Chapter 19

The house Harold was moving into with his nephews was the oldest of the three in the King's Woods.

Some ten years ago, when the king had granted ownership to Grisha Lambert, the Duke of Lambert's eldest son, the aging manor had been given a thorough refurbishment.

Grisha Lambert hadn't laid much of a hand on it since receiving it from the king. He simply kept it in good order and hardly used it — anyone who knew about the place would find that a waste, but as long as the king didn't object, no one had standing to nag Grisha Lambert about it.

Of course, when Harold had written to his old friend asking whether there was somewhere safe he could stay with his nephews, this place wasn't what he'd had in mind. It would be a lie to say it had never crossed his mind, but even setting that aside, he'd trusted Grisha Lambert to come up with a place that met his conditions to the letter.

"The city watch doesn't cover here either?"

"No, senior. This area's patrolled by the royal guard, so our people can't really do much."

Anne followed Harold carefully into the house. Gauss came along without a word.

Both of them moved as though a little out of place.

"Anne, sure, but... Viscount Manfred, you haven't been here before either?"

Harold's question had been for Gauss, but for some reason it was Anne who burst out with an answer.

"How could I possibly have been here, senior?"

"Just because we happened to be in school at the same time doesn't mean I count as a junior, you know?"

"You're my junior. What else would you be?"

Harold said it, baffled.

Anne couldn't find a comeback for that, so she settled for glaring at him.

"You know that's not what I meant!"

"If you'd said you wanted to see it, I'd have shown you."

"How could I do that?"

Anne flung both arms out wide. Her voice was full of injured indignation.

"This is where the crown prince stays!"

Harold walked past Anne.

Past the entrance was a hall flooded with sunlight from high ceilings and broad windows. Directly ahead, a staircase led up to the second floor.

"Grisha's the owner now, so that's yesterday's news."

To the left of the staircase, a short open corridor led to the drawing room, and along the walls hung old, stately portraits.

Anne couldn't even bring herself to point at them; her mouth just opened and closed.

"Viscount! Say something!"

"...Lord Bertholdt isn't wrong."

Anne looked at Gauss as though betrayed.

Gauss, either not noticing Anne or ignoring her deliberately, kept a calm face as he spoke to Harold.

"Thanks to this I actually get to see the place. If I may — would you mind if I looked at that portrait?"

"Go right ahead. Grisha wanted to take the portraits down too, apparently, but the Duke wouldn't let him."

"Of course not! Those are royal portraits! Every! Single! King! From the founder!!"

Both Harold and Gauss remained perfectly unruffled by Anne's outburst.

If anything, Gauss stood in awe before one of the older portraits.

"This is one of the few surviving works by Servius. I'd assumed I'd never see it, since paintings like this rarely go on public view. My thanks."

Anne rubbed at her stomach with a pained look.

But she'd realized that saying anything more wouldn't change reality.

Once, this house had been a comfortable retreat given only to the crown prince. Gauss was right — that was the past. Ownership might return to the royal family one day, but that wasn't a certain future. Until then, even if Grisha Lambert died, the house would still belong to the ducal Lambert family.

If the owner wanted to lend the place out, what was there to say? Anne couldn't deny that it was safe, either.

She'd realized some time ago that the children, energetic as they were racing through her house, sometimes woke from nightmares. Harold had been the one to notice their wariness at the sound of anyone outside their door, and the servants had been the ones to quietly point out how the boys shied from unfamiliar adults.

If living here helped them, that was all she could ask for.

...And more than anything, staying safe until the investigation into Albrecht Bertholdt's death was resolved was what mattered most.

"So the move's all set?"

Anne gave up dwelling on something the owner and the tenant clearly weren't concerned about.

"Yeah."

The necessary furniture had been brought in, and the rooms had been decorated the way Edgar and Edwin wanted. Nabi, the sheepdog Edwin wanted brought up from the country estate, would come with Günter once the boys had settled in.

Edgar had said it was fine, but Harold had filled Edgar's room with new stuffed animals. Anne had said the boys were a bit old for that, but Harold snorted. Looking at how Edgar wouldn't put the bear down, they were still very much at the age for it.

"You're not hiring any staff? If it were just you, senior, I wouldn't worry, but you've got the kids."

Harold paused.

Originally he'd intended to bring people from the country estate. But looking into the shepherd Nicola that Edwin had mentioned had given him second thoughts. He didn't yet know whether that shepherd was Nicola Rowell.

Still, if there was even the smallest reason for doubt, he wanted to keep those people at arm's length. If Edwin's Nicola really was the one behind that suspicious name, then no one on the estate could be trusted. There was no telling how any of it might connect.

"I do need someone, but..."

Seeing Harold hesitate, Gauss stepped in.

"If you don't have anyone suitable in mind, Intelligence can make some recommendations."

Harold didn't refuse outright.

After weighing it a moment, he answered lightly.

"I'll let you know if I need it. The boys said they'd want to sit in on any interviews if we're going to hire someone."

"Interviews?"

"Must have watched my brother do it."

"Kids these days can be scary, honestly."

Anne let out a small laugh.

"Maybe it's because they're Albrecht Bertholdt's children. Can't be helped, I suppose."

