SN Chapter 37

On her way back to the palace where the delegation was housed, Rosaline encountered Macaron at a garden wall. The gray rat latched itself onto her hair with practiced dexterity as she ran. From just behind her ear, Macaron reported what it had found: moving through the palace on its short legs, it had seen a great many people carrying magical power within their bodies.

"How many?"

Macaron's answer made her already fierce expression fiercer still. The dark premonition that had risen in her when she'd seen Haqaev's retinue—could there really be far more of these people than she'd anticipated? Uncountable. Beyond all reckoning?

Her guess had been exactly right.

Macaron had covered a great deal of ground. Shock upon shock. Far beyond anything that had come before. The sheer volume of it felt crushing.

Macaron had encountered mahin before—those born with innate magical power. The quality of a mahin's magical energy closely resembled what Macaron itself carried: measured, harmonious. Nothing like this. Not this rampaging force, as if everything in its path might be torn to shreds. To call these people simply 'mahin' would be to call them something they were not.

Then Macaron thought of them. Those savage beasts that attacked everything in their path without quarter, their eyes burning red. Demonic beasts. Humans—mere humans—wielding a power that even the great beasts could not sustain? Macaron was certain this was impossible. It honed its senses and swept through the vast expanse of the palace.

Something darker than night had settled thick over every surface.

Rosaline undid her hair from its high knot. Her long hair scattered in the wind. Macaron burrowed deep into the inner layers and signaled—fully concealed. Rosaline threw open the window before her.

Just before it came open, the escort knights inside had already detected a presence outside. Swords drawn, standing guard—and through their field of vision came a familiar face. Rosaline stared at the sharp sword points aimed at her with complete vacancy.

"Is something the matter?"

The guards exhaled in exasperated unison. Why come through a window when there was a perfectly good door. It was Rosaline's face, yes—but there was always the possibility the Dark Moon might be wearing it. On the off chance that it wasn't her, they did not lower their guard.

Rikardis had been reading a Baltan holy text. He watched the standoff from his seat with the air of a man who couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Any assassin attempting to impersonate an escort knight would never do something as obviously suspicious as climbing through a window. From every possible angle, this was one hundred percent Rosaline.

Rikardis leafed through the holy text and opened his mouth.

"I hear they only eat salad for breakfast in Balta. Did you know that, Dame Rosaline?"

Of course it was a lie—but to Rosaline, who had no way of knowing this, it was a thunderbolt from a clear sky. She sucked in a sharp breath and covered her mouth with her hands.

It was the expression for which the appropriate words were: How... could anyone be... so... cruel...

"Is that true? They really just... weeds?"

As Rosaline stammered in shock, Rikardis corrected her in an indifferent voice.

"Salad."

The escort knights sheathed their swords. That was Rosaline. Her love of food could easily have been known in advance—but that complete and utter inability to read the room... that would be impossible to imitate. Who in the world would stand there calmly talking about food with sharpened swords pointed at them? She hadn't even seemed to suspect that His Highness the Second Prince might be testing her.

"We're not Baltans, and we're guests—I doubt they'd serve us only vegetables."

Seeing that the situation had resolved itself, Rikardis tidied up his lie. Rosaline's smile opened wide. It was a smile so radiant it put the morning sun to shame.

While the senior knights stood there in collective disbelief, Rosaline climbed lightly through the window.

She was pulled to a corner by Vice-Captain Nathan and given a thorough dressing-down.

"We don't use windows as entrances and exits, do we, Dame Rosaline?" She nodded repeatedly with a displeased expression. "I trust there was something of considerable importance requiring entry through a window with such urgency. Isn't that right, Dame Rosaline?"

Vice-Captain Nathan applied his pressure. Rikardis closed the Baltan holy text and turned to watch her. Rosaline's eyes shifted.

Before the matter of Prince Diez, there was the strange magical presence she had been sensing throughout the Baltan palace as a whole. That was why she'd come directly, without a plan.

Kallix had told her she must never reveal that she could sense magical power. She might be dismissed from the White Night Order as a suspected mahin, and other problems could arise. Rosaline began speaking, carefully filtering out the subjects that would get her in trouble.

"I went outside briefly to look for Macaron."

"Hm... I have absolutely no idea what that has to do with anything, but do go on."

