Moreover, among the royals in whose veins the blood of House Frederick still ran, the only Alphas were the present Emperor, the Grand Duke of Eckhart, and the Grand Duke of Bismarck—now nearing his sixtieth year.
Setting aside the Grand Duke of Bismarck, who might go any day now, the only Alpha to carry into the next generation was a single man: the Grand Duke of Eckhart.
What was worse, he wasn’t just any Alpha—he was a dominant Alpha. There were even whispers he was an ultra-dominant Alpha.
“Damn Eckhart.”
Eris bit her lip, her face twisted. She had disliked that house since long ago. An ill-omened, insufferable grand-ducal line.
In the Empire, the title “Grand Duke” could originally be held only by the Emperor’s brothers and by their children—the Emperor’s cousins. After that, the noble blood of Frederick was said to run too thin to inherit a grand-ducal rank.
In other words, from a brother’s grandchildren and a cousin’s children onward, the line was demoted to marquess or count. Their right of succession was acknowledged, but their chance of ever becoming Emperor was almost nil—they became nobles with imperial blood, not royals.
Only House Eckhart was the exception. Boasting centuries of history, Eckhart was the Empire’s only family in which the grand-ducal rank was inherited.
A house to stand with the Empire from its beginning to its end.
Founded by the first Emperor’s brother—the sibling of the founder of the Empire of Frederick—House Eckhart, as a founding vassal and the first grand-ducal line, would, when its blood grew thin, tie itself to the imperial house again and again.
At times for political reasons, at times for human ones.
Across imperial history, House Eckhart alternated between existing as an independent house and belonging among the imperial collateral.
“Why…?”
Even she, the present Emperor’s cousin, could not pass her rank to her only son—so why did that house enjoy the privilege of producing grand dukes generation after generation? No matter how she thought on it, it was absurd.
“Damn it.”
Grinding her teeth, Eris felt her temper surge the more she thought. What infuriated her most was that nothing would change, however much she resented it.
“Bloody hell.”
Raking her hair back, she drew in a deep breath and let it out. A moment ago she had lost her temper and slipped. She could not afford another mistake. After a few deep breaths, she set her face to calm and headed for the hall where the dinner would be held.
***
“Later, apologize properly to the Grand Duchess of Saxony.”
Gone. Watching Eris vanish beyond the corridor, Etienne spoke evenly as he looked at Rishar.
“Pardon?”
“What was that attitude just now? Grand Duchess of Saxony may be a grand duke like you in rank, but she is much your elder.”
“…Understood.”
Rishar, who had been about to object, only let out a tight sound and answered meekly. A moment ago he had glared at the back of Eris’s head like a beast waiting to close its jaws—and now he was as docile as a lamb.
“Are you angry…?”
Watching Etienne’s face, Rishar ventured cautiously. Etienne slanted him a look as if he found him detestable and folded his arms.
“Yes. I’m angry.”
“My apologies.”
With a downcast face, Rishar apologized. Etienne swallowed a sigh at his slumped shoulders. He looked as pitiful as a puppy soaked through by rain.
“I truly don’t understand.”
What am I supposed to do with this mutt. Unable to hold back the sigh building in his chest, Etienne shook his head.
When Etienne put up a wall, Rishar broke it and came closer; when Etienne drew a line, he stepped over it. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know their circumstances—so why was he like this?
With a pained expression, Etienne looked at him. Rishar was truly difficult. At times even more than the Empress.
“It was my fault, Etienne. Please, let your anger go.”
Hearing Etienne sigh hard, Rishar apologized again. He should have held back, but he had flared up at Eris’s manner without knowing it, and grown sharp.
Yet even if he could go back a few minutes, he would likely do the same. That was how much her attitude grated on him—especially the way she touched Etienne so freely under the guise of familiarity.
“Quit it with the ‘Etienne’ business already.”
Etienne’s retort came sharp. He pressed his throbbing temple with his thumb.
What am I going to do.
He thought seriously. At this rate he might have to hear that “Etienne” for the rest of his life. He knew very well how stubborn Rishar could be.
Truthfully, his own attitude was a problem, too. He told Rishar not to call him by name, yet he himself spoke to Rishar without formality.
I should call him Grand Duke, I should keep formal speech—and yet whenever Rishar called him “Etienne,” he responded comfortably without thinking. Habit was a frightening thing.
