It has been about a month since the assassination attempt, and my hands are almost completely healed. The skin still feels tight, but it no longer interferes with daily life. My fingers move properly too.
Apparently, the woman who attacked me acted alone.
She lost her son in the war on the New Continent. Her family business, which had scraped by supplying clothing to the army, went bankrupt after the military repeatedly delayed payment. Left completely alone, she put on the one good outfit she owned and came to Palais Lumiere. She barely ate, worked as a servant girl in an attic room somewhere, and spent whatever spare time she had coming to Palais Lumiere.
And then I appeared.
And she tried to stab me to death.
The Lord of the Interior’s report was concise. Its main focus was whether anyone had been behind her actions—whether someone had incited her, or whether she had fallen under the influence of some extremist ideology.
Apparently, they found no evidence of either.
And they all lived happily ever after.
I was too afraid to ask what would happen to her.
But I had to ask.
So I did.
Apparently, she had already “died.”
An “accident” during interrogation, they said.
And they all lived happily ever after.
I felt an urge to cut off my own hands.
I remember her eyes very clearly. They were stretched so wide it looked as though the corners might split. As if one light smack to the back of her head would have sent her eyeballs rolling out.
But that was all I remembered.
She had lost everything, and she tried to kill me.
I should have remembered her. What her face looked like. What kind of hair she had. What sort of life she had lived.
I should have remembered all of it.
Instead, I remembered nothing.
If she had come after me in the name of some grand cause to correct the government, or because a foreign country had manipulated her, or because she had been steeped in some radical ideology, how much easier that would have been.
That would have been politics.
But this wasn’t.
She had lost everything, and she used me as the instrument of her suicide.
There was nothing political about that.
Had the Lord of the Interior kept his report so sparse out of consideration for me? Had he wanted to reassure me by saying, in effect, It was nothing important?
An unfortunate commoner driven to madness committed an act of violence. There is no need for Your Majesty to worry.
Something like that.
Or perhaps he was hiding something. Something inconvenient to him, or to the state.
But right now, I didn’t even have the energy to indulge in suspicion.
After dismissing him, I called for a male servant.
I didn’t particularly want Braune or Mary to see me like this.
A short young man hurried over.
“Do I still have anything scheduled for today?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. At seven this evening, there is a dinner to which His Highness the Duke of Aquiane has been invited.”
“Thank you. I’m looking forward to it.”
I answered as calmly as I could, then added one last thing.
“Could I have a glass of wine?”
“Wine, Your Majesty?”
“I feel like taking an advance on the aperitif. I’m a little tired today. I ought to restore my spirits before I entertain the Duke of Aquiane.”
Seeing me smile, the servant bowed his head and withdrew.
◆
“Your Majesty, I have brought the wine you requested. Allow me to pour it for you.”
Instead of the servant, Braune had come.
Of all times, I really didn’t want to see her right now.
“Ah. Thank you for going to the trouble. There’s no need to serve me. Just leave it there, please.”
I meant it as a clear enough hint that she should not linger.
I was rapidly running out of the energy required to play the king.
Braune said nothing. She quietly placed the tray she carried on my desk and began pouring.
“Lady Braune, that’s enough. I can do it myself.”
She remained silent.
The glass filled with a dark, nearly black liquid.
Like blood.
She lifted it with her slender hand and placed it in my right hand.
The instant I took hold of the glass, ripples spread across the surface.
They did not stop.
It wasn’t my wrist. The trembling was probably coming from my shoulder, or perhaps from my entire upper body.
My body was shaking.
Before long, the wine sloshed over the rim and scattered across the desk. Tiny black stains dotted both her arm and mine.
“Ah. I spilled it.—I’ve always been clumsy…”
I brought my left hand up to steady the trembling and slowly lowered the base of the glass onto the desk.
“Your Majesty? Has something happened?”
“No. Nothing at all. My hands probably still haven’t fully recovered. I’ve even stained your clothes, Lady Braune. Forgive me.”
“Your Majesty. You look dreadful.—Braune is worried.”
