”
“Baby’s breath?”
“Mm-hm!”
It was a bracelet woven with blue and white flowers in a pleasing balance.
Compared to the one she had given Arcmund before, her skill had clearly grown — the design was more intricate, more composed. Where the knots had once been fashioned clumsily from loose stems, these now carried a faint air of craftsmanship.
Pernoa smiled with satisfaction and slipped the bracelet onto his wrist. It settled over the white sleeve of his shirt — a slightly incongruous sight, and all the more charming for it.
“How does it look?”
“It suits you perfectly!”
“I think so too. I’m quite fond of it.”
“Mm. Next time I can make you an even prettier one.”
Riersha answered with bright confidence, and Pernoa tilted his head to one side.
“You’ll make me another one?”
“Yes!”
“How thoughtful. I’ll look forward to it.”
At his reply, Riersha broke into a radiant smile.
The next day, Pernoa deliberately wore a dress uniform with sleeves short enough to leave the back of his hand exposed, and appeared at the grand council chamber where everyone could see.
He then rested his arm on the table in front of Arcmund and did not change his posture once until the meeting was over.
⁂
The southern border of the Declair Empire.
This stretch of land, perpetually hazed with drifting dust, was counted among the most dangerous sections of the empire’s entire border.
It was the most fertile region within Declair’s reach — and precisely because of that, any number of neighboring nations had long been watching it with hungry eyes.
The imperial palace kept a sharp and anxious eye on this territory as a result.
Not that the border had ever been breached. Not even once.
“Haydin!”
Someone burst into the training grounds in a flurry of noise.
He was a man who seemed to carry brightness with him wherever he went. A single leap carried him from the entrance straight to the center of the yard, and he called out to his friend with eyes full of gleam.
Haydin, who had been seated on the packed dirt of the training floor, arm raised and ready to send a dagger flying at the distant target, paused mid-throw.
He clicked his tongue — short, sharp — clearly displeased at having his personal time interrupted.
These two had about as little in common as two people could possibly have, and yet for years now they had shared the same stretch of southern border, seeing each other’s faces day in and day out.
Whoosh—
Thwack!
With a light flick of his wrist, Haydin sent the dagger sailing cleanly into the dead center of the target, embedding it deep.
“We have a visitor! At least look up, Haydin!”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to shorten my name. Do you want to die?”
“Why. Isn’t it wonderfully human of you to be called Haydin when you’ve got a face like that?”
The uninvited guest shrugged with theatrical flair, and Haydin let out a long-suffering sigh.
“Why are you here?”
Haydin had been winding a strip of bandaging from his hand — wrapped during training — and now turned his head to look at the intruder. Across the back of the unwrapped hand, a strange marking had been etched into the skin.
The same marking rested on the collarbone of the uninvited guest, visible above the open collar of his casual shirt.
“Because I’m bored.”
“…”
“Is there anyone out here who actually wants to spend time with us?”
That much was true enough. The members of the Arachrene family and the imperial knights did not get along. And since neither side could simply abandon their post, the two of them had a habit of staying close even as they sniped at each other like sworn enemies.
Haydin rose to his feet and reached for a water flask.
“Then tell me what brought you here, Aska.”
“What do you mean, what. …Haven’t you heard the news yet?”
“News?”
Haydin lowered the flask and narrowed his eyes.
Rumors on the border were almost universally trivial. Most of what circulated out here was hardly worth knowing.
Aska shook his head as if he had expected exactly this.
“You really have no interest in the world around you. That’s why you’re still here in this training ground, doing this.”
“…”
“The mood out there right now is something else. It’s absolutely buzzing. Here, look at this.”
Aska lowered his voice slightly and pulled a tightly rolled piece of paper from his back pocket, spreading it open.
It was a family summons bearing the young lord’s seal.
Haydin’s eyes went wide.
“Apparently we’re not the only ones who received a family summons. Every single one of the others got one too.”
“…What?”
At that, Haydin’s eyes narrowed.
How was that possible?
The reason they were stationed out on the border was to fulfill the obligations of the Arachrene family name.
And yet if Aska was telling the truth…
A full recall.
That was something he had never heard of. Not once.
“Apparently it’s not just here — other postings are in an uproar over it too.”
“…Could something have happened to the family?”
“Don’t know. We’ll find out when we get there.”
Aska, perched on the windowsill and gazing in the direction of Arachrene’s ducal estate, let his crimson eyes suddenly flicker with anticipation.
“Whatever it is, I’m excited.”
The corners of Aska’s mouth curved upward with barely contained energy.
“Ah. Same here.”
Without warning, Haydin moved away from him and began loosening up his body.
The faintest smile had appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“So about that, Haydin. How about we head out togeth—”
Aska was still sitting on the windowsill, just starting to make his proposal.
In an instant, Haydin’s silhouette vanished. A rush of air grazed past Aska where he sat. Their eyes met for a fleeting second at a diagonal — Aska’s face wide with surprise.
“I’m going ahead.”
Haydin leaped out and landed astride a massive dragon conjured from pure magic.
“H— hey, that’s dirty! Give me a ride too!”
Aska stared after him in stunned silence, then shouted with a voice full of betrayal.
⁂
The imperial palace of the Declair Empire.
A middle-aged man with silver-streaked white hair and green eyes was moving swiftly through the corridors, making his way somewhere with urgent purpose.
His name was Macton Willias.
The head of the Willias ducal family, and the man who held the position of Prime Minister.
He had just received a critical report, and in order to deliver it, he had bypassed every one of the formal procedures for entering the palace and was making straight for the royal audience chamber.
Knights and ladies-in-waiting along the way stole startled glances at him as he passed.
Because Macton Willias — a man who, no matter the urgency, never allowed himself to take a wide stride — was now walking down the corridor so quickly that the lapels of his coat billowed with every step.
When Macton Willias came to a halt before the doors of the audience chamber, the knight standing guard snapped to attention and offered a greeting.
“Good day, Duke Willias.”
“I have no time for pleasantries. Announce me at once.”
“…Pardon? Yes, of course, Your Grace.”
The knight — a second son from a noble house close to the Willias family — first looked bewildered, then slightly embarrassed. He composed himself, cleared his throat, and performed his duty.
“Your Majesty! The Duke, Macton Willias, requests an audience!”
