Chapter 73

Harold drank the tea the Lambert servant brought him. It had the same scent as the tea Linda brewed. Of course — this was where Linda got her tea leaves.

"..."

"Sir Bertholdt? Is something wrong?"

"No, no. It's nothing."

Harold smiled gently at the servant's concern and shook his head.

Funny thing. Up in the cold north he'd drunk more liquor than water, and even before the northern base, he'd figured that if you were going to drink tea you might as well just drink water.

And now he could tell the scents of teas apart. It still wasn't his drink of choice, but he understood now why his brother had sat him down for tea every time.

For some people the scent and taste of the tea itself mattered, but for Harold it was the time spent with family that he liked. When teatime came around and his nephews sat there with their most grown-up faces on, imitating their uncle and sipping their fruit tea — that was time Harold would do anything to protect.

"..."

Harold looked at the stairs Grisha and Claudia had gone up.

He had some idea why Claudia had rushed up to the capital. The Duke of Lambert had already given his support, hadn't he?

If "the worst" ever happened, everyone knew whose side the Duke of Lambert would be on. Claudia wouldn't be opposed to Grisha either.

But could any parent be at ease with that? Harold knew more than most about what had happened some thirty years ago — but not everything. He didn't know what had been in Claudia's or the Duke of Lambert's mind when they'd married.

But the two of them had built a harmonious home.

If there had been a road that let their son live in peace, they would have chosen it without a second thought.

"More tea, Sir Bertholdt?"

"I'm fine."

By the time he'd emptied a whole teapot, Claudia and Grisha still hadn't come back. Harold couldn't stand the boredom any longer and went out into the garden.

The Bertholdt estate and the Archibald estate kept up their gardens well enough, but next to the Lambert garden they were basically yards. In one corner of the garden stood a large glass greenhouse. Edible plants tucked in among exotic ones told you exactly what kind of person the master of the house was.

Turn his head, and the Lambert estate — three separate wings — came into view.

Lambert estate was less a place people lived in than a historical site. Even to the untrained eye, the main wing was clearly no ordinary building. Centuries of restorations and additions hadn't erased the age worked into it.

The Lambert family was one of the oldest houses in the kingdom. Naturally the estate they'd lived in had weathered that long stretch of time too. The main wing — which had originally been the Lambert estate — was so historically valuable that even its owners no longer actually lived there, and it was only opened for special occasions.

The second-largest wing, the east wing, was where the Duke of Lambert and his family actually lived. The west wing, where Grisha had received Harold, was closer to a working office.

Harold took a turn around the garden by the west wing. Having known Grisha a long time, he was familiar to the staff at the estate too.

But the eyes on him didn't let up.

A friend of the young master was one thing; a guest was still a guest.

Harold gave a satisfied nod. Security was airtight. Aside from the royal palace and a handful of military bases, this was probably the most tightly guarded place in the kingdom.

"Her Grace and the young master still haven't come out, sir..."

"Still?"

"Yes."

The servant answered with an apologetic face.

Harold looked at the stairs. He'd spent a fair while walking the garden, and there was still no sign of the two of them.

He'd assumed Claudia had come up to check on her son. Was there something more to it?

He checked the time. The business up at the northern base had eaten up plenty of his day. The days were much longer now than they had been in winter, but the sun was already going down.

He hadn't even picked up the snacks he'd promised to bring back for the boys.

He hadn't made a firm promise with his nephews, but Harold tried to at least share meals with the two of them whenever he could. Would he make it back before dinner? Harold glared at the clock, on edge.

"I'm sorry, but could you tell Grisha..."

Should he leave first?

Harold hesitated. He still hadn't heard why Grisha had called him over. Was it something that could wait?

"Sir Bertholdt?"

"Could you call Grisha out for me?"

"Do you have another appointment?"

The servant caught on quickly.

"My nephew's still young. I have to get back before the sun sets."

"Could you wait just a moment, Sir Bertholdt?"

Before the servant could go and interrupt them, voices came from the top of the stairs.

"Are you really... is there anything else you need?"

"I'm set, Mother. Give my regards to Grandfather and Grandmother."

"Really. You in that much of a hurry to get rid of your mother?"

"That's not what I meant, Mother..."

Claudia smacked Grisha on the shoulder.

"And put your glasses on! Stop fumbling your way down the stairs. Wear them at home at least. Didn't you almost fall on the stairs the other day too?"

"I didn't..."

"Who did you get this stubbornness from?"

Claudia gave her son a look that said she couldn't begin to believe him.

"Mother, when are you going home?"

Grisha asked, rubbing his shoulder.

"I'll leave when I feel like it. You don't need to worry about it."

"Adelheid's home by herself."

"With her mother and father right there, how could she be by herself? These days that girl's out riding all the time — she doesn't even notice whether I'm around or not. I have no idea who she gets it from."

"Who else? She's the spitting image of you, Mother..."

"Would you look at this boy!"

Smack!

"Mother!"

Grisha pushed his lower lip out and grumbled.

Then he spotted Harold and gave an embarrassed laugh. Claudia herself couldn't have cared less.

"Harold. Earlier was a bit of a scramble, wasn't it? Have you been well?"

"Yes, Duchess."

"Duchess, honestly! Call me the way you used to."

Claudia's face darkened as she looked at Harold.

"I heard about Albrecht. I meant to come to the funeral..."

"Grisha came."

"Right — while you were away, Grisha spent a lot of time with Albrecht. Um, the boys? Linda's with them now, isn't she?"

"She's been a great help."

Claudia's voice was full of concern.

"Those poor young children... Harold, if the capital feels stifling, bring the boys down to the Reichnek estate. Adelheid isn't that different in age, if I remember."

"Adel's two years older, Mother."

"It might do them good to meet friends their own age, don't you think?"

Grