IWJACM Chapter 35

A nursemaid. Now there's a word he hadn't heard in a while.

He gave no answer, only a glance to signal permission.

“I'd hoped Your Grace would take to wife one you cherished in your own heart.”

But no sooner had Phaetyson opened her mouth than Rezet let out an incredulous, hollow laugh. Even so, Phaetyson pressed on undeterred.

“I still remember the nine-year-old boy who first set foot in Van Yela's palace. That small child, eyes hollowed out for having nowhere to lay his heart. Anyone of high standing, you looked at with nothing but longing. Especially His Majesty the Emperor.”

“…….”

“When Your Grace was granted your title and territory, I hoped for it with my whole heart. That you might finally find your footing here in Lothier. That this place would become your strength, your firm foundation, and lift you to heights no one could dare touch.”

“I didn't know you still meant to treat me like a child.”

Rezet cut her off, indifferent. It was an unspoken command to leave it there and go—but Lady Phaetyson held her ground and kept speaking.

“The way you looked at your half-brother, His Majesty, back then—that's how you're looking at Her Highness now. Is it truly a life's companion you've brought home—and not, again, only a master to bow to and worship?”

“And if it's neither?”

"Then you pity her?"

"If that's how it looks to you, think that, then."

“I hear Her Highness stood at the very brink of the gallows, in the capital. That she escaped execution on the pretext of a pregnancy. Tell me the truth, Your Grace. Is she truly carrying your child?”

One question chased another, tail to tail. Rezet snapped back, irritation seeping through:

“Did Ruben Diarck write to Lothier with details that specific?”

“I received word separately from the capital. Sir Ruben's letters weren't nearly so thorough.”

“Then why ask, when you already know?”

“Because it's strange. If Your Grace had told me you'd been blinded by lust and brought her home for that, I might not have understood, but at least it would have been believable.”

“That's not wrong.”

The Grand Duke only tossed back one careless answer after another, sidestepping the point at issue. In the end, anger spread across Phaetyson's dignified face.

“His Majesty may have been won over by such evasions. But these old eyes cannot be fooled so easily. What is the true reason you brought Her Highness to Lothier? If it wasn't longing, nor desire, nor pity—then have you struck some manner of bargain with her?”

“Rebecca.”

Rezet gave a low growl and set the parchment down on the table with a sharp tak.

“I don't much mind whether you see me as a child who can't tell right from wrong, or as some rutting beast. But overstepping your authority is another matter.”

“…….”

“You asked why I brought the Princess here. I did it because I wanted to. Does that answer you?”

“Then it seems my first guess was correct after all.”

No one would have guessed it—that under the ascetic, unfeeling knight lived something closer to a crow, hoarding up whatever glittered.

Rebecca Phaetyson was the only person besides the Emperor who knew Rezet Kyrstan's childhood. It was she who had been assigned as his nursemaid, the first time Emperor Noyre bought his half-brother from the gladiatorial ring.

She had watched over him for more than twenty years now. Across that long stretch of time, the nine-year-old child newly brought to the palace had become a boy, and then a grown man, and then—carried on the blessed land of Lothier and the Emperor's trust—a knight envied by all.

But Lady Phaetyson knew, better than anyone, what lay beneath the surface of the young Grand Duke who seemed to fear nothing.

Rezet Kyrstan was inevitably drawn to those who looked as though they had been carved in God's own image. He could scarcely tear his eyes from those possessed of shining rank, beauty, bloodline.

But it was not because he treasured such people, or found them dear, or admired them. It was simply the result of something learned across a childhood steeped in self-loathing.

Even in the war-demon who now held the world beneath his heel, the indelible history of servitude remained plainly etched.

“…Please, I beg you, don't say you mean to treat Argan's princess as a master. Not unless you intend to bring Lothier down under a charge of treason. Better, at least, if you dealt with her the way you would some precious collection.”

Lecturing a grown man past thirty would do no good now. Lady Phaetyson lifted her chin, level and unflinching, and finished, coldly:

“You should sleep in the bedchamber. The Duchess will be waiting.”

With those words, she left the study.

Even after Phaetyson had gone, Rezet went on quietly working through the remaining documents.

