IYTTEPAAK Chapter 8

"Then does that mean...that Her Highness has been speaking to me—a mere knight—with such honorifics this whole time, because...?"

Be shameless. I had to be.

"Yes. Because I thought my brother had come back to me."

"......"

He fell silent, as if something in his chest had gone numb.

Let me drive this home.

"Would you let me try it, just once?"

"......"

"Brother."

"......"

I wrung out the most tender voice I could produce. I didn't forget to narrow my eyes at him as though about to cry.

He drew in a breath deep enough to swell his chest, then abruptly turned his head away.

What. A misfire? Had I pushed too far?

I was just starting to grow uneasy, not knowing what more I should do, when at last, after a long while, he opened his mouth.

"Understood."

"......"

Resolute eyes met mine, direct.

He'd come across, it seemed.

A con really is half nerve, I guess.

Apparently all it took was pushing forward with confidence. I'd gone and learned something ugly about myself.

It was too soon to relax, thinking I'd gotten what I wanted.

"Then, may I ask, Your Highness—what is it you'd have me do? And how?"

That's something you'd know better than I would, wouldn't you—you're the one who said you had a little sister my size.

Of course, I couldn't say that, so I dug hard into the conceptual older-brother I'd constructed inside myself and pulled him forward.

"When it's just the two of us, call me Sasha. My brother used to call me by an endearment."

"How could I dare address Her Highness so."

"If you're not going to call me anything, why did you ask?"

"......"

I'd only been pretending to sulk, but his eyes clouded over with guilt.

I really am the Mad Emperor's daughter, aren't I, I thought, freshly.

Deceiving someone this decent—by rights my conscience should be seizing up, choking the air out of me—but right now, more than that, I just wanted to see how he'd react.

I barely beat down the tyrant's blood in me, and opened my mouth.

"Never mind. If you'd rather not——"

"Sasha."

"......"

I flinched before I could stop myself.

Thinking I hadn't heard, he held my gaze steady and rolled the name off his tongue again.

"Sasha."

"......"

Not good for the heart, this. I brought my cup to my lips to hide the flutter. Only after I drew in a deep breath under the pretense of drinking my tea, and let it back out, could I finally manage a reply fit for this little play we were performing.

"Yes, Brother."

"......"

Neither of us spoke for some time after that.

He was the one who fled the awkward silence first.

"That's enough for today, I think."

"All right."

"When there are eyes on us, I'll keep to my station."

"Understood. I realize I never heard your name, come to think of it. What should I call you, Sir Knight?"

"...Now that I've become Her Highness's knight, I'd like to set aside the past and take a new name. Please call me whatever suits you."

Then.

"Sir Regen."

"......"

"It was my brother's name."

Among my sixty-seven dead brothers, surely there was at least one named Regen.

His lips parted, reflexively, but I drove the nail in before he could raise an objection.

"Is that a problem?"

"...No."

"Good. Then, Sir Regen—Brother Regen—I'll call you Regen."

"......"

As if something had gone tight in his chest, he lifted the cup in front of him and drank.

I brightened at the sight.

"...Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you drank on your own."

Wasn't that proof the will to live had taken root?

The atmosphere had eased enough now that I could offer.

"Well then—shall we eat?"

2. What Happened in the Princess's Bedroom

I gave over one of the side rooms adjoining my own quarters as Regen's residence. I hoped the room, which caught good sunlight and sat quietly apart, would suit him.

"You're free to move about inside the Silver Bird chamber as you like."

Beyond my quarters was dangerous, so I set limits on the range of his movement.

Our paths crossed mainly at mealtimes and treatment hours. Barring some particular need, I left him to rest in his room and didn't summon him.

Regen had been through more, this past month, than any one person should have to bear. He needed time to accept the fate that had battered him, and to digest it.

That was something he had to manage entirely on his own—the only thing I could do to help was give him the time and the space to do it.

He hasn't come out of his room. He's not crying in there... is he?

My heart dropped. I couldn't stop thinking about what was behind that door.

From my study, cross through one more room, and you reached his quarters.

I took to visiting that in-between room often, killing time by needlessly pulling books off the shelf and putting them back, flipping pages open and shut.

On the fifth day, he began showing his face there little by little, expanding the range of where he'd let himself go as far as that room.

I was glad, but didn't let it show, and paid no attention to whatever he was doing. Only if I acted absorbed in my own business, only if I acted entirely uninterested in him, would he be able to use the room freely.

A week passed.

Since it was time for the morning treatment, I had a full spread of refreshments laid out in the drawing room and sent for Regen. While I enjoyed my tea first, Hamel and Demia handled Regen's treatment.

Top-grade potions weren't easy to come by, so his right eye had no choice but to be treated slowly, with ordinary potions.

Each morning and each evening, a potion was poured into the eye, once per session.

"Sit, Sir Regen."

Seated, Regen tipped his head back with the ease of habit.

The line of his straight brow and the curve of his throat lay fully exposed. The short white hair, mussed and falling loose, caught the eye as well.

He was, perhaps, the most sensuous patient in the world right now.

The treatment ended with a bandage fitted over his right eye.

I invited Regen to the seat across the table and said,

"The wound in your right eye runs deeper than it looked. The court physician tells me it'll take a month to heal. I know it's uncomfortable, but bear with it a little longer."

"I have my left eye. I'll manage."

Demia, who'd been filling my teacup, puffed up and narrowed her eyes at Regen.

"You treasure that left eye of yours. Do you know how much it's worth? The price of a whole mansion, mm—mmph!"

"Quite right, Demia. A person's eyes are worth their weight in gold."

I pushed a strawberry tart into Demia's mouth to stop her talking. Regen, however, wasn't a man who missed things.

"The price of a whole mansion...? Don't tell me——"

"......"

"Did you use a top-grade potion on nothing but an eye?"

"If you understood that, you'd be on your knees thanking Her Highness right n— mmph!"

I gave Demia a blueberry tart to taste as well.

Dabbing my fingertips with a napkin, I answered him lightly.

"Not just an eye. A life. I used my dominion power to buy the time to talk with you, Sir Regen. Without it, you'd be dead."

"......"

He seemed to have caught my meaning well enough—that he'd have died if I hadn't used it—and appeared to have nothing to say to that.

Taking advantage of the silence, Demia swallowed her tart and cried out again.

"You'd better repay this kindness and the cost of that potion with your body!"

"...Hff. Demia. You're under a vow of silence until tonight's supper. Stay silent. Reflect on it."

"Nooo, Your Highness."

"Until tomorrow evening."

"Mmph."

Demia nodded, near tears.

I didn't lift the punishment, but pressed an orange tart into her hand and sent her out of the drawing room.

"You should eat too, Sir Regen. Do you dislike sweets, by chance?"

"I don't dislike them."

"Good to hear."

I reached to wet my throat, only to find my cup empty.

There was no lady-in-waiting nearby, so he came over with the teapot himself and filled my cup.

I looked into the cup for a while. This maple-colored liquid might taste very special indeed.

"Your Highness."

Hamel's voice, carrying from some distance, pulled me out of my thoughts.

She was cradling a large box I'd never seen before, as though she'd just come from somewhere.

"I've brought Sir Regen's clothing from the Ministry of the Palace Household."

Inside the box was the uniform worn by the imperial guard. Not the empire's deep blue, though—a jet-black that called a burial shroud to mind.

It seemed the color marked the distinction between the Emperor's own guard and a princess's personal knight, easy to tell apart at a glance.

I glanced at Regen.

What must it feel like, for a prince, to have to wear the enemy nation's uniform on his own body?

Probably nothing good.

"......"

Held expressionless as it was, his gaze couldn't hide it.

A number of feelings welled up in his gold eyes, murky and clumped like an impurity, then sank back down deep.

Anger, disgust, humiliation passed through, and in the place they left behind, resignation settled, dragging acceptance along with it, barely.

"I was told to have him wear it the moment it was delivered."

"Understood."

I thought it again: it had been the right call, pretending not to know his true identity as a prince.

Grief could be shared. Humiliation could not.