"On the way, I entered a flower garden a little beyond this palace."

"I see you've never heard a word about not acting independently."

Nathan crossed his arms and nodded. Rikardis propped his chin on his hand and listened closely.

"I heard a branch snap behind me and turned around to find a man I didn't recognize. He said he was Haqaev, the first son of Hyxsalla Adon."

"What?!"

Rikardis scowled and shot to his feet. Nathan tried to conceal his alarm, but his mustache was twitching and giving him away entirely. The other senior knights all dropped their jaws. Why in the world would Haqaev turn up there, of all places?

Nathan had honestly expected Rosaline to say something useless, and had already finished preparing his scolding. That the name of the single most important person in Balta would emerge from her mouth. Even a simple exchange of greetings was not something that could be dismissed lightly.

"What did he say to you! What did you say to him!"

Rikardis came striding toward her. The most pressing matter was confirming whether anything had gone wrong as a result of this chance encounter. Rosaline rolled her gaze upward for a moment, thinking carefully. She remembered clearly what Haqaev had said to her. She opened her mouth.

"'You have beautiful black hair.'"

The air in the room went frosty in an instant. Senior Knight Pardickt cleaned out his ear. He seemed uncertain whether he'd heard correctly. Rikardis's eyebrow twitched. Nathan cleared his throat several times but regained his composure relatively quickly. Rosaline continued, completely unfazed.

"The prince said that, so I replied: 'Thank you.' Then the prince asked: 'You appear to be one of the imperial prince's knights... you've come quite far. Your name?'—so I said: 'Rosaline of Redwheel.'"

"......"

"......"

"And then the prince said: 'That's a strong-sounding house name. Your given name is lovely, too.' So I thanked him."

"......"

Rikardis groaned, low and deep.

He couldn't understand what he was listening to. Why was that bastard Haqaev making advances on someone else's knight?

He tried reimagining the scenario with Rosaline replaced by a man. There were a few details that snagged, but it was possible—just possible—that it had been a simple appreciation for black hair in itself.

"When I was on guard, the prince introduced himself: 'I am the first son of Hyxsalla Adon. Haqaev.' Until then I hadn't realized he was a prince—but I wasn't rude."

Even with a blank expression, Rosaline was very pleased with herself. Rikardis let out a short, incredulous laugh.

"I responded to the prince's introduction with: 'I have the honor of meeting Balta's first son.'"

"...So you do know how to greet a prince."

Rikardis had barely managed to swallow the word "somehow" and offered her something that was not quite praise, though it occupied similar territory. Rosaline nodded.

"I did know. I was going to greet him in the Illavénian way, but the prince kissed my cheek first..."

"What?!" "What!"

That crazy bastard. Any simple appreciation for black hair in itself—absolutely nothing. Prince Haqaev had indeed been making every kind of advance on Rosaline.

Rikardis's expression curdled. Vice-Captain Nathan shattered the composure he'd been maintaining with effort. The nerve—to have no other woman to bother and choose this child! Nathan was furiously, righteously angry.

Rosaline was not, of course, actually a child—but to the vice-captain who had watched her at length, she read as precisely as naive as one. The mood among the senior knights darkened in kind.

That filthy Baltan cur dared to lay hands on one of their own? On someone who didn't even realize it was an advance—that oblivious girl?

Rosaline stopped speaking at the unexpectedly intense reaction.

From inside her hair: chik-chik-CHIK!

Rosaline smothered it with a round of fake coughs. Kuh-huk, kuh-huk.

In that brief time apart from her—what manner of scoundrel had—!

Macaron was furious.

Rosaline shrank back, trying not to let it show. She wasn't sure of the precise cause, but it appeared everyone was furious about the Baltan greeting. Fifth Prince Diez had said as much himself, not long ago—not to impose Balta's open customs on Illavénian people.

"......"

Rosaline quietly buried the fact that she had been about to return Haqaev's greeting in the Baltan way. She didn't know why, exactly, but she sensed she'd be scolded.

It was the moment when, fertilized by the threat of consequences, the flower of social awareness bloomed for the first time.

"What else did that bastard do?"

"Nothing. Prince Diez arrived and said Your Highness was calling for me—that I should go. So I came at once."