“They say crowds have already gathered to watch the triumph ceremony… The fight for good spots is fierce.”
“Of course it is! He’s the hero who saved our Empire from crisis—a hero!”
From the opposite table came a stentorian voice. Etienne’s gaze turned that way by itself. A man, deeply drunk, was praising the Grand Duke of Eckhart with an excited face.
“When His Highness the Grand Duke returns—hic!—a fresh wind will blow through the capital!”
“The young lord of Marquis Namia is quite drunk.”
“Leave him. He’s military. Life must feel good these days.”
As the drunken marquis’s son rattled off the Grand Duke of Eckhart’s feats, several people glanced at Etienne.
In the past few years, the Grand Duke of Eckhart’s stock had soared. By his own strength he had become a power in the Military and twice saved the Empire from peril.
Nobles and commoners alike respected him. Among young nobles especially, the Grand Duke’s popularity was tremendous.
He also had the Emperor’s favor. There was no one who didn’t know how the Emperor cherished the Grand Duke of Eckhart, his distant kinsman.
The Emperor had even considered adopting the Grand Duke, who’d lost his parents young. If not for the Empress’s opposition, the Grand Duke of Eckhart might already have become a prince.
A royal—distant collateral, but with rights of succession—a young dominant Alpha lauded as a hero.
Those savvy in politics predicted that once the Grand Duke returned, a full-blown fight over the heir would erupt.
That Etienne—backed by Duke Herace and the Empress—would be pitted against Rishar—backed by the Empire’s Military and the Emperor.
“My source in the Military says His Highness the Grand Duke has already reached the capital. Because of tomorrow’s triumph ceremony, he can’t enter and is waiting outside the walls.”
“His Majesty, really… To keep hold of a man weary from a long road—what for? After years away, he should be allowed to rest.”
Once the floodgate opened, the talk shifted wholly to the Grand Duke of Eckhart. Everyone had something to say about him.
Feigning disinterest, Etienne still listened. Even if he wished not to, voices chattering about Rishar kept reaching him.
“Your Highness must be pleased as well?”
At that moment, the marquis Namia’s son came up to Etienne. At his sudden move, the surrounding voices cut off at once. Feeling the abrupt hush, Etienne set down his glass.
“Pleased about what?”
“That His Highness the Grand Duke is returning. Hic!”
At Etienne’s question, the marquis’s son hiccupped, his lips twitching.
“When you were young, you two were close. Close enough that people took you for real brothers… I remember it all.”
“And?”
“It’s just, well… Your Highness doesn’t look happy at all. Hic. Everyone’s talking about the Grand Duke, and you’re only drinking… I wondered if something had put you out of sorts?”
Grinning slackly through drink, the marquis’s son let his greasy gaze land on Etienne. There was a sly mockery in his tone.
“Young lord Namia, His Highness has not granted you leave to address him.”
“Hey! A mere valet, butting in where you don’t belong!”
Sensing Etienne’s mood sink, Ben stepped forward; the marquis’s son barked, then turned his drunken bluster back on Etienne.
“Your Highness is proud of the Grand Duke too, isn’t that right? Mm?”
“I don’t find the question worth answering.”
Etienne replied coldly. The marquis’s son reeked of leaking pheromones and heavy alcohol. It was unpleasant.
“If you’re drunk, go home and sleep it off. Don’t spoil other people’s drink.”
“Hic—e-excuse me?”
Blank-faced, he blinked as if trying to shake the stupor.
“What did you just say?”
“Not drunk but deaf, is that it?”
Etienne eyed him with contempt, voice edged with scorn.
“It’s not as if I said anything I shouldn’t. Hic— I just wanted to know if you were happy, if you were proud…”
“Why are you curious?”
“Eh?”
At Etienne’s counter, the marquis’s son faltered. Without giving him a chance to answer, Etienne bore down.
