Chapter 123

'Duke' Grisha Lambert had no family left.

The previous Duke and Duchess Lambert dead in a fire, his younger sister dead of a sudden illness—it had all stirred up no shortage of rumors.

It was well known that Grisha Lambert didn't resemble his late father. And so there was plenty of talk that he wasn't of Duke Lambert's blood. Enough talk that even the Edgar and Edwin Bertholdt brothers, who cared nothing for such rumors and were under Duke Lambert's protection themselves, ended up hearing about it.

'They say he even killed his own sister for the ducal title.'

Despite the rampant rumors, Grisha Lambert was Hendrick Lambert's legitimate son. There was no need for him to go to the trouble of killing a much-younger sister to inherit the ducal title.

Whether anyone actually believed the rumor didn't really matter. The problem was that such things were being whispered right in front of Grisha Lambert.

Adelheid Lambert was dead.

So were Hendrick Lambert and Claudia Reichnek.

There had been trouble in the Reichnek domain too. News from the distant south took a while to reach the capital. By the time it did, the Reichnek marquis title had already changed hands twice more. The one who finally became lord of the Reichnek domain was a three-year-old child.

Everything was a mess.

That was what he'd said himself.

That everything had spiraled beyond fixing in an instant. Where and how it had all gone wrong, Grisha Lambert couldn't begin to guess......

"For all the big talk, how do you not actually know anything?"

Edgar folded his arms and glared at Edwin.

Despite his twin's protests, Edwin nodded shamelessly, without batting an eye.

"I'm not a god—how am I supposed to know everything? You don't know either."

"......"

Put that way, Edgar didn't have much to say back.

"And a lot more has changed than I expected."

Edwin shrugged and spoke lightly.

"I think it's because Uncle is alive."

"Uncle was still alive at this point the first time too!"

"...That's fair, actually."

Edwin conceded the point and rephrased.

"Then maybe it's because he stayed in the capital instead of going down to the domain?"

He didn't know much else, but he did know this period had been politically unstable. Grisha had confirmed as much at the palace.

That was the day Edwin had learned Albrecht had been director of Intelligence. It was the last job he'd have guessed, though on reflection nothing suited him better.

Uncle had to have known. And wasn't he close with Grisha Lambert? The fact that he still didn't stay in the capital meant he was choosing to stay out of central politics. The reason was obvious. He had to look after his nephews.

"Whatever. Neither of us is in the capital right now, and Uncle isn't here, and the Duke of Lambert isn't here. It's not like we can do anything on our own, so let's go back to Adelheid."

"It's not 'Duke of Lambert,' I told you."

"Don't fixate on the small stuff."

"'Small stuff'? It matters. Getting a person's title right matters."

"......"

"And if things go well, he won't be duke at all."

Though the Grisha Edwin knew hadn't wanted to be king, or anything of the sort. The Grisha of now wouldn't be any different.

But as long as the Alharn bloodline was needed, Grisha had no say in the matter. Someday, when he found the chance, he'd explain constitutional monarchy the way he'd been asked to—Grisha would like that.

"Fine, fine. Uncle Grisha, then."

Not knowing what was going through Edwin's head, Edgar leaned on the word "uncle."

"Anyway, what do you actually mean by saving Adelheid? Wasn't she sick?"

"Aftereffects. Not an illness."

Edwin caught what Edgar was asking and answered right away.

"Aftereffects of what?"

"An assassination attempt on Mister Grisha. It was poison, and Adelheid had it worse because she was younger. She'd taken in more of it, too."

"......Poison?"

"Obviously they couldn't announce it. So they just called it an illness. Her lungs were the worst of it, and some of her digestive organs...... Well! She's healthy now."

Edgar couldn't wipe the shock off his face. Edwin found himself laughing.

What had Edgar been picturing when Edwin said they'd save Adelheid? Finding a doctor to cure Adelheid's illness, getting hold of medicine?

If that were the kind of thing that could solve it, this would have been so much easier.

"This......"

"Hm?"

"Is this connected to Uncle's death too?"

"......"

Clever kid.

Edwin felt pride and sadness in the same moment.

"We never caught who did it. We couldn't."

"Edwin."

"There are people even House Lambert couldn't easily touch. Especially back then, even more so. Mister Grisha didn't have any drive left. Leaving him alone would've been enough, but I guess they wanted to be sure."

"Edwin!"

"The reason Mister Grisha didn't die is probably the spell on the Alharn bloodline. He's the only one left of the line, so of course the founding king's magic would all concentrate on one person, right? The whole point of the spell was to show his blood was special. Right? Alharn's blood saves the people! What could be greater than that? The perfect justification for bringing everyone to heel."

Edwin ignored Edgar. He knew Edgar wanted an answer. As Edwin quietly slipped past the topic, Edgar's face twisted with a fury too fierce for a child.

Edgar had to know who they were up against. He'd thought Edgar could piece it together from what he'd already said, but sure enough, there was a quietly dense streak in him. In that, he took after Harold more than Albrecht. Blood will tell.

