APIBAGS Chapter 75

Gritting his teeth and playing the devoted father—my warning over lunch about putting on a show of familial warmth had apparently worked. This should quiet the rumors about our poor relationship, at least somewhat. There would still be people accusing us of putting on a public face out of social anxiety, of course.

The Count was so visibly revolted by his own performance—the cringe of it, the sheer skin-crawling of it—that he'd actually broken out in goosebumps.

"Why so late?"

"Perhaps Father simply departed too early?"

Decoded: the Count was dressing me down—Where were you, why didn't you go stamp your face on the Duke?—and I was formally rebutting: if you wanted to complain, you should have brought me yourself.

"Is my grandfather already gone?"

"No. He's still holding his position. Based on the direction you're facing, ten o'clock. He resembles you, so you should recognize him."

I glanced past the Count. There—unmistakably blood—was an elderly man so like Evangeline the relation was obvious at a glance. Duke Hosaquin, Evangeline's maternal grandfather, had his white hair swept neatly back, giving him an imposing, cutting aura—he looked far more vigorous than the Count's "probably dying soon" had led me to expect. See? I said all along his health scare was just a rumor. The Count lowered his voice, coming to the point.

"Tonight is your opportunity. Make a proper impression."

"I'm well aware without you reminding me. That's the arrangement, isn't it." The particle landed with just enough weight. "So please make sure your preparations for the territory are in order as well."

"Already arranged."

That was the entirety of what we had to say to each other. Once both sides had delivered their lines, there was nothing left. What a wasteland. Truly, bleakness without equal. The Count now turned his attention to Gabriel.

"So you're the Gabriel I've heard about."

"Yes. I've visited the Rohanson estate on several occasions, but this is our first meeting in person. Gabriel."

"Coleus Rohanson. I hear this one has taken an interest in you—you have my sympathies."

The Count gave Gabriel's shoulder a pointed pat, performing authority. Given that even the Marquis's son had gone soft around Gabriel, a Knight Commander's rank wasn't so lowly that a Count should look down on it. He was clearly already counting Gabriel as a prospective son-in-law before anyone had agreed to anything, giving him an early taste of what life under this family's thumb would look like.

Gabriel gently disengaged the Count's hand.

"On the contrary, if Lady Evangeline were to take an interest in me, that would be the honor."

"Ha. They said the famously untouchable knight was brought low by love, made a simpleton of himself—those words were true."

The Count said it with a snide edge. I mean—why are you picking a fight with someone who's already a mess? The so-called love of the century that supposedly turned him into an idiot? I only just turned that down, you know…?

I was starting to feel anxious that he'd keep picking fights, so I had to get rid of him.

"If we suddenly flip from cold to inseparable overnight, people will find it even more suspicious. Shall we part here? Unless Father plans to stay by my side the rest of the evening, it would be better for you to go circulate with the others."

I nudged the Count back toward whatever group he'd been mingling with before I arrived. He looked sour about receiving a suggestion from me, but with no remaining reason to stay, he delivered a parting remark about making a good impression on the Duke and quietly withdrew.

Watching his retreating back, Gabriel spoke.

"It seems you and the Count aren't on entirely bad terms."

"Our interests aligned."

From literally any angle, the relationship was terrible. But the Count didn't even know there had been a possession—he thought Evangeline was just suffering from amnesia—and he treated her this way regardless, which meant the original Evangeline and her father had never been a warm family either.

Looking at the Countess's paintings filling that room, Evangeline had clearly loved her mother deeply. Which meant she'd hardly have warm feelings toward the father who'd made her mother's life difficult. Even I had gotten angry just from reading the diary and taken it out on the Count.

"And your trip to the territory—is that also connected to those aligned interests?"

"Purely my own errand."

"Then will you be—will you be staying in the territory long-term?"

Gabriel hesitated, the question coming out carefully. Why was he being so full of feeling about this today, so quiet with it...

Was he worried I was leaving the capital to settle in the territory permanently, that it would become difficult to see me? Truly affecting. Even I felt a little tickle in my chest this time.

"I'm only going for a short while. A few days, and then I'll return to where you are."

Last time I pushed. This time I pull. If I'm pulling, I should do it properly. The lip service landed, and Gabriel seemed quietly pleased without showing it—but I could tell. If I had to keep playing with him like this to survive, I needed to keep this up. My conscience stings. No different from the Count—luring Evangeline's mother into a fraudulent marriage for money. That was me.

Lady Toten, who had briefly separated from us during the entrance, came to find me again.

"Lady Rohanson."

She seemed to have exchanged brief greetings with a few acquaintances and returned quickly. Whatever anxiety had been visible in her earlier had settled; she'd recovered her composure.

"Shall we go pay our respects to the Crown Prince?"