“Am I obliged to answer a young lord’s questions? Do you have the right to demand an answer from me?”
In this kind of fight, seizing the initiative was everything.
Etienne fixed him with a face cold as ice. He knew why the young lord had picked at him.
Marquis Namia was a prominent supporter of the Grand Duke of Eckhart. He also held the belief that Alphas and Omegas were superior to Betas. The son would surely share it.
The way the boy had looked at him moments ago, the sneaking smirk, the utter lack of respect in his tone—enough to tell. The marquis’s son had been slighting Etienne for a long time.
Etienne was certain. Men like him were, in fact, familiar. Among nobles, many supremacists believed Alphas and Omegas surpassed Betas.
Naturally, they disliked Etienne. They found it beneath them to serve a Beta prince.
Of course Duke Herace and the Empress would never leave such talk alone. Some who ran their mouths had paid dearly. After that, nobles watched their tongues in front of Etienne.
But it was hard to hide a belief set to the root. A veteran of politics might keep it covered; inexperienced young nobles were clumsy in many ways.
Backed by Duke Herace and the Empress, they couldn’t show it openly; yet in their eyes, their tone, their conduct, a quiet scorn for Etienne leaked out.
Just like the marquis’s son now.
“You dare force an answer from a prince?”
Etienne did not hide his displeasure. As his voice lifted, the young nobles nearby flinched. They sensed it—this was turning ill.
Do I intervene or not…?
Those standing near the two looked on, faces troubled.
“Uh, well…”
The marquis’s son, too, seemed to feel the air go strange; his eyes rolled.
“No answer? A moment ago you demanded one—now you ignore my question?”
“N-no, Your Highness!”
This isn’t how it was supposed to go. The marquis’s son shook his head in a panic. He had no idea how it had come to this.
“I… I…”
Tongue-tied, he floundered. He’d addressed Etienne on a whim. It irked him to see a Beta, lucky enough to be born a prince, take or leave people’s respects and play the lofty man.
No campaigns, no governance, no society.
To him, Etienne did nothing a prince should. The one thing he did well was shut himself up in his palace claiming poor health.
For that, Etienne’s reputation in society was abysmal. Worse among the young nobles of open and enterprising bent. So he’d picked a fight in his cups; drink had loosened the disdain he held.
“Cat got your tongue? Where’s the bravado you had, daring to speak without my leave and browbeat my valet?”
Etienne’s voice was honed as he pressed him.
“…My apologies.”
At last the marquis’s son bowed his head. He even forced a hiccup to make an excuse.
“I, ah, overindulged. I was drunk and behaved improperly toward Your Highness. Hic!”
“If you like drink so much, I’ll pour you one.”
At the apology, Etienne’s lips twisted. He snatched the bottle of wine from a servant’s tray.
“Wh—? Urk!”
He inverted the bottle and dumped wine over the young lord’s head. It happened in an instant.
“Ah!”
“Heavens.”
Startled, the nobles drew sharp breaths. However angry he was, to pour wine on a noble’s head—prince or not—was excessive.
“W-what is the meaning of this…”
“Not fond of wine? You looked like you enjoyed drink, so I poured you a cup.”
Setting the bottle on the table, Etienne smiled blandly. The marquis’s son, stung, was just opening his mouth when Count Herace appeared.
“Your Highness!”
At his arrival, the onlookers stepped back as if on cue. Face set, he approached, frowned at the sodden young lord.
“What has happened?”
“My apologies for the disturbance, Count Herace.”
Etienne offered the count an easy apology, then gestured to Ben to make ready to depart.
“I’ll be taking my leave.”
“Already?”
“My taste for drink was spoiled—by someone.”
He flicked his eyes at the marquis’s son. He’d been thinking of rising anyway; this made a convenient pretext.
“Did the young lord of Marquis Namia offend Your Highness?”
“He’s so drunk he can’t tell up from down. I imagine your excellent wine went to his head.”
