Chapter 51

First District of the capital. Summerflower Palace, residence of the First Prince.

"Hahahaha!"

The palace's master was back from his night out. Morning sun spilled bright across the palace.

"It's been a while since I've laughed like this."

Carlisle Adler, First Prince of the Kingdom of Alharn, couldn't stop laughing, his shoulders shaking.

The attendants who'd come out to meet the prince bowed low in greeting. The prince shrugged out of the stifling coat and shoved it at the nearest attendant. A wave of liquor came off with it, but the attendant didn't so much as twitch and took the coat.

Without a glance at the attendant, the prince kept walking toward his room. He pulled off the cravat that had been choking his throat and let it fall to the floor. One of the attendants trailing after him picked it up.

"Did you see his face? Ha ha, honestly, it was fun. I can't even remember when I last laughed like that."

The drunk prince kept repeating himself all the way back to his room. A man in household guard uniform steadied Carlisle as he swayed.

Once inside, Carlisle flopped onto the bed and stretched his legs out. The household guardsman slipped off the prince's shoes with practiced ease.

When the sunlight hit the bed, the prince covered his eyes with the back of his hand.

"William. The curtains."

"Yes, sir."

The morning light pouring in through the window was cut off. William Zenner of the household guard drew the curtains and stood back, hands folded behind him.

Carlisle, who'd looked as if he'd fallen asleep the moment he lay down, opened his eyes again.

"What are you still doing here?"

"It's about the man Your Highness brought."

"The man I brought? Who?"

"Your Highness's dear friend."

"My friend?"

Carlisle only raised his head, looking baffled.

"Yes. Since Your Highness said nothing further, I had him brought along."

William looked at the red-haired man trembling near the door. The prince's gaze followed.

The red hair was matted in ugly clumps, and he was wearing a threadbare coat soaked with liquor. Under the attention, his already gaunt face went even more hollow.

The prince frowned.

"Who's that?"

"The man Sir Bertholdt arrested. Didn't Your Highness say to let him go for the fun of it?"

"Ah."

Carlisle made a belated show of catching on.

"Right, right. But why bring him to my room?"

"Your Highness didn't say anything further. What should we do?"

William answered the drunken prince's questions calmly.

"Sir Bertholdt might file a formal complaint."

"A complaint?"

"They say that man abused Sir Bertholdt's nephews."

"Did he?"

"Y-yes?"

Adrien nearly jumped out of his skin when the prince's eyes landed on him. The pathetic sight made Carlisle frown.

Carlisle turned his head away, distaste plain on his face.

"Not my concern."

"Then what shall we do?"

"Hmm..."

The prince, who'd half sat up, sank back into the bed and mulled it over.

Within moments, his breathing had gone even. William cleared his throat.

"Your Highness."

"...Hm?"

"About the man Your Highness brought. If Sir Bertholdt files a complaint, should we hand him back?"

"The whole point of dragging him along was to get on that man's nerves. Where's the fun in that, William? Let him stew."

Carlisle waved a hand lazily.

"What's a complaint going to get him?"

"Even so, it's Sir Bertholdt."

"And I'm the prince he's supposed to be serving."

William opened his mouth, but the prince cut him off.

"He's barely ever in the capital, that one. Is he even still a knight, technically? Last I heard he was — what — taking money to fight for people."

"To my knowledge, the northern—"

"Whatever complaining he does, he'll just run to Grisha."

The prince's voice grew slower.

"..."

For a second William thought he'd dropped off, but then the prince let out a drowsy little giggle.

"And poor Grisha won't be able to lift a finger about it..."

"Should we keep him, then?"

"Who?"

"This man."

"Where?"

"Perhaps Your Highness's palace?"

Carlisle threw a pillow at William. It didn't reach the guardsman by the window and fell to the floor.

William glanced at the pillow and spoke.

"I'll have an attendant pick it up."

"Hmph."

The prince snorted.

Then he yawned enormously and buried himself in the bed.

"Put a filthy gambler like that in my palace? Take him out to the country."

"When you say the country—"

"There's a villa set up for that kind of thing. The one registered under Gerald."

"Understood."

"Now leave me. I'm going to sleep. Don't disturb me. And don't wake me."

"You have an appointment with the Second Prince this afternoon."

Carlisle replied in a sleepy voice.

"Tell Gerald we'll meet tomorrow."

---

The sun rose.

The pitch-black sky passed through a burning orange and settled into a pale blue. As the sun came up, the city was fully awake.

The eastern old quarter of the capital was no different. Even on ordinary days it was packed with harbor workers, and today there were even more people. Understandable enough — you didn't see a dozen carriages bearing the watch's insignia rolling in and out every day.

Barred carriages stood in a line. A few workers the watch had called in were waving flags to signal a closure. Others were directing carriages to turn around.

The onlookers, though, weren't held back. The crowd that had gathered in no time murmured as gamblers in cuffs were loaded into the carriages. Reporters had already rushed in and were filling their notebooks, faces bright with excitement. From the number of reporters on the scene, it was a safe bet the story of the watch's raid on the illegal den would be all over the capital by noon.