"Yes. Let's."

Following Lady Toten, with Gabriel at my side, I headed directly toward the dais. Ascending the platform at the front of the hall, I caught sight of a gleaming blond who was—what? He's—handsome? I thought the Crown Prince was some middle-aged uncle.

"Oratório is the Imperial Grandson," Gabriel murmured.

Ah. The remarkable grandson the Emperor was reportedly considering for a skip-generation succession... I'd assumed grandson meant a young child, but he was older and considerably more striking than I'd imagined. Remarkable. Right. As in, his face.

The Imperial Grandson had platinum-blond hair and was precisely, textbook handsome. Gold hair? Right. Timing-wise, we were due for a second-lead. Gold hair, future emperor—checks out perfectly.

"Beside him is the Crown Prince, His Imperial Highness Rhodes."

And there, beside him, sat a middle-aged man with an almost uncanny absence of presence. I—I didn't even know he was there. I nearly threw up my heart, thinking a ghost had suddenly jumped out.

It was difficult to believe how little resemblance there was between father and son. So this was why the Emperor was considering skipping a generation—even a complete outsider like me could see it immediately. The contrast was sharpened by Oratório's gold hair against the Crown Prince's dark. The Crown Prince was handsome enough in his own right, but why was his presence so... absent? I studied them, trying to identify the difference, and then the Crown Prince's face gave me a sudden, uncanny sense of having seen it before.

Dark hair. Blue eyes. An expression that read just slightly cool.

Wait—Gabriel?

I glanced between Gabriel and the Crown Prince. They looked alike. Did they? Was this a secret-birth scenario? It seemed too strong to write off as wild speculation—they genuinely looked alike. And in this genre, matching hair colors typically meant family.

Right. The Knight Commander role had always felt slightly underweight for a male lead! Gabriel was imperial blood. Was the Crown Prince Gabriel's birth father? They didn't look far apart in age—siblings, maybe? Given titles, imperial prince seemed the most likely category.

"And beside them are the princesses, Jeremia and Tenebrae."

Gabriel, introducing them with perfect composure, apparently had no idea he was describing what might be his own family.

To the Crown Prince's right sat two women who were identical enough to look like a painting. Gabriel explained they were twins—Oratório's younger sisters, Jeremia and Tenebrae. I had heard of them. The genre-appropriate prophecy about twins being an ill omen had apparently prompted a call to kill one at birth, which the Emperor had refused to hear, made an absolute scene, and kept both—and so here they were.

In cases like this there was always one who received preferential treatment... I caught myself staring and nearly made eye contact. Which one had I nearly met the eyes of—Jeremia, or Tenebrae?

I quickly memorized both names and performed my greeting.

"Congratulations on this auspicious day, Your Imperial Highness."

"Congratulations, Your Highness."

"You may rise. Thank you, Marchioness Toten. Sir Gabriel."

The Crown Prince accepted our greeting with an easy, good-natured laugh. I'd read him as lacking presence, but with power backing the words, even a brief delivery carried quiet authority.

"And the young lady beside you—I don't believe we've met. Would someone introduce her?"

No harassment sequence, no prolonged exhibition of my name being called—thank goodness.

I gathered my skirts and bent my knee. Every fingertip at a perfect angle. Teacher Dolly—I did it. I held the pose steadily and rose.

From somewhere in the hall came a sharp involuntary hff! The genre required exactly that kind of reaction. If I was being honest, I had performed a curtsy so flawlessly that the crowd had every reason to be struck. I dedicate this glory once more to Teacher Dolly Fonor.

"It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness. I am Evangeline Rohanson."

"Rohanson?"

Oratório, standing nearby, turned the name over.

"Rohanson—you mean the one from the rumors—"

How widely had word of Evangeline spread, that even members of the imperial family knew? The speed at which gossip traveled through this world's social circuit was genuinely alarming.

Oratório was about to add something when the Crown Prince cut across him.

"Indeed. I had heard you were unwell. That you came to my banquet in spite of it is an honor."

The greeting concluded with presenting the Crown Prince his birthday gift.

"A sword?"

He turned the unwrapped gift over with a brief murmur, then, apparently not particularly moved, set it alongside the pile of other presents behind him. Wait—that was it? He wasn't even going to draw it?

"Thank you, Lady Rohanson. It will serve me well come hunting season."

The Crown Prince offered a polite word of thanks.

Hunting season? For a bladeless sword? That's a historical artifact, Your Highness. He’d seen it in such pristine condition that he'd taken it for a genuinely functional weapon.

Use it for hunting? He was going to go out hunting and get hunted instead. I wanted to tell him to draw the blade and check—but I recalled my decision to behave myself and held my tongue.

Whatever. He'd figure it out on his own later.