Etienne flayed him with a crisp barb. The count’s brow tightened; he could piece the scene together.
“My apologies, Your Highness.”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for. If anything, I’m sorry for spoiling your pleasant evening.”
Etienne set a hand on the count’s shoulder and gave it a couple of pats—the very discourtesy the count had shown him earlier, returned in kind.
“Then I’ll see you at tomorrow’s triumph.”
With that brief farewell, Etienne walked out as if he had no further business. No one moved to bar his way.
“Hoo.”
Outside, he drew a deep breath. The cold night air filled his lungs. He felt as if the filth of a thousand pheromones were being washed from his body.
“That was too much, Your Highness.”
Ben, following after, spoke in a worried tone. Etienne, who had closed his eyes to savor the fresh air, opened them slowly.
“What was?”
“Pouring the wine.”
“What of it.”
“You could have shown lenience.”
“If you’re going to nag all the way, you can walk behind the carriage to the palace.”
Not wishing to hear more, Etienne climbed into the coach. Ben let out a small sigh as he watched.
To hide that he was an Omega, Etienne kept his nerves stretched taut; he reacted keenly to any attack upon himself.
He was especially sensitive to people. He could endure almost anything else, but not someone approaching him without leave or behaving rudely.
Today was no different. He overreacted to what could have been dismissed as a trivial episode. A kind of defense mechanism.
“Today’s incident will damage Your Highness’s reputation further.”
“Is there anything left to damage?”
Sinking into the plush seat, Etienne let out a thin laugh. His image was already in ruins.
“Let them talk. What more can they say? That the good-for-nothing behaved like a good-for-nothing again.”
He spoke as if it were nothing. He didn’t care whether his reputation was good or bad. He preferred it bad. Only then could he someday throw everything away.
“You’re not a real good-for-nothing.”
“People don’t care about the truth anyway. In society, rumor masquerades as truth. What matters to them is whether they’re entertained.”
“Her Majesty the Empress will surely have words.”
At the mention of the Empress, Etienne’s eyes hardened. He recalled her admonitions from days ago.
Ah, and mind your reputation.
See that people stop calling you the imperial good-for-nothing.
You mustn’t clash with young nobles like last time. And curb the drink for a while.
He recalled each point Leona had made and crooked one corner of his mouth. He realized he had kept none of them.
Even so, he wasn’t concerned. The marquis’s son had slighted Etienne before witnesses. By now, Count Herace would have the full of it; soon Leona would too.
For Leona—who treated a slight to Etienne as one to herself—she might even say he’d done well.
Even if not, she had no mind to spare for him now. Tomorrow, the Grand Duke of Eckhart would return.
“It’s fine.”
“Your Highness?”
“By tomorrow, Mother Empress won’t have the mind to scold me.”
When he finished, Etienne looked out the window. In the distance lay Tempest Square, where the triumph ceremony would be held. Even at this late hour, it shone unusually bright—crowds had gathered to secure a view.
“…I’ll close my eyes a moment. Wake me when we reach the palace.”
“Understood.”
Staring at Tempest Square awash in multicolored lights, Etienne shut his tired eyes.
Your Highness.
In his mind surfaced the day three years ago he had last seen Rishar. Time enough had passed to blur it, yet the memory was sharp as yesterday.
I’ll return.
Yes, that was what he’d said. Then when they met again, would he greet him with, I have returned?
A soft puff of air slipped between the slight curve of his lips.
How has he changed?
Eyes closed, Etienne thought. Three years was longer than one imagines. And Rishar had spent them on a battlefield where life and death crossed. He couldn’t even guess how he had changed.
Your Highness…
Etienne’s closed lids lifted a fraction. In the wind drifting through the open window, he thought he heard a voice he ached for.
“Haa…”
He let out a long breath and scrubbed his face with dry hands. He was curious about how Rishar had changed—and felt, at once, the contradictory desire not to see him.