“Wow. The portrait came out really well.”
Thunk, thunk—the attendant sitting on the ladder hammered nails and admired the portrait handed up from below. The man holding the ladder retorted.
“Well? It doesn’t capture all of His Highness the Grand Duke’s looks.”
At the word Grand Duke leaving the man’s mouth, Etienne halted. It seemed they were hanging Rishar’s portrait.
They’d been discussing in the Council of State for days the promotion of Rishar to Grand General—and it looked like the groundwork was already underway.
“Ah, right. Did you hear? His Highness the Grand Duke of Eckhart refused the match with House Matias! Even though His Majesty arranged it, he flatly said he didn’t want a political marriage—dumped it, just like that!”
“What? Really?”
“Yeah. I heard it straight from a fellow working the banquet hall, so it’s solid. I hear he declared to His Majesty that he’d marry the person he loves regardless of secondary sex.”
“Wow!”
Perhaps because of the rain, the sound carried louder than usual. The two gossiped on, unaware of Etienne and Ben’s presence.
Listening, Etienne recalled the events in the banquet hall.
I’ll marry the person I love.
Words like a declaration of war were lodged hard in his mind. Calling up those navy eyes with their strange heat, Etienne pressed his lower lip. The chill that had crawled over him then returned.
“Your Highness? What’s wrong?”
When Etienne shivered, Ben reacted sharply. He was worried the cold might flare again.
“Are you—cold…”
“Shh.”
Signaling Ben to be quiet, Etienne kept listening. He wanted to know how others took Rishar’s statement.
“Hold on, if he said it that strongly, maybe there really is someone he has in mind?”
“Gasp. Really? Who?”
“Mm—ah! You know Eckhart’s mage-commander—the one who’s super dashing and beautiful… Could it be that person?”
“The mage-commander? You mean Lady Stella of Count Flang?”
“Yeah, her. They’re together practically every day lately. Wasn’t her name Stella…? His Highness the Grand Duke calls her by name. They looked close.”
Lady Stella of Count Flang?
At the vaguely familiar name, Etienne’s brows drew in the faintest degree. Soon he called to mind the violet-haired mage beside Rishar at the triumph banquet. She, as striking in pheromones as in features, was a dominant Omega.
“Lady Stella is a dominant Omega, right? Since His Highness stressed regardless of secondary sex, doesn’t that mean he likes Alphas or Betas? Might not even be a noble.”
“Is that so? Hm, hearing it like that, maybe.”
“I’m curious. Who His Highness the Grand Duke loves…”
When the man holding the ladder murmured, the one perched on it spoke as he hung the portrait.
“We’ll find out soon enough. Anyway, whoever becomes grand duchess is blessed. If it goes well, she could be Empress, couldn’t she?”
“Hey, you! There’s nothing you won’t say.”
Startled, the man almost lost his grip on the ladder. Saying a grand duchess might become Empress was tantamount to saying the Grand Duke of Eckhart would ascend the throne. For palace staff, it was an improper, risky remark.
“Whoa! Hold the ladder properly! I almost fell!”
“I was surprised! What if someone hears…—hck.”
Gripping the ladder again, the man darted his gaze around, uneasy—then froze as he noticed Etienne and Ben watching. Still not grasping the situation, the fellow on the ladder raised his voice as he climbed down.
“Come on, you think the same! The reason nobles keep proposing even after His Highness said he hates political marriages is all because—eeek!”
Mid-sentence, he saw Etienne and panicked. A beautiful young man with pale face, gold hair, and blue eyes—anyone could see he was the Prince.
“Y-Your Highness the Prince!”
The one who’d gone rigid came to himself and prostrated on the floor. The other dropped to his knees in a flurry, cold sweat breaking as he recalled what he’d just said.
“What shall we do?”
Ben asked through a scowl. He looked ready to summon guards and have the two dragged out immediately.
“Forgive us, please, we—hic!”
The terrified man hiccupped as he begged for mercy. Etienne looked down at him with a blank face.
“They say even absent, people curse their sovereigns…”
Murmuring in a low voice, Etienne approached the pair. Step, step—the keen sound of leather on marble rang out.
“Hic!”