Whenever something unpleasant happens, I do not like being around other people.
Because I will turn them into tools for venting my pain.
Because by showing them the pitiful sight of me crying and shouting, I want them to sympathize with me.
Precisely because I am aware of that ugly impulse, I want to be alone.
“I would like you to leave. I appreciate your concern, Lady Braune.”
“No, Your Majesty. Braune will remain here.”
I looked directly at her.
She was a dangerous woman.
She had this air about her that made it seem as though she would accept anything I threw at her.
But that was an illusion.
“Braune, I want you to leave.”
She looked startled by the sudden intimacy of the way I addressed her.
I was startled too.
See? The kingly plating was already peeling off.
“Then tell Braune what is troubling you.”
You.
It must have taken courage for her to address me that way.
It was disrespectful.
She was, in effect, declaring that she would treat me not as the King of Santeneri, but as a single human being standing on equal ground with her.
“Could you address me that way from now on, no matter when or where, Lady Braune?”
If all she meant was, Poor thing, I suppose I’ll listen to his troubles, then I did not want her coming any closer.
Everything about our relationship, everything either of us did, was political.
Did she understand that?
That was what I was asking.
Would she still remain here after stepping beyond rank and propriety, after throwing aside the role assigned to her?
The setting sun streamed through the office window and illuminated her face, casting beautiful shadows across it.
She looked almost like a queen.
Far more dignified than I was, trembling in my chair like a caterpillar.
She was strong.
“If that is what you desire, then whenever and wherever we may be, Braune will address you that way.”
“Do you understand what those words mean? I am the king.”
“I am aware.”
“Then what if I were a male servant? Some insignificant man serving in your household?”
It was a spiteful question.
I wanted to break down this earnest woman who was trying so hard to do the “right thing.”
A cruel impulse had risen in me.
“In that case, Braune would address you without deference, as a servant deserves. But what I hold in my heart would remain unchanged.”
I had expected some stale reassurance like, I would still address you exactly the same way.
That would have been impossible.
Especially in Santeneri.
So her answer caught me off guard.
Forms of address were the shell of social rank.
She would respect the shell.
But the person inside it—the soft flesh beneath—that was what she claimed to be looking at.
“How can you say that? You know nothing of what is inside my heart.”
“Yes. That is true. I know only your actions. I know the man who matured and now devotes himself each day to government alongside my father and his retainers. The man who treats Braune and Lady Mary with care. The man who fulfills the responsibilities of a king. Those are the only parts of you Braune knows.”
“And what if all of that is an act? I might despise every one of you from the bottom of my heart. I might secretly loathe you and Lady Mary. I might think the responsibilities of a king can go straight to hell.”
Braune fell silent.
A tiny fragment of what was really inside me had leaked out.
She must have sensed it instinctively.
Even so, she answered me boldly.
She really did have a strong will.
“Then you need only behave accordingly. You are the King of Santeneri. Replace every one of your officials. Drive Braune and Lady Mary away.”
“That would be wonderful, wouldn’t it? If I could throw everything away.—But I cannot. Just as you said, I am the king. I have responsibilities. Those damned responsibilities.”
I already threw everything away once, after all.
Doing it a second time would be a little hard to justify.
Though there are still moments when I come dangerously close.
Ultimately, that is the only meaning my existence has.
Taking responsibility.
“Then Braune is satisfied. Whether you are His Majesty the King or a male servant, Braune is drawn to a man who possesses that heart.—A brave man. Had you been born a son of House Leroy, you would become King of Santeneri. Had you been born the son of a servant, you would become king among the servants. That is the sort of man Braune wishes to follow.”
What a woman.
That was what I thought.
I picked up my wineglass.
Suddenly, I felt like making a toast.
“I never imagined… you would answer me like that. You really are an extraordinary woman. A rare one.”
Everything becomes my fault.
Ultimately, it was my fault that woman who had lost everything had been driven to violence.
I was the one who caused her to lose everything.
Would this woman in front of me understand what it meant to shoulder responsibility for every last piece of that?
