IWJACM Chapter 34

"I find it suspicious how much faster her recovery has become these past few months. When she was first taken by the Van Yela army at the border, she suffered for a month and a half at least—the lacerations, the inflammation, the fever, all of it. This time she went into a lake and it was over in a fortnight. Strange."

“It's likely that the first time, the length of the illness owed a great deal to mental strain.”

“Falling from a cliff and nearly drowning isn't something to shake a person mentally? If anything, I'd think it worse, not less.”

“That's also true, but….”

The physician trailed off, plainly at a loss. Rezet set the parchment down on his desk and gathered his thoughts.

If that was so, then some change had occurred in her body—and if the cause lay somewhere the physician couldn't diagnose, there was only one remaining possibility.

“The Princess used magic. A barrier large enough to cover the heads of a hundred men. Is there no chance that had some effect?”

“Mana remains an area research has not yet reached. I can't say for certain.”

Magic. And the mana that underlay it. On the continent of Grendel, that scholarship had been the Argan imperial family's sole and jealously guarded property.

All of Grendel revered magic and coveted it, but Argan had kept the power thoroughly hidden from the continent's eyes. Even Rezet—a yon'gyn with mana running in his very veins—knew nothing whatsoever of that inscrutable force.

The mana-research institute at Argan's capital had fallen into Ughel's hands. Setting them aside, the person who currently knew the most about magic was Elizabetha Arzeika, and no one else.

'So in the end, nothing can be known until she chooses to speak.'

There was clearly something she trusted in, or she wouldn't stay this unshaken. Rezet glanced briefly over the medical record the physician had handed him, then set it down.

“Actually… Your Grace.”

The physician, reading his expression, added something cautiously.

“I say this out of an excess of caution, but….”

“Speak.”

“That her recovery's sped up a little doesn't mean she's turned healthy as an ordinary woman would. So when you take her to bed, you must be exceptionally—truly exceptionally—careful. Though I'm sure you already know this.”

“…….”

“And, if it's not too much... a little tenderness…. Her Highness seems unused to it—not just the joining of a man and woman, but natural arousal, pleasure itself, it seems, so….”

“So—don't take her rough?”

“I—I beg your pardon.”

The elderly physician bowed her head, her face heavy with worry. Rezet pressed at his throbbing temple.

“Better if I hadn't known—then none of this would ache my skull so.”

If the Princess really was a mage, she might somehow withstand him. But Rezet had no intention whatsoever of gambling on a possibility he couldn't even vouch for as likely.

He had shown Elise his desire without concealment at the inn, and in doing so had come to understand one thing. Once reason crossed the line it had set for itself, there would be no turning back.

A yon'gyn's nature, held down this long—there's no way it settles for once, twice. A day? Two days? Not even that much, he couldn't swear to. Just the memory of her gold eyes, slick with wet, and the dizzying reek of raw flowers—that alone, and the backs of his eyeballs went hot.

'Days, maybe—put some distance between us.'

Irritation and unease tangled together. Rezet gave a perfunctory nod.

“That's all. You may go.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The physician bowed at the waist and left the study. Rezet was about to drop his gaze back to his documents when he glanced once toward the doorway instead.

Through the gap the physician had left in the door, a dark green dress came into view.

“May I come in? Your Grace.”

“Yes.”

Lady Phaetyson stepped into the study with her back straight and her stride unbending.

Rezet threw a glance out the window to gauge the hour. It was deep night, the sun long since gone down. Phaetyson had no reason to seek him out at such a late hour.

“Has something happened with the Princess?”

The lady didn't answer at once, holding her silence for a moment. She was not one to hesitate over delivering a stern piece of counsel, not even to Rezet. Hesitation from her was uncommon.

“Her Highness retired to bed only a short while ago.”

He'd already received that report. Rezet arched one eyebrow.

“You came to tell me that?”

“Now that the lady of the house has arrived, shouldn't there be some changes at Lothier Castle as well? There's a matter I'd like to discuss with Your Grace.”

“Speak.”

“Do you intend to leave the household's internal affairs in Her Highness's hands?”

“Internal affairs?”

He hadn't given the matter any thought at all. Preoccupied entirely with the near-nonsensical contract Elise had put forward, he hadn't spared a thought for anything beyond it—such as the responsibilities or duties she ought to hold as Grand Duchess and the lord's wife.

Rezet was regularly away from Lothier, and in his absence the castle's household had always been managed jointly by Alfredo, the chief steward, and Lady Phaetyson, the head of the household. Phaetyson in particular had, in her younger years, run her own household as the widowed head of the Phaetyson barony. She had never once, in managing internal affairs, caused a problem.