“Do you do it knowingly, or not?”
“Sir?”
“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
With a complicated look, Etienne studied Rishar. Somehow, he kept feeling himself getting drawn into Rishar’s pace.
At this rate, for the rest of his life he would neither call Rishar “Grand Duke” nor keep his distance.
No—no. This wasn’t because of Rishar. In truth, I…
Don’t. Don’t think it. He shouted at himself and clenched his fist tight. The truth he kept pressed into a corner of his heart—the feeling he tried so hard to ignore—was trying to lift its head.
“Fine. I’ll yield. When it’s just the two of us, you may call me Etienne.”
To steady the turmoil in his chest, Etienne chose to compromise—somewhat. If he kept bickering like this, he felt sure the day would come when his whole heart would be laid bare.
“Truly?”
At those words, Rishar’s face lit. He asked as if he could not believe it.
“Yes. But never again in front of others. I mean situations like before. What must the Grand Duchess of Saxony think, seeing us?”
Half cajoling, half scolding, Etienne pressed him. Rishar hesitated, then answered in a tone lacking confidence.
“That… I will try.”
“Not try—be certain. You did well at the triumph, didn’t you?”
“That was because Their Imperial Majesties were present.”
“Be careful before others besides the two of them as well. You never know when and where talk will start.”
At Etienne’s earnest request, Rishar spoke as if he truly could not understand.
“Why do you care so much about other people’s eyes?”
“And why are you so careless?”
Feeling as if they were spinning their wheels, Etienne’s voice rose. Then, deciding this would never end, he lifted a hand.
“Enough. This will go nowhere—let’s go in.”
“Yes.”
Rishar, for his part, seemed unwilling to continue wrangling and agreed. Then, quietly, he moved to stand at Etienne’s side.
“What? Why are you sticking close?”
“Aren’t we going to the dining hall? Since we share a destination, let’s go together.”
“No, if we go in together with you…”
People will make a fuss. Etienne could not finish, for an arm had come around his shoulders. The sudden contact made his body go rigid. Whether he knew it or not, Rishar smiled with a calm face.
“Shall we?”
“…Haa. Do as you please.”
Flustered, Etienne stammered, then shook his head and set off. He did not want to show how rattled he was by Rishar.
When Etienne did not push him away, Rishar’s expression brightened. Smiling broadly, he gripped those narrow shoulders with a large, hard hand.
Tightly, as if he would never let go.
***
“His Highness the Prince, Etienne de Frederick, the Star of the Empire—and His Grace the Grand Duke, Rishar von Eckhart, the Empire’s Sword—enter!”
The attendant’s voice announcing their entrance rang through the hall. Many people had already taken their seats.
The royals invited by the Emperor and the members of the Ten Great Houses had been chatting at their places, but when Rishar and Etienne entered together, their eyes went wide.
It was startling to see the two men, expected to clash over the next succession, arrive side by side.
“What am I looking at?”
“I never imagined His Grace the Grand Duke and His Highness the Prince would arrive together…”
At the sight that suggested their relationship was not as poor as expected, several nobles looked unsettled.
The Grand Duke of Eckhart—known for his usual taciturnity—kept speaking to Etienne with a steady smile; that alone was enough to shock people.
“Your Grace the Grand Duke of Eckhart!”
Just when the people gathered in the hall were at a loss, someone called to Rishar in a welcoming voice.
“…Marquess Matias?”
Rishar, turning by reflex, recognized the man approaching and let the smile drain from his face.
“It has been a while, Your Grace. Have you been well? I regret that I could not greet you at the triumph banquet…”
“I’ve been well.”
Rishar cut across the Marquess’s greeting. Then he angled his body so the Marquess’s gaze would fall first upon Etienne.
“Before asking after me, should you not first pay respects to His Highness the Prince?”
“Ah—Your Highness.”
Only at Rishar’s prompt did Marquess Matias seem to register Etienne’s presence. Seeing Rishar with Etienne, he made a face of dismay.
“My apologies for the late greeting, Your Highness. I am Benjamin, who leads House Matias.”
“It is fine, Marquess. We exchanged greetings a few days ago, did we not?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
The Marquess answered with deference. Etienne felt a bitterness seeing how wholly different his manner was now with Rishar from when he had met Etienne days prior.