“Braune. The woman who tried to stab me before… apparently she died.”
Without a word, she enclosed my right hand in both of her small hands.
Softly.
Stopping the trembling.
No—holding it down.
Then she slowly guided the glass toward my lips.
Leaning forward as she did so.
Her body stretched across the desk.
She smelled like a woman.
A strange, sweet scent.
“She lost her son in the war, and her household went bankrupt. She was alone.”
The dark liquid entered my mouth.
It felt thick against my tongue.
Or perhaps my saliva had simply become viscous.
“She lost everything, then tried to stab me so she could die.—She was right. She chose the right person to attack.”
Her blue eyes were directly in front of me.
Truly right in front of me.
She stared without looking away.
Her gaze pierced me.
Like a hooked rod.
It sank into my heart and dragged the words out.
“I’m… hurting.”
The instant I said it aloud, I was overcome by regret.
What was the point of telling the woman in front of me?
This was mine to bear.
It had nothing to do with her.
Unable to endure her gaze, I looked away.
I was begging for sympathy.
I wanted her to think I was pitiful.
I wanted her to feel sorry for me.
I wanted someone to tell me that I was doing well.
But even if she did, it would not comfort me.
Because she, too, was someone for whom I was responsible.
“When Father told me that you had ordered me to report for service at Palais Lumiere, I despaired.”
At last, after remaining silent until now, she spoke.
“Despaired? You hated the idea that much?”
“…I jumped to the conclusion that you intended to reduce me to a servant girl.”
“A servant girl? Why? Of course I would never do that.”
“But I was told that you had said, ‘Put her through attendance training.’”
Braune’s face reddened slightly.
At first I could not see what connection there was between being a servant girl and attendance training.
Then I thought about it for a moment and realized.
Oh.
That kind of attendance.
“No. Absolutely not. I never thought of anything like that. I…”
“Braune accepted on the spot. If that was what you desired.”
I had vaguely understood that servant girls could have a certain sexual aspect to their role.
I also knew that such things apparently happened between male servants and servant girls.
“You accepted? Why? That makes no sense. You are the daughter of a Marquis.”
“Yes. But it was your command. I had no choice but to obey. Braune could only accept her fate.”
“That’s absurd! I would never—”
“Braune cannot decide anything for herself! In all of Santeneri, there is only one person who can decide everything.
“You.”
The words cut straight through me like a blade.
“Braune cannot determine her own circumstances. But in exchange, I can hate you. At that time, if Mother had not calmly judged the situation for me, Braune would surely have taken her own life. I could hate you, endure until I could endure no more, and end my life.
“That was the only choice left to me.”
Once again, I felt the full weight of my carelessness.
Not only Mary.
Braune too had been standing at the edge of death.
I had driven her there.
I could not say, But I never meant it that way.
I was someone who did not have the right to say that.
“Because you can decide everything, you cannot hate anyone in return. You cannot shift the responsibility onto someone else.—And the fact that you understand that makes Braune so very happy. Only a hero can accept such a burden. Only a truly brave man can carry it.”
“You’re the first person who has ever called me brave.”
“In the past, you said many bold things, did you not? You would bring Estburg to heel. You would conquer Angran. I heard you say such things often at tea parties.—To tell you the truth, Braune looked down on you for it.”
Still holding the hand around my glass, she drew it toward her own lips and took a sip of wine.
My wine.
Apparently, she intended to go all the way.
“Then you changed. Lord Grois became a true king. Nothing makes Braune happier. I have no desire to attend some petty man who does nothing but boast. I wish to remain at the feet of a truly courageous king.—And because that wish has come true, I consider myself very fortunate indeed.”
I stared at the unexpected side of the woman before me.
I had thought she was more conventional. More reserved. A typical lady of Santeneri.
I had imagined her as the maternal sort who would welcome me against her chest if I broke down crying.
But the real Braune was stern and proud.
“Lord Grois, do you know how House Froisbourg came to be?”
