Chapter 135

Founding Day was Alharn's biggest festival. The centerpiece of the whole festival was the King's firstborn reading the invocation. If married, husband and wife together; if betrothed, then with the betrothed — praying together for the kingdom's eternal glory. Superstition held that simply being present at the reading was enough to share in the blessing.

No basis to it, but nobody wanted to miss such an easy chance at a blessing. Commoners came in droves, and nobles too. Before the Founding Day invocation, at least, everyone was equal — everyone except the Alharn royal family, who could grant the blessing itself. Regardless of station, all mingled together in one place and reached out toward the blessing.

Once the King's firstborn had read the invocation, the King and every member of the royal family gave thanks for the kingdom's peace and scattered commemorative coins. They held real value as gold pieces, but folk belief said that keeping one on you brought a blessing of its own.

How you felt about the royal family didn't come into it. The tradition stretched back centuries. There were unsavory rumors circulating over whether the blessing was still valid now that the source was the Adler royal family rather than the Alharn royal family — but no one had the nerve to bring it up in front of that no-good First Prince.

The Founding Day festival opened with the eve banquet. From today, the streets would be overflowing with musicians hired by wealthy households. Food would be handed out to the poor, and since all were equal before the King, people could strike up friendships across ranks. Of course, the truly high and mighty didn't go carousing drunkenly through the market streets. The eve banquet at the royal palace was where those people showed themselves.

That didn't mean everyone welcomed the banquet. Since Ryan Adler's accession — no, since First Prince Carlisle had been given the Founding Day invocation, attendance had dropped noticeably.

"Quite a crowd."

Harold started to whistle and just managed to swallow it. Grisha shot him a sidelong glance over his shoulder. He didn't have eyes in the back of his head, and he wasn't even wearing his glasses — Harold couldn't figure out how he'd caught it.

Am I really that easy to read? Harold, put out, scratched his jaw.

Well, could be. People didn't change that easily. In the end Harold went ahead and whistled, enjoying Grisha's unimpressed glare as he looked around the banquet hall.

Founding Day was Alharn's biggest festival and also its most traditional. From the flowers decorating the streets to what people wore, everything leaned toward the old customs. It wasn't mandatory, but it counted as one of the kingdom's traditions all the same.

That meant the outfits worn by the nobles at the banquet were nothing like what was fashionable on the streets of the capital. He could see a knot of young people, unable to manage their unfamiliar cloaks, gathered together and laughing raucously among themselves. The youthful faces weren't old enough to have graduated the academy yet. This must be their first year attending.

There were plenty like them scattered throughout the hall. Not just students. Children in their early teens, clearly at their first such gathering, clung to their parents' sides and took in their surroundings with wide-eyed curiosity.

"……Grisha."

"What."

"Something I'm curious about."

The kids with their eyes darting everywhere were pretty cute. When their eyes met his, they flinched. Under different circumstances, Harold might even have smiled at them.

"That class you took."

"Hm?"

"Did they teach you how to move around in a cloak?"

"……"

Grisha looked at him, exasperated.

"You're actually asking?"

"When you got out of the carriage, I really thought you were going to trip."

"……I've been attending this banquet for ten years. It'd be strange if I hadn't gotten used to it."

He hadn't attended in his academy days. Grisha had only started coming to the eve banquet after coming of age.

"So — did they teach it, or not?"

Grisha sighed.

"They taught it."

"Thought so."

"That was really… no, forget it."

Grisha shook his head. Even so, Harold could feel some of the tension go out of his shoulders. Harold laughed quietly and kept scanning the room.

This year, most of the nobles in the capital had turned out. Grisha had told him that anyone old enough to attend would have come, unless something else was in the way. The children who'd come along with their parents were proof enough.

Every year at the banquet, apparently, Carlisle got drunk. The evening always ended with him being helped out on the arm of the household guard. At the last eve banquet Harold had attended, he'd seen the spectacle himself. After that, he'd told his brother he wouldn't be attending again. Albrecht had thanked his younger brother for not hitting the First Prince and given him leave to skip it. Right after that, Harold had gone overseas.

People weren't turning out like this simply because Carlisle was gone. Everyone wanted to gauge where the King stood.

Carlisle's confinement had been made public. But not why. Everyone connected with the investigation had been given firm instructions to maintain confidentiality. From the outside, it looked as if the First Prince had been confined for reasons no one could name, and the Founding Day invocation — tacitly recognized as an heir's duty — had passed to the Second Prince.

And Grisha Lambert — whom the King held so dear, blood of the late King — had returned home and, unlike his usual habit, was throwing himself into things.

Everyone would want to see what was shifting.

"More people recognize me than I'd expected."

"Why wouldn't they recognize you?"

"I've hardly been in the capital. I figured they'd all have forgotten."

"If they went to the academy, they couldn't forget you."

"What did I do?"

The answer made no sense to Harold; his brow furrowed.