Rebecca Phaetyson knew that he loathed, to an extreme degree, losing consciousness in sleep while sharing a room with someone else.

Knowing that full well, she still told him to seek his rest there. Guessing, faintly, that he would have no use for that bedchamber for some time yet.

The candle lighting the study did not go out for a long while.

5. An Uncomfortable Triviality

Thin sunlight forced its way in through the gaps in the canopy.

Elise shielded her eyes with a hand, tossed once, and pushed herself blearily upright.

A proper down mattress, at last, after so long—it was almost like her bed back at Argan's palace. The bedding, plainly just changed, smelled of crisp new fabric, a good smell.

Thanks to that, she'd slept deeply for the first time in a long while. The other side lay empty—but she'd expected as much, so, fine.

Once Yvessa had helped her dress properly, Elise thought to take a slow walk through the parts of the castle she hadn't finished seeing yesterday. But the moment she came down the stairs, she ran straight into Lady Phaetyson.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Thanks to your care, very soundly.”

“Your Grace didn't come down with you.”

“He didn't sleep in the bedchamber.”

“He must have been occupied with work.”

“…I couldn't say.”

Phaetyson let her words trail as she watched the Princess quicken her pace and move on. Between strands of silver-thread hair, the small curve of an ear had gone faintly red. At a glance, it was plain enough that things between husband and wife weren't especially close.

Lady Phaetyson offered a suggestion to the Princess, who hesitated a moment, uncertain where to go.

“If you mean to finish your tour, allow me to guide you.”

Elise nodded, though reluctantly. She found this sharp-featured elderly lady more than a little uncomfortable, but as a guide to the castle, no one was better suited than the head of the household herself.

Countless sculptures and fine marblework adorned the castle's interior in harmonious arrangement. A vast tapestry along the corridor wall depicted Lothier's four seasons in vivid color.

Elise looked over the banquet hall with its great oak table, and the kitchens. A separate chapel stood outside the main tower.

Servants at work paused and bowed low to Elise. Her curious gaze lingered on several of them.

One thing stood out. This castle had a strange number of beauties in it. Among the ladies-in-waiting, too, there were many whose looks caught even Elise's eye—and it was the same among the maids doing the rougher work.

There was one more thing they had in common, too. More than the rest, they kept sneaking looks at her sidelong.

Was this Phaetyson's own taste?

“Does the lady select everyone who works at this castle?”

“Until now, it's been myself and the chief steward, deciding together. If you'd like a roster of the household staff, I'll have one prepared.”

There was no harm in learning the names and faces of the castle's people. Elise nodded, and Lady Phaetyson's lips curved into a smile just barely visible—one corner lifting faintly, carrying some indefinable meaning.

“Ah… now that I think of it, there are some among them we didn't select ourselves.”

“Is that so? Which ones?”

“There were some His Majesty the Emperor sent personally. Up until Your Grace's departure on campaign last year, he used to send them nearly every month.”

“…Servants?”

Surely Lothier had no shortage of people wishing to serve at the lord's own castle—why would the Emperor take it upon himself?

As Elise looked on, uncomprehending, the smile on Lady Phaetyson's face deepened. She answered, gently:

"Not servants—candidates for Grand Duchess. His Majesty took an especially keen interest in Your Grace's marriage."

“…….”

“It was always a difficult position for Lothier. They were women His Majesty had sent, so we couldn't refuse them, and we couldn't turn them out, either. In the end, there was nothing to do but take them in.”

Elise's expression subtly hardened.

Had they been women of high standing, they'd never have been sent off to Lothier like some gift bestowed from above. Which meant, from the very start, the Emperor had sent these women off saying, in effect, take your fill of them, however you like. Hadn't the physician herself said yon'gyn were vulnerable to lust?

Had it been an attempt to see if even one would take? Was a yon'gyn coveted, that much?

Which meant, put another way, that this castle housed dozens of women who had been sent here as the Grand Duke's own property. Beauties he could have chosen from without anyone finding it strange in the least—women sent, if anything, for precisely that purpose.

A thought rose, unasked for.

Among the women sent that way—had there been one that man had taken?