“Only a little. I heard that in the distant past, a woman who headed the family distinguished herself under Queen Marguerite and was granted the rank of military count.”
“The first head of our house was also named Braune. The history known to the public is the version meant for outsiders. Braune’s true lord was not Queen Marguerite. According to the story passed down through our family, his name was Junius. He was a warrior who served as Marshal of Santeneri in those days.”
“Junius? Is he connected to that Junius?”
Dangerous thought.
That was a perfectly fair way to describe it.
Roughly nine hundred years ago, a man named Junius was supposedly responsible for a short collection of notes, copies of which had recently become widely circulated.
Equality of human existence without religious justification.
Choice born of human free will, and the responsibility arising from that choice.
A rejection of the concept of magic power.
A rejection of destiny.
The meaning and importance of education.
A disorderly collection of thoughts—or perhaps philosophy—that seemed completely unremarkable to someone like me who had lived in modern Japan.
Which, when one stopped to think about it, was utterly bizarre.
It was far too advanced.
His ideas had begun circulating throughout society in pamphlet form, sometimes secretly and sometimes quite openly. Apparently not only commoners but even a portion of the nobility had been influenced by them.
Recently, the Lord of the Interior had been keeping a close eye on the movement.
“Yes. That Junius. Today he is fa-mous as a thinker, but originally he was a soldier. It is said that in the end he rebelled against Queen Marguerite and was executed.”
“Then he was a traitor. Your ancestors were fortunate to survive.”
“Strangely enough, after his death Queen Marguerite elevated many of his former subordinates. The founder of House Barois of the Royal Guard had originally served under Junius as well.”
“The Royal Guard. Lady Mary’s house.—Queen Marguerite must have been remarkably broad-minded.”
The Queen’s Coronation.
That medieval painting hanging in the great hall of the old castle depicted Queen Marguerite’s coronation.
So that was her.
The woman with those cold eyes…
“Queen Marguerite never married in her entire life. They say the Queen always wore a sword at her side. According to tradition, it had once been Junius’s favorite weapon.”
“Well, that certainly sounds… suggestive.”
So Queen Marguerite and Marshal Junius had shared some kind of intimate relationship.
Eventually it had gone wrong, the Marshal had rebelled, and Queen Marguerite had never been able to forget him.
Something along those lines.
“No one knows for certain.”
Braune took another sip of wine.
Her throat had taken on a faint flush, lending a subtle sensuality to the air around her.
“The first Braune left a family maxim to her children.
“‘Wield your spear beneath a hero.’”
“A hero.”
“Braune is the woman who inherited the first Braune’s name. I cannot wield a spear. But I do wish to stand beneath someone brave. And the man now standing before Braune is a brave man.
“You will carry Braune as well.”
Her gaze was unwavering.
There was a force behind those words that left no room for refusal.
“You’re an interesting woman. I’m already at my weakest, and now you’re telling me to carry you too.”
“Yes. Please carry me. And in return, this Braune will attend those clumsy hands of yours.”
Her smile was not the sugary smile of some sheltered princess.
It was the smile of a mature woman who knew how to ensnare a man.
◆
To be known.
To be understood.
Those were experiences almost entirely foreign to me.
When I lived in Japan, there had been people I dated. I had parents. I had friends.
But I never sought to be understood.
I had already given up on it.
No one ever forced me open.
And even if someone had tried, I probably would have resisted with everything I had.
Nothing fundamentally changed just because Braune knew me. Just because she understood me.
I was still on the verge of drowning, and I would continue spending my days gasping desperately for air.
But there was someone who knew me.
And that was a wonderful thing.
Ever since then, I had been completely distracted.
I could not remember a single thing I had discussed at dinner. I only sat there wondering whether the Duke of Aquiane, happily talking away in front of me, might someday understand me too.
Then I went to bed, and the heat in my body refused to fade.
I had probably drunk too much.
I could feel my heart pounding.
My blood vessels dilating.
The ringing in my ears.
Everything.
For the first time in a long while, I had felt the presence of a flesh-and-blood woman.
Braune.
I was aroused.