As the footsteps drew close, the man hiccupped again, terror on his face. I ran my mouth and I’m going to die today—
He had his reasons to be this afraid. The Prince was a figure shrouded even to those working in the palace, and the rumors were uniformly bad.
Irritable and touchy over trifles; summarily cast out servants who erred; splashed wine on a noble’s son…
Rumors tended to exaggerate, but they weren’t spun from nothing.
Over the past twenty-odd years, more than a few had been beaten badly and expelled from the palace—or vanished—either for failing to serve the Prince properly or for speaking carelessly about him.
In truth, it was the Empress who had meted out those measures, but since they had occurred in Esteban Palace where the Prince resided, he had taken all the infamy. Thus the Prince naturally became an object of fear.
“Even if this is the Military’s nerve center, it is still the Imperial Palace. If you value your lives, you should refrain from wagging your tongues.”
“F-forgive us. We deserve death!”
Thud, thud! The man knocked his forehead on the floor. The other did the same beside him. Watching white marble stain red, Etienne spoke.
“You do deserve death.”
At the emotionless voice, the attendants shuddered. In truth, Etienne wasn’t particularly angry. He didn’t much care what people said about him. But this time was different.
If he did nothing after hearing this, worse talk would follow. Above all, if the Empress learned of it, she would not leave them be.
Already, people were peeking into the corridor, having sensed the commotion. Within hours, it would surely reach the Empress’s ears.
“What a nuisance…”
Quickly grasping the situation, Etienne muttered, vexed. He’d only come to return a cardigan, and now things were tangled. After a brief thought, he gave his decision.
“I won’t punish you.”
“R-really?”
“But I won’t let it pass either. Pack now and get out.”
“Pardon?”
The faces that had brightened went ashen again. Etienne leaned down toward the two whose complexions had gone leaden and whispered so only they could hear:
“Even if I forgive you, my mother won’t. If you don’t want to die, leave the palace this instant. Better yet, leave the capital.”
“Ghhp!”
They both sucked in breaths at the whisper. As Etienne straightened again, a sharp voice rang from the far end of the corridor.
“What’s going on there? Why all the noise?”
Rishar’s adjutant appeared at the end of the hall, apparently having stepped out at the commotion.
“In front of His Highness the Grand Duke’s office, what on earth—hm?”
Approaching with annoyance, the adjutant saw Etienne and stopped short. He rubbed his eyes as if he couldn’t believe it, then gasped.
“Y-Your Highness the Grand Duke! His Highness the Prince…!”
Before the flustered adjutant could finish, the door flew open. Rishar appeared, eyes wide.
“Your Highness?”
In a dazed voice, Rishar called to Etienne—his face uncharacteristically unguarded.
Of all times.
Etienne frowned; Rishar had appeared before the matter was settled. In contrast, the faces of the attendants prostrate on the floor brightened.
“Your Highness the Grand Duke!”
“Hm?”
“Please spare us, Your Highness!”
Startled by Etienne’s visit, Rishar now watched men suddenly begging him for their lives, and his eyes narrowed faintly. Looking between Etienne and the attendants, he spoke.
“What has happened?”
“Who knows.”
Etienne shrugged to Rishar’s question. To anyone who didn’t know better, it would look like he’d bullied the attendants. He had no desire to explain at length.
“What discourtesy did you commit against His Highness the Prince?”
Failing to get an answer from Etienne, Rishar turned his gaze on the attendants. Expecting rescue, they flinched at his unexpectedly cold tone.
“D-discourtesy? Absolutely n-no! We just…”
“Just?”
“Well… we were only talking about Your Highness the Grand Duke’s marriage. Then His Highness the Prince suddenly…”
Pale as a sheet, the man stammered out an excuse, minimizing his fault. He could hardly say he’d been talking, before the Prince, about how the grand duchess might become the future Empress.
Even if he hadn’t known the Prince was listening, and even if the speaker had no such intent, what he’d said was more than enough to cause offense.
“You were talking about my marriage?”
“Y-yes…! We were wondering among ourselves who Your Highness loves…”
At his words, Rishar’s eyes hardened. He could guess the gist. Since he’d refused the match with House Matias, people had gone on about how the Grand Duke must have long harbored someone in his heart.