Even then, the Marquess had shown little interest in Etienne. He had observed the courtesies, nothing more—no warmth at all.
Those with secrets they cannot speak grow observant by necessity. From greetings alone, Etienne had quickly grasped that the Marquess had no interest in him.
The Empress seemed to think he could be brought into the Noble Faction’s fold, but to Etienne’s eye, no. The Marquess did not suit the nobles’ bloc—and now Etienne realized his instinct had been right.
“Your Grace the Grand Duke, might you spare me a moment?”
Having finished his brief greeting with Etienne, the Marquess addressed Rishar again. Watching the way his eyes shone at Rishar, Etienne pressed his lips tight.
Perhaps because of what he’d heard from Eris a moment ago, his stomach heaved though he had yet to eat a bite.
“What is it?”
Rishar’s voice was curt. Etienne read his expression without difficulty. The neatly drawn brows held a slight crease—his mood was poor.
“There is someone I wish to introduce to Your Grace.”
“Introduce?”
“Yes. My youngest son.”
At that, Rishar’s brow furrowed further. Seeing it, Etienne realized what Eris had said was true.
“Antoine! Come here.”
Before Rishar could speak, the Marquess hurriedly called someone over—apparently fearing refusal.
“Father?”
At his call, a young man sitting nearby rose. He was a beauty with long red hair falling over one side.
“Quickly!”
Impatient of face but gentle of voice, the Marquess urged him. In that tone, Etienne heard a father’s affection for his son.
“What is it, Father?”
Drawing close to the three, the young man asked with a gentle face. For all the flamboyance of his looks—like a crimson rose—his voice was mild and calm.
“Antoine. This is His Highness Prince Etienne and His Grace the Grand Duke of Eckhart. Give your respects.”
“Ah.”
At the introduction, the young man let out a small exclamation. In that instant, Etienne caught the scent of a newly opened rose. It was the pheromones of a dominant Omega.
“An honor to meet you. I am Antoine of House Matias.”
The rose-like youth introduced himself and bowed with flawless grace.
“It is my honor to make your acquaintance—Your Highness, and Your Grace.”
Lifting his head, Antoine spoke their titles in turn and smiled. Red lips, petal-soft and full, curved in a smooth arc; eyes the pink of a ripe peach bent sweetly.
“A pleasure, young lord of House Matias.”
Etienne smiled gently at Antoine. He hoped his smile did not look strained.
“I don’t believe we’ve met… Is this your first time in the capital?”
“Yes. My first.”
“I see. I hope you enjoy your time here.”
“Thank you.”
Having finished with Etienne, Antoine looked shyly at Rishar. Rishar said nothing. A sign he had no desire to converse.
“Rishar.”
Etienne glanced at him, lips tight at his sullen silence, and nudged his arm with an elbow. Reluctantly, Rishar opened his mouth.
“Rishar, who leads Eckhart.”
He greeted Antoine in a brusque manner. His tone blew cold. Even so, Antoine beamed.
“A pleasure, Your Grace. To see the one I have long admired is… an immeasurable honor.”
Antoine looked up at Rishar, face alight. His eyes were wholly different from when he had greeted Etienne.
“You admired me?”
“Yes—you are the hero who saved the Empire from peril!”
Etienne watched, displeasure growing, as a flush rose in Antoine’s cheeks like dye from crushed petals. The richer the body-scent drifting from Antoine became, the more Etienne’s mood sank.
“Father spoke of Your Grace every day… I longed to see you once I came to the capital.”
“The Marquess did? Hm. There can’t have been much to say.”
“How can you say that? Not only my father—many praise Your Grace’s deeds. For the past three years, you protected the Empire from monsters and barbarians.”
A child raised in love.
So Etienne thought as Antoine smiled brightly, undaunted by Rishar’s gruff response. From him came that particular confidence and brightness of an Omega brought up cherished.
“Father called Your Grace the Empire’s finest sword and shield! He said that of all the knights he has seen, you stand supreme. That so long as you are here, the Empire will never fall into danger…”
“Antoine.”
The Marquess, seeing his son babble in excitement, checked him—with an embarrassed look, scolding his youngest.
“How can you repeat my words to His Grace as they are.”
“Ah—my apologies, Father.”
At the rebuke, Antoine apologized with an abashed face. Marquess Matias looked upon his son with eyes full of fondness.
“……”