"Edwin! I'm being serious. Don't mess around."

"So am I."

Edwin forced back the smirk pulling at his lips as he spoke.

"Edgar. Edgar. Think about it."

"......"

"Uncle Grisha isn't just some illegitimate child of King Waldemar's. He was born to a married couple. Alharn's succession law puts a blond child first, even one born out of wedlock."

Edwin stressed it again.

"Blond."

"......"

"You know how Ryan Adler became king, right?"

"......Because there was no other royalty."

"Right. But there's a prince who looks exactly like King Waldemar. Do you really think Ryan Adler didn't know? He has a grown son and he still hasn't named him crown prince—hasn't even let him marry. Do you really think the princes don't know?"

Edgar's breath caught. Edwin could see his mind racing.

"So. We need to stop the assassin sent after the prince. Fortunately, it won't be hard."

Edwin grinned mischievously.

"Actually, you were right. Let's practice crying."

---

"I need people to work in the capital."

At Harold's request, it took two days to gather all the servants of the old Bertholdt manor together. That was how long it took the ones who'd gone out to check on the river, as Diane had mentioned early on, to make it back.

Still, they'd come together faster than he'd feared. Harold looked over the servants' faces carefully. Most of them were familiar, but there were a few new faces among them.

He couldn't help thinking they'd done well to keep the manor running with this few hands.

"Th-the capital?"

"It's not required. I need people I can trust... I recall some of you having worked at the estate in the capital before."

As he spoke, Harold looked at Diane. She nodded with a somewhat sour expression.

"Yes. I worked in the capital myself, back when you were small, young master."

"I don't plan to live at the capital estate for the time being. But it can't be left standing empty, so we need a caretaker."

The twenty servants exchanged looks. It clearly wasn't what they'd expected, and their surprise was plain, but they didn't make a fuss about it.

Their reaction gave Harold a strange pang of nostalgia. It was the kind of reaction you often saw from people who'd dealt with his brother. He was no different himself. You'd go along with whatever out-of-the-blue thing Albrecht asked, and next thing you knew, the whole business was already wrapped up.

The people at the old manor were even more used to how Albrecht handled things than Harold was.

"Then what will you do about the old manor, young master? We'll have trouble managing here if we lose any more people."

"I'll close it."

"......!"

"Not entirely. I'll decide based on who stays on at the old manor."

Harold paused a moment, then went on.

"As I said, it's not required. The city watch will be patrolling the capital estate for a while too. Things can change at any time... which is why I need people I can trust."

There were effectively no staff left at the capital estate.

Since Adrien Renard had let them go, Harold hadn't done much to change the situation. He'd looked into people on the side, but most of the ones Harold might have known had either retired or gone down to the old manor.

His brother's hand had likely been in that too. About that much, at least, Harold had no doubts.

Which made it hard to bring them back to the estate. Whether he could trust everyone at the old manor was another question, but at least their identities were vouched for. And the informant Harold had captured had loitered around the old manor for a good while but never actually managed to get inside. Which meant, at the very least, there'd been no visible act of betrayal.

"...Since I did work at the capital estate once, I'd better be one of the ones who goes."

"I'm not asking you to decide today. Before I head back to the capital, or... no, that's rushed too. Before the Founding Day festival begins, then? I'd like people to be up in the capital before Founding Day is over."

"Then all the more reason to decide quickly!"

Diane raised her voice slightly, a disapproving look on her face.

She might not know the specifics, but from the fact that he was going out of his way to bring people from the old manor to the capital, she'd have guessed at the situation. If nothing else, she'd know all too well what was going on with Harold's young nephews.

"With the summer preparations coming, Mister Gilbert and Mister John will need to stay."

Now that her mind was made up, Diane took the lead in sorting things out.

"Young master, what about Leona? Will she stay in the capital as she is now? Or...?"

"Once all of you come up, Leona will shift her focus more to managing the old manor."

"Ah! Is that why you had the shepherds gathered as well, young master? Because you're closing the old manor?"

"They won't be affected much, but it's still better to handle these things thoroughly."

No one doubted him. Harold spoke as casually as he could manage.

He'd never dressed up his words like this before. It was more doable than he'd expected. The method was a little different, but at bottom it was a battle of wits. Whether you used force or something else, a fight tended to play out much the same.

"And......"

Harold slowly began to speak.

He'd been thrown by "director of Intelligence" at first, but maybe it suited him better than he'd expected......

"That sheepdog. The one Edwin named. I heard he was raised by one of the shepherds—do you know which one?"

"Is something the matter, young master?"

"No. My nephews are fond of him... They were so little at the time, but they still remember. They actually asked me to say hello for them if I ever met the man."

A ripple of quiet laughter spread among the gathered servants. One of them, in worn work clothes, answered.

"That'd be Mister Miles, probably. He's retired from shepherding now, on account of his age."

Harold froze. Miles?

Not Nicola Rowell?