In her first life, when she had set foot into the capital’s society, she had heard a rumor: Empress Lillian had so favored a young male actor that she unclasped the necklace she wore and bestowed it upon him.
Put so simply, it might sound trivial, but that necklace was a famous jewel, and because there was talk that the Empress had been alone with the actor and emerged with her neck bare, the matter swelled into a considerable scandal.
It would not have been a great affair for a highborn woman to keep a lover; had they only stayed quiet, it would have been smoothed over quickly—Schwaben would have put out the fire as well.
But the scandal flared up again a few months later: the Empress had tried to flee with the man. And that actor surfaced as a corpse in the Lenos River that cut through the capital.
No one knew with what heart the Empress had dared such a reckless act—whether for love, from a mere desire to escape, or for some other reason.
What was certain was that she could be seduced.
“It’s dangerous.”
Olivia spoke gravely.
From the very beginning, when she first drew Sion to her side, she had told him: she wanted him to seduce some high-born great lady—and he might die for it.
Sion had laughed easily and replied:
“Great risk and great gain—that is precisely what I seek. Do not worry. I am a man who enjoys walking the razor’s edge.”
He had said as much, but Olivia was not the sort to push another into such peril and rest easy, so she warned him once more.
Sion only smiled again.
“A man who undertakes dangerous work is… sexy.”
“Whether that is a jest or the truth…”
Olivia let out a sigh and regarded him with a measuring gaze. She could seldom understand Sion. To call him merely a gambler addicted to danger—his eyes were far too clear for that.
He no doubt had some other aim. It had been Sion who first came seeking the Marel Troupe. Hearing they meant to go toward the Shirah Empire, he had asked to join.
He was a man with something suspicious about him. Yet once she chose to trust him, Olivia did not pry further.
In a mere four months one cannot build perfect trust. But there was no better candidate than Sion. Above all, time and opportunity must not be wasted.
In any case, the most crucial part of the affair was not what Sion would do, but what she herself must do.
“Very well. If you’re willing.”
So saying, she showed Sion the invitation.
“A musical salon at the palace. Her Majesty the Empress and the Princess will attend. I intend to take you and Luna. We’ll perform When the Curtain Opens, so be ready.”
“…Surely the one I am to seduce is Her Majesty the Empress?”
Sion’s expression slipped for a heartbeat, then he asked. Olivia answered coolly.
“Yes.”
“It is truly dangerous, then.”
“If you’ve changed your mind even now, you can withdraw.”
“No.”
He stroked his cheek, his gray-blue eyes deepening as if in thought.
“You know very well that what I desire is a very grand gaming table, do you not? There is none grander than the imperial house of Shirah.”
His tone still sounded like a jest, but Olivia could see the depths sink into his gaze.
“There’s no need to cross a bridge too perilous. For now, it’s enough to seize her attention.”
“Yes.”
Sion agreed readily.
Olivia chose to set her worries aside. She knew how far Schwaben would tolerate things; she could keep it from turning truly dangerous.
Sion said cheerfully,
“Then will you be joining rehearsal now?”
“Me?”
“Yes. You must help me do it well. With Lady Laila before me, I feel I could play the man in love to perfection.”
This, at least, was a joke. Knowing full well he had not the least such feeling for her, Olivia could only smile.
***
6. When the Curtain Opens
Ezekiel turned the last document and pressed his weary eyes with his fingers for a moment. But when he lowered his hand, his blue eyes were once more clear and cold.
“The remaining engagements?”
His frigid voice rang in the office. The adjutant hastened to answer.
“You must attend the musical salon at the palace.”
“…A nuisance.”
He let the words drop short. He had not forgotten; it was simply so tiresome that, perversely, he could not erase it from his mind.
But a salon held at the palace, and at the Princess’s behest in honor of the Empress, was not something he could refuse.
Meeting Princess Roella was truly irksome. She was quite beautiful, and, if one must say, aligned with Ezekiel’s tastes; yet his time was far too valuable to spend hours on dull meetings merely to look upon a pretty face.
The physical aspect was, admittedly, pleasant enough. But in dealing with his betrothed, the Princess, he could not very well spend every meeting only in bed.
There was no other amusement to be had. Their conversation did not flow, and they had almost no topics in common. Since it was a marriage of convenience anyway, it would be best if they kept their distance, observed decent forms, and parted early—but Princess Roella strained by every means to keep him long and chattered without rest.
When her eyes, burning with passion and fixity of purpose, fixed upon him, he felt a sticky disgust, as if something clammy clung to his back.
'Half base-born by blood—perhaps it cannot be helped.'
He had never said it aloud, but the thought came to him often.
In any case, it was a summons he could not decline. He ought to see the Empress at least once as well; he had heard of late that she was unusually enervated.
Empress Lillian was a woman without zeal. Considering her birth, she had been raised to a station she had never dared to look up to; yet, for whatever dissatisfaction, she had grown more and more listless. He worried she might do something foolish.
For now, the Empress must keep her place. Though Princess Roella existed, it was better to hold the palace through the Empress than through the Princess.
“Hnh.”
For the moment, he left the office and made for his mansion.
After a brief wash, Ezekiel changed into attire suited for an evening salon. When his gaze met, by chance, the reflection beyond the mirror, the maid dressing his hair flushed and lowered her head. The comb slipped from her hand.
“Eek! Forgive me! Forgive me!”
The maid, panicking, dropped to her knees on the floor.
Irritation pricked him. But he could hardly punish a maid for dropping a comb, so he merely glanced at her and looked away.
The butler attending at his side hurried to have the girl taken out.
Ezekiel ran a hand through his hair and looked in the mirror. There seemed nothing further to adjust.
Human beings were tedious creatures. Governing the mass was interesting work, but individuals, for the most part, wearied him. Ezekiel often felt the urge to sweep people away as one cleans vermin. He knew he must not.
'They are not so different from vermin, after all, are they.'
With that thought, he held out his hand. The butler quickly drew white gloves onto it.
Ezekiel left the toilette and strode out of the house. A splendid four-horse coach emblazoned with Schwaben’s arms stood waiting.
He mounted. The carriage set off toward the palace.