But Etienne would not have made them kneel over just that. They must have prattled about the next throne—or something on that level. Having sized it up, Rishar bowed to Etienne with a set face.
“My apologies, Your Highness the Prince. It seems the underlings took idle rumors and disturbed your peace.”
“…It isn’t you who should apologize. But you would do well to curb their tongues. You shouldn’t have to be slandered for their loose talk.”
“I will take it to heart.”
Rishar answered with formal respect, then looked down with chill eyes at the trembling attendants.
“What shall be done with them? If you would send them to prison, I will see to it.”
“No need. It’s not a crime that grave. I’ll merely have them expelled from the palace.”
“Understood. Elvin, remove them from our sight at once.”
Nodding, Rishar ordered his adjutant. The attendants, who had seen Rishar as a lifeline, went bloodless as he cast them out.
“Your Highness, Your Highness the Grand Duke!”
“We were wrong! Your Highness the Prince! Please, mercy!”
Dragged away by the knights, they shouted, ashen. Rishar no longer paid them attention. The fact they had discomposed Etienne was crime enough.
“So—what brings you here?”
Once the sights and sounds of the attendants had vanished and the surroundings stilled, Rishar’s set face loosened. Watching the sudden change in him, Etienne gave a small cough.
“I came to keep a promise.”
“A promise? Ah.”
Rishar’s gaze dropped to the item in Ben’s hands. Wrapped carefully in waterproof cloth—his cardigan, without doubt.
“You could have given it to me later…”
His words trailed as he looked Etienne over. Startled before, he hadn’t noticed—but now he saw Etienne’s hair and clothes were damp.
“Just a moment.”
Rishar drew a handkerchief from inside his jacket and reached toward Etienne. The soft cloth touched the left shoulder of Etienne’s jacket, wrinkled where rain had soaked it.
Flustered by Rishar blotting his clothes, Etienne’s eyes rolled. As if conscious of onlookers, he glanced around.
Unlike Etienne, Rishar cared nothing for others’ eyes. He focused only on Etienne.
“Your hair’s a little wet too.”
After flicking off the remaining moisture from the jacket, Rishar lifted his hand. Callused fingers brushed the ends of hair beaded with droplets.
“I’m—fine…!”
Etienne started to say he was fine and drew back his head—but the instant warmth touched skin gone cold, he couldn’t speak at all.
Rishar cupped the damp hair with the handkerchief and released it, then carefully wiped it dry.
Satisfied once it was fluffy again, Rishar smiled, and with a movement of his fingers, tucked the strayed strands behind Etienne’s ear.
All the while, Etienne could hardly breathe. Stiff as a wooden plank, he bit his lip. All his senses pooled where Rishar’s hand brushed his ear and cheek.
“There.”
Whether he knew Etienne was tense or not, Rishar was unhurried. As he drew his hand back in a slow motion, he seemed to sense something and paused—then suddenly bent closer.
“…!”
As a shadow fell across his face, Etienne reflexively hunched his shoulders. With the distance closer than before, his chest surged like a swell. Forcing down the agitation, he squeezed his throat to speak.
“What are you doing.”
“Ah—my apologies.”
At the barbed tone, Rishar straightened and apologized. With an abashed face, he added:
“I caught a scent.”
A scent. At the word, Etienne felt his heart drop. His face scrunched before he could stop it.
Could it be pheromones… No, impossible. He’d sprayed pheromone perfume today, just in case—Rishar must have smelled the perfume.
Striving for calm, Etienne edged back. Seeing him put distance between them, Rishar narrowed his eyes.
But then, as if nothing had happened, Rishar smoothed his expression and smiled with his eyes, asking lightly:
“Did you put on perfume?”
“…Sometimes.”
Etienne answered a beat late. It was a trivial question, but his tongue stalled for an instant.
Will he think it strange?
Lowering his eyes, Etienne swallowed. He wanted to read Rishar’s expression, but he couldn’t bring himself to lift his head.
“Hm. Weren’t you someone who disliked perfume? As I recall, you disliked anything strongly scented—food, flowers, everything…”
Rishar asked in the same even tone as before. But, as before, Etienne couldn’t answer right away. As he said, Etienne did dislike strong scents.