"I got through it fine — didn't cause any trouble."

"Without causing trouble?"

Grisha gave a dry laugh. Harold answered without a trace of hesitation.

"I never applied myself hard enough to cause any."

"That's……"

For a moment Grisha seemed stuck for a reply, his face going sour.

"……Right. Let's go with that."

Harold paid the lukewarm response no mind. Occasionally his brother had asked him about the teachers, but that had been closer to checking whether the academy was running well.

……Right? For the first time, Harold felt a flicker of doubt about those long-past conversations with his brother he'd never once questioned. It didn't last. It was already done, and Harold hadn't come here to turn over old memories.

Even wearing the northern base's mark at his chest, Harold hadn't come to this event as a knight of the northern base. If he had, he'd have worn the uniform instead of this bothersome getup. Since it was a formal occasion, he'd shown his affiliation, but officially Harold was on leave.

Harold had come here as the representative of Count Bertholdt, as Bertholdt the knight, and as Grisha Lambert's escort.

Or… something like a watchdog. Grisha had told him he'd handle the complicated conversations himself and Harold just had to keep his eyes open.

'Use that… monstrous instinct of yours to weed out anyone dodgy.'

'That's my specialty.'

If the target had been trained to the level of the woman he'd taken down at the old manor in the domain, even Harold would have trouble spotting them. But if people at that level were common on the streets, Alharn would be beyond saving.

Harold simply kept his senses sharp, picking out any killing intent directed at Grisha or glances thrown from suspicious spots. Grisha had told him the patrol paths of the royal guard and city watch in advance, so any faintly sharp gazes coming from those directions were fine. Grisha was the main protection target, after all — no help for it.

But the gazes inside the banquet hall were far more numerous. When Grisha had entered, a brief silence had actually fallen. Grisha, for his part, hadn't so much as changed color.

"Marquis Roys."

"Ah, it's been a while. Have you been well?"

"I have. Is the Duchess well?"

"Of course. She's gone down to Reichnek territory with my younger sister at the moment."

A middle-aged man, half bald, had been brave enough to greet Grisha.

He was the opening; after him, others with ties to Grisha began drifting over in ones and twos. Most were older nobles. Old enough to remember Waldemar Alharn's death.

"The Duchess is at Reichnek territory? Not attending Founding Day?"

"Marquis Reichnek hasn't been well. My mother wanted to be at his side as much as possible."

Harold hid a laugh behind a cough. You'd struggle to find a man healthier than an old one who rode out across the fields with his granddaughter to escape his daughter's nagging. If anything, it was the grandson saying those words whose health looked shakier.

Grisha looked as though he wanted to kick Harold, but kept the gentle smile in place. Unlike Harold, people who didn't know Grisha Lambert were taken in by that mild face.

"Marquis, you've also come home after a long absence, haven't you? For me, even a month away is really rough……"

"Still — seeing you like this, Marquis, brings your father so vividly to mind. Seeing you all grown up like this, I'm sure he'd have been pleased."

Grisha's hand gave a subtle twitch. Even Harold might have missed the small motion if he hadn't been watching so intently.

Harold checked on Grisha at once. There'd been no attack. Ready to pull Grisha out if he had to, he watched from a little way off. Grisha spoke calmly, as if the flicker of a moment before had been nothing more than a slip.

"Thank you."

"This old man just got carried away thinking about the past……"

The aged noble caught Grisha's hand, eyes brimming.

"Will Duke Lambert be attending this Founding Day? He usually comes up early, but I haven't seen him this year……"

"He said he'd be delayed on other business. He'll reach the capital before the invocation, though."

"Blessings on the Duke."

When one moved off, another approached. Sometimes couples came, or whole families, to pay their respects.

Because of what Anne had told him, Harold had steeled himself to a degree. If even the nobles inside the city watch were gathering information on Grisha, no one would want to miss the chance to speak with him in person.

The same went for Grisha. Whether he wanted it or not, a shift was clearly under way, and if he didn't want to be caught up in it, Grisha would have to lead it.

Harold snapped to attention.

Grisha's hand was giving him the pre-arranged signal. Harold, as though there were urgent news, cut into the conversation between Grisha and a noble whose name he couldn't even remember.

"Excuse me. Marquis Roys, a moment."

"Ah, forgive me."

Guiding Grisha to a corner of the hall, Harold looked him over. The pale face slick with cold sweat startled him, but he didn't drop his guard. Had he missed something? Was Grisha hurt?

But Grisha, grinding his teeth, caught hold of Harold.

"Harold, Harold."

"What's wrong?"

"I—"

"Are you hurt?"

"What? No, no. That's not it. I… I know."

"What?"

The banquet hall entrance was in an uproar. But Harold kept his focus on Grisha. Grisha, so tense he could barely get his voice out, said:

"I think I know what those people are after."

"His Highness Second Prince Gerald and the young lady of House Peres have arrived!"