Until now the position of Grand Duchess had simply sat vacant, so Phaetyson had taken everything upon herself—but the situation had changed, and the time had come to discuss it.

But in truth, the name of "husband and wife" binding Rezet and the Princess together was a hollow one. A fixed term that might shatter at any moment. It would hardly be efficient to hand internal management to someone only passing through.

Rezet opened the year's worth of documents that had accumulated during his campaign. The paperwork, kept in order by people who had worked in step with him for nearly fifteen years, was flawless.

It would be better, as always, to leave it to Lady Phaetyson, with him simply approving her decisions.

Had Elizabetha not been Argan's princess, that is likely what he would have done.

Rezet's deliberation didn't take long. He said, indifferently:

“Ask Her Highness's own wishes first.”

Lady Phaetyson looked at her lord as though she couldn't quite believe what she'd heard. To have her confirm the Princess's wishes first was, in effect, an indirect permission—if the Princess wished to involve herself in internal affairs, then let her.

Knowing full well the Grand Duke never spoke idly, she couldn't help asking again all the same.

“Does this mean you're granting Her Highness the authority to decide?”

“If she wants it.”

“But if a lady who knows nothing at all of Lothier were to take a careless interest in internal matters and make some mistake….”

“Is my domain so hollow inside that a few slip-ups would topple it?”

“That would depend on where her interest turned, Your Grace. Finances, for instance. It's true Lothier is as prosperous as the capital, but it's quite different from Argan in its heyday. Her standards will be different.”

“She lived her whole life at Argan's palace, so of course she'd be ignorant of Van Yela or Lothier.”

“Yes, and so—”

“So if she wants to learn, teach her, and if there's something she wants done, don't make her ask my permission for every small thing—just do it for her. Treat her as you'd treat me, and there'll be nothing lacking.”

The Grand Duke turned his attention back to his documents, as if to say he'd said all he meant to say.

Phaetyson rolled her lips inward and bit down hard. She hadn't thought he'd go this far—her lord seemed prepared, truly, to defer to the Princess in everything, from top to bottom.

'What could the reason be. He isn't the type to be caught by some weakness….'

She hadn't meant to trouble her lord—who had only just returned today—for long. But since the conversation had gone this way, there was one point she absolutely needed to raise.

From the moment she'd first caught wind of a rumor that some relationship existed between the Grand Duke and the Princess, Phaetyson had been unable to set aside her suspicions.

“Her Highness is reluctant to let me see her being examined by her physician.”

Rezet lifted his eyes at the abrupt turn in subject.

“And so?”

“At the very least, I, as head of the household, ought to know without exception how Your Grace's—her—condition stands. Only then can I respond properly in an emergency.”

“Doesn't the physician keep a medical record?”

“I only mean to say there's no particular need for her to conceal it.”

Wasn't it suspicious? Given who the other party was, Phaetyson couldn't openly declare that she suspected the Grand Duchess—but the Grand Duke, surely, would grasp her meaning shrewdly enough.

“Phaetyson.”

Rezet gave a low sigh and set his documents down on the desk. But the frost that followed in his words fell far outside anything Phaetyson had anticipated.

“I recall telling you, only a moment ago, to treat her as you'd treat me. It seems you've made a habit of reading my intentions on your own and meddling as you please, even in matters concerning me.”

“No. I would never presume.”

“Then there's no cause for it with Her Highness either. If she doesn't want it, don't do it—simple as that. Why this keeps dragging out, I can't say. And didn't you already examine someone against her expressed wishes?”

“Pardon?”

“I hear Macklan visited her bedchamber.”

Macklan was the physician resident at Lothier Castle. Lady Phaetyson's mouth clamped shut like a shell.

“Is there anything that happens within my own castle that I wouldn't come to know?”

“…I beg your forgiveness.”

"I've no face to show Her Highness now."

“My thinking was shortsighted. Please forgive me.”

Every corner of Lothier held the Grand Duke's eyes and ears. Not even those close to Phaetyson were exempted. It was only because the other party was Phaetyson herself—long seasoned at Lothier—that he indulged her even this much.

“Then, regarding internal affairs, I'll ask Her Highness's wishes tomorrow.”

“Do that.”

Phaetyson closed her eyes, holding back a sigh that threatened to escape. She knew, in her mind, that she ought to withdraw now—but her feet wouldn't move.

“May I presume to say one more thing? This time not as Lothier's head of household, but as Your Grace's own nursemaid.”

Rezet's hand, which had just picked up a pen, stopped still.