For all the commotion, the officers were clearing the scene quickly. With daylight, they'd pulled white cloaks on over their black uniforms. The cloaks were what the public was used to seeing.

But among the white cloaks, one man was still in black. His clothes carried no watch insignia either. Black shirt, black vest, black trousers. The silver brooch that had been on the vest at dawn had, at some point, gone missing too.

The man stood a step apart from the disorder, motionless, in the shadow between the buildings.

"Captain."

"Ah, thank you. How's the transfer going?"

"Identification's all done. We're starting transport now."

"Good..."

A white cloak was draped over Anne Archibald's shoulders too.

Captain Archibald relayed instructions to her subordinate and then looked around. The man in black wasn't easy to spot, but not impossible either if you were looking.

Her step toward him hitched. Having sent her subordinate off, Captain Archibald walked up to the man with her fists tight at her sides.

"Sir Bertholdt."

Harold Bertholdt looked at Captain Archibald.

Even though she'd called his name and come to him herself, Captain Archibald couldn't meet Harold's eyes any better than she had at dawn. Her head dropped.

Crumpled flyers and rubbish were scattered across the ground. She looked down at the sorry sight, opened and closed her fist, hesitated — and at last spoke.

"...Thank you for your help."

She still couldn't look Harold in the eye. Couldn't.

"Captain Archibald."

"..."

"...Senior."

"Doesn't look like there's anything more for me to do here. I'll head off, then."

Her jaw set. Her teeth ground together. Her ears rang.

But Captain Archibald couldn't let what was boiling inside her show, and only nodded.

"Then let me escort you as far as the woods—"

"No."

Harold cut her off.

"You're busy. No point holding you up."

Harold Bertholdt walked past Captain Archibald. He didn't clap her on the shoulder with a 'good work' the way he usually would. His hand only twitched a little and stayed at his side.

Their eyes met.

This time Harold looked away.

"Take care."

There was no way Harold didn't feel her eyes follow him. But he didn't look back.

Even after he'd flagged down a carriage away from the scene, his body stayed taut; only once they'd left the harbor entirely and crossed into another district did the tension go out of him, with a sigh.

"..."

Harold understood Anne's position.

There was what Anne had told him. There was Grisha's warning. He was furious anyway.

Of course he wouldn't take it out on Anne.

There was someone else who deserved the anger. But he'd left in a hurry so it wouldn't spill onto someone who didn't deserve it.

Even when he'd heard the watch was constantly cleaning up after the prince, it hadn't really landed. It had been over ten years since Harold had last laid eyes on Carlisle Adler, anyway.

Even in his academy years, Carlisle Adler hadn't been a decent human being. That man was the reason Harold had strong-armed the household guard captain right before graduation. To have seen what he was like at the academy and still want to join the household guard — you'd have to be out of your mind.

Then again, if he had been sane, Grisha wouldn't be making the choice he was.

"Uh, sir, are you really going into King's Woods?"

"Yes."

"But—"

"It's fine. Go on."

The driver looked uneasy, but at Harold's firm tone he got the carriage moving.

The academy years were the tame version. Carlisle had been a nuisance, and he'd bullied Grisha, but at least you could point to reasons. Annoying, sure, but at that level you could still write it off as kids being kids.

This was different. It wasn't in the same category.

Adrien Renard wasn't just some suspect. He was a wanted criminal. A prince throwing his weight around to snatch a man like that right out from under the watch? Listening to Anne, he'd taken it for the usual drunken-shenanigans kind of thing. Like at the academy!

"S-sir? The royal guard—"

Harold leaned his head out the window. The royal guardsman took one look at his face, swallowed hard, saluted, and fell in to escort the carriage.

He wasn't in any state to return the salute. Every nerve in him was strained just to keep from smashing whatever came to hand.

Not even the sight of the manor Edgar and Edwin had taken to calling "the little house" could calm the fury raging in him.

Whatever his brother had been up to with Grisha, this had moved past simply uncovering the truth of his brother's death. No — it was still an extension of that... but it had turned into something more personal, too.

The only thing that had kept him from decking that smirking, liquor-reeking face right there was Anne, watching him with a look like she was about to cry.

He'd agreed to help Grisha because he'd trusted his friend's character. Grisha would at least make a more decent king than Carlisle.

Grisha wasn't the point anymore. Whether Grisha wanted the throne or not, Harold was going to make damn sure Carlisle Adler never got what he wanted.

Now he understood what Adrien Renard had been banking on to pull that kind of shit. Carlisle Adler. Banking on the likes of Carlisle Adler.

"Uncle."

Harold looked up.

A pair of blue eyes, full of displeasure. However hard he scowled, the face under the curly hair was still round with baby fat, and it didn't come off as especially threatening.

"...Edgar?"

But there was no one Harold held more precious — or found more intimidating.

Edgar huffed and held something out to Harold.

Soft brown fur brushed Harold's face. It was the teddy bear Edgar always carried around.