BPOTWC Chapter 9

Once Clarisse's treatment had been settled, a banquet was held throughout Sheridan.

It was a gathering meant to comfort the souls of those who had not returned from the war, and to celebrate those who had.

Across the three days the banquet ran, everything grew festive and loud—not only within the Duke's own manor, but out as far as the town visible from Clarisse's window.

But inside Clarisse's pretty room, things were rather different.

No one who came and went from that room said a single word to her about the banquet.

"I suppose everyone's just being considerate of me."

Clarisse said this to herself, lying in bed and yawning.

"This is a banquet celebrating the fall of the kingdom of Grezekaia, and I was its princess. Besides, I'm a prisoner who isn't allowed anything loud or festive."

So of course no one would bring up the banquet in front of her.

She was truly grateful to them—people considerate enough to spare a thought for the feelings of someone as low as a prisoner.

"Still—I am a little curious."

Clarisse rolled over and pressed a kiss to her pebbles.

"I've never once been to a banquet, you know."

Princess though she'd been, Clarisse had always been treated as though she barely existed at all.

Unlike her brother, who was forever being summoned to banquets and gatherings, she had never received a proper invitation to a single one.

And she likely never would.

There wasn't a single party anywhere that invited a prisoner as its guest.

"Mrrph? (Want me to dance for you, then?)"

At Mallangie's short-armed offer, Clarisse's amber eyes went round.

"…… Hm?"

"Mrrph. (Eh, forget it then, if you don't want it.)"

"No, no! I'd love it! Would you dance with me, Prince Mallangie?"

"Mrrph! (Who's a prince!)"

Clarisse leapt up from the bed, caught Mallangie in both hands, lifted him high, and threw both the window and its shutters wide open.

White moonlight, and with it the faint, joyful noise of the distant banquet, drifted all the way into her room.

The girl spun and spun around the empty room, Mallangie held high in her hands.

She'd never learned to dance, but her spinning steps slowed and quickened in time with the sounds drifting in from outside.

Clarisse turned happy almost at once.

Dizzy, thoughtless, spinning round and round the room—that happy.

"Mrrph! (I'm dizzy!)"

By the time Mallangie cried out, Clarisse herself was thoroughly dizzy too, and she landed with a thump on her bottom against the carpeted floor.

Mallangie scattered back into loose pebbles, and Clarisse lay sprawled where she'd fallen, fingers idly stroking the soft carpet beneath her.

The feeling of breathlessness rising all the way to her throat felt wonderful.

Clarisse stayed just as she was and closed her eyes. She had a feeling she'd have a good dream.

Maximilian had a new task each evening now.

He would receive a report from Rosalie on how Clarisse had spent her day.

He recorded everything Rosalie told him—Clarisse's meals, her sleep, and any conversations worth noting—carefully, by date.

Since this was work done in service of upholding the law, he had marked the papers where he kept this record with the label genuinely important business.

Of course, that wasn't the end of it.

Clarisse was far too important a person to leave entirely in Rosalie's hands.

Wasn't she, after all, the very child who could become the legitimacy behind rebuilding a fallen kingdom? He needed to see the situation with his own eyes as well.

Maximilian left his study and made his way toward Clarisse's room.

He strode down the corridor on his long legs, boots thudding heavy and even against the stone—until, at some point, his pace slowed.

It happened, as it turned out, that he had come to a stop just outside his wife's door.

Whether to tell her—straight to her face…… that the matter had never reached the Count's household…….

He came to a full halt there and began turning the thought over.

'Please. I'm begging you.'

The memory of her pleading eyes that day rose up in him at once, and Maximilian found, without meaning to, that he had gripped the stone jutting from the nearby wall.

Something felt strange in one corner of his chest.

He had always been confident there was nothing wrong with his health……

"Your Grace, is something the matter?"

Just then, Benson, the knight standing watch in the corridor, stepped up to him.

He was a Sheridan commoner who had earned his place as a knight through swordsmanship alone.

Maximilian gave a slow nod.

"It's nothing. More importantly—has anything unusual happened?"

"Well……"

Benson hesitated a moment before answering carefully.

"I thought I heard some noise coming from over there, and I was about to go check."

"Noise?"

Maximilian turned his eyes in the direction Benson indicated, and found it was Clarisse's room.

The Duke hurried over and knocked at her door. There was no answer, but the door rattled faintly against its frame.

"……?"

He opened it, and a cold gust of wind swept past, brushing through the Duke's hair.

It seemed Clarisse had fallen asleep with the window left open, and the draft had been rattling the door all along.

"The banquet noise must have been too loud for her……. Hm?"

He hurried over once he spotted Clarisse, fallen asleep on the floor.

"Good heavens."

The child's face had gone unspeakably cold.

He wasted no time settling Clarisse into the phoenix-feather quilt and stayed by her side to watch over her.

"Why on earth would she fall asleep on the floor……?"

"She must have been playing with her stones."

The knight, who knew of Clarisse's habit of treating stones as friends, picked up the pebbles scattered across the floor and set them beside her.