The three of them walked through the house in an easy, unhurried mood. It was somewhere with solid security, so even though the place had been left empty for a few days, no suspicious signs turned up.

Even with the royal guard patrolling, having someone posted on-site would be reassuring. Better safe than sorry.

"The funeral will be soon."

Only after they'd thoroughly checked even the small garden at the back of the house, where it met the woods, did Harold speak.

"I'd like it to be a quiet family affair, but..."

Anne's face turned apologetic at his words. Harold sighed. He knew.

"Looks like my brother's accident drew a lot more attention than I'd hoped."

"Even setting aside that it was the Count... it was that kind of accident."

"Right."

"We're barely holding it back even now, but we're at the limit. Once the funeral date is set, it'll be in the papers."

Moving out to a house this far off had been partly for that reason too.

Anne and Intelligence both had been working to keep the unwanted attention at bay.

Longer than Harold had steeled himself to expect.

At least out here, the children could be kept out of sight. However bold the journalists, none of them would sneak into a Lambert country house inside the King's Woods, with the royal guard on patrol.

"If it comes to it, we'll leave the capital for a while."

"Down to the country estate? I thought the boys said they didn't want to."

"I'll talk to them. Otherwise a holiday somewhere else works too."

Harold said it lightly and gave a shrug.

"How's the investigation going? Anne said last time there'd been something to show for it."

The mood of the investigation had shifted since the autopsy results came in.

Not that it hadn't been serious before. Given how suspicious the circumstances of the Director of Intelligence's death had been, they'd been operating on the assumption it was murder.

And now?

The direct cause of death was the carriage accident, but there was a strong chance he'd been drugged unconscious when it happened.

Which raised a question about the Intelligence officer riding in the carriage with him.

"It isn't the lead Captain Archibald mentioned earlier... no, that one helped too."

"But?"

"..."

The one who'd made a point of asking to check the house's security had been Gauss.

Since he was still responsible for security at Lily Manor after the Adrien Renard incident, slipping over to another house in the same forest wouldn't have been difficult.

He had information he wanted to pass to Harold alone. Or if not that, then something that had to be handled out of sight.

Wouldn't you feel more reassured if Captain Archibald verified this together with us?

If he'd gone so far as to ask that Anne be brought along —

"With the Count, we couldn't check because of the magic, but our agent riding with him was autopsied immediately."

"..."

"He died at the scene from the crash. No drugs were found."

He'd expected as much. If drugs had turned up then, the city watch and Intelligence wouldn't have started the investigation from such a chaotic footing.

"We ran the check again."

Harold looked at Anne. When their eyes met, she gave a small shake of her head.

Gauss caught the gesture between them and spoke.

"I haven't told anyone else. You two are the first."

"...What did you find?"

"The captain will know this, but the one who died was Rosemarie Doak. Younger daughter of Baron Doak. She'd been with Intelligence a long time... While going through a report from three years ago, I found the name Dustin Glenn."

"That name in the report?"

"Yes. Listed as one of Doak's informants."

Harold's eyes sharpened. But Gauss wasn't finished.

"When we caught the one who slipped away at the tavern, Captain Archibald found where Adrien Renard had been holed up."

Anne had said, at some point, that she had something to show for it. This must have been it.

"The room at that inn had been rented by a woman named Siri, and last night she finally talked. She said she'd rented it as a favor for her lover."

"...Her lover's name?"

He felt like he already knew without being told.

"Dustin Glenn."

---

The old Bertholdt manor.

"Mr. Bleiss, weren't you going up to the capital today?"

"Something came up. I'm heading out now."

"Were you expecting a guest today?"

Günter Bleiss, butler of the old manor, stopped and looked at the head housemaid.

"There's a guest?"

"Came without an appointment. Should I send him away?"

"Who is it?"

"He said something about pasture contracts... I heard it from Ramsey. He's in the parlor by the garden."

Günter frowned, thought about it for a moment, then made his way to the parlor as she'd said.

There was still time before his train, and once he was back in the capital it would be hard to find a moment for it, so it made sense to settle the pasture business now.

He hoped it wouldn't be complicated.

A young man was pacing in the parlor. His suit was worn but well cared for. Well dressed, for a shepherd.

Günter extended his hand.

"Günter Bleiss, butler of the Bertholdt family. I hear you're here about a pasture contract. What's this about?"

"Ah..."

The man took Günter's hand with an awkward motion.

"...I'm, uh, Dustin Glenn."

A name he remembered.

One of the names his young lord had asked him to look into.

Thud.

"Kkhh —!"

Günter looked down. A dagger was buried in his stomach. The man paid no attention to Günter's hand gripping his arm and pulled the dagger out.

Blood sprayed.

"You should've just left it alone, old man. No poking around good shepherds. Well, that's how it goes."

Through the darkening haze, a blurred voice reached him. The receding sound of footsteps was the last thing Günter remembered.

It was some time later before anyone came back to the parlor.

"Mr. Bleiss? If you don't leave now, you'll miss your train. Mr. Bleiss? Günter..."

Blood was everywhere.

Seeing her old colleague fallen with his eyes wide open, the housemaid screamed.