"I used to do the same, when I was a boy. Dropped off mid-play more times than I can count—woke up once with my whole mouth twisted crooked from the cold."

The Duke glanced briefly at his face.

"Ha-ha, no worries, it's right as rain now—that was all back when I was a boy. Still, it's only natural a child gets restless, cooped up in one room for days running."

"I thought she'd still be tired from the journey."

"Children are different from grown-ups. One night's sleep and they've got their strength back, and they're off hunting for the next thing to do."

"So she needs…… activity, then."

Maximilian pressed a hand to Clarisse's forehead.

She'd only been asleep in the cold for a short while, it seemed, for there was no sign of fever rising.

The child had already returned to her ordinary body warmth.

"If there's no real problem, that's all that matters. She is to go on being treated as a prisoner—but see to it she doesn't come away with so much as a scratch."

At his warning, the knight snapped smartly to attention.

"Understood."

Clarisse went on keeping her promise to the Duke after that.

Behaving quietly, within the confines of her room.

Even when she needed to use the washroom, she would raise her hand quietly in the corridor, wait for someone to pass by, ask permission, and go.

She never once complained about the daily bath either, and scrubbed carefully all the way between her toes each time.

The meals the head cook prepared, carefully balanced for her nutrition, she always finished completely and neatly.

Despite Clarisse's exemplary conduct, Maximilian seemed to have some worry weighing on him still.

"That fluffy-furred coat of hers is taking too long."

He sat in his study, his eyes rather frightening, and muttered exactly that.

There was nothing particularly emotional in his tone, but Quentin could tell all the same that Maximilian was growing rather impatient.

"Well, didn't I tell you already—fur garments take time!"

"Then why not simply have the processed fur delivered directly?"

"Every seamstress in this whole town has gone bloodshot-eyed slaving over that darling little prisoner's uniform of hers as we speak. Do have a little patience. Surely you don't intend to order the seamstresses of the next town over brought in at exorbitant expense as well?"

"Is that so."

"Yes, surely you'd never do anything so unreasonable……"

"We'll bring in the seamstresses from the neighboring town, then."

"……."

"Cost is no object."

Quentin adjusted his glasses with a rattling clink. He couldn't help but wonder what on earth had gotten into the Duke.

However precious a prisoner she might be, was it really necessary to go this far simply because a child's winter coat was running a little late?

"Your Grace."

"There's not a moment to lose here. To go and bring in a prisoner, only to leave her prisoner's uniform sitting undelivered—"

"Well—if I might say so."

Quentin ventured this carefully, watching the Duke's expression.

"After all—the child spends her days entirely within her own room, doesn't she."

Left unspoken, of course, was the follow-up question: So does she really need the fur coat so urgently?

"Precisely. Which is exactly why the coat must be made without delay."

"Wh—what?!"

"She's to be sent outdoors."

"In this dead of winter?!"

Quentin pointed a finger toward the window.

Beyond the frost clinging to the glass, snow lay piled high and white across the grounds.

To drive her out into such cold!

Sheridan's own children had grown up accustomed to the cold since birth and could bear it well enough, but surely Clarisse's circumstances were entirely different?

However much of a prisoner she was, this was a vicious way to treat her.

"Yes."

But the Duke nodded, his face utterly free of any guilt.

"I intend to see her expend some of her energy. According to what I've read, appropriate time spent outdoors is said to be the secret to a long life. It's also said to be good for encouraging growth."

Quentin's jaw dropped clean open, dumbstruck.

Long life, he'd said! If one wanted to be precise about it, dying at the age of eighteen ought properly to be called a short one.

Encourage her growth, when she's meant to die the instant she's grown—how monstrous is that!

"For the sake of Clarisse's health, I'll see to it that she gets outdoor activity."

"Your Grace, you are cruel—however you slice it, too cruel!"

Quentin found himself thinking the man must be some manner of devil without an ounce of blood or tears in him—even as he went and had the neighboring town's seamstresses fetched over by sledge all the same.

The prisoner's uniform was finished at last.

Once the pure white fur had covered the child from head to toe, Clarisse looked exactly like a little winter rabbit.

"It's warm."

Clarisse pulled on the gloves and boots as well, and turned this way and that to admire herself.

Maximilian checked with great care to be sure no draft could slip in anywhere through the seams, and only then did he step back a pace.

The towering man and the tiny child finally stood facing one another properly.

"Thank you for making me such a splendid prisoner's uniform, Your Grace."

"Yes. Now, then—you'll be able to have your outdoor activity."

"Outdoor…… activity? Me?"

The Duke nodded.

"Every prisoner must have a set amount of time outdoors, to preserve the health of both body and mind."

"Ah……"

Clarisse dropped her head at once.

She felt ashamed now, at how carelessly she'd assumed all she needed to do was stay quietly inside her room.

"I'm sorry. From now on, I'll go outside every day, so I can grow strong and healthy."

"See that you do."

"Um, but……"

Clarisse fidgeted her gloved hands awkwardly and ventured a careful question.

"So—outdoor activity. What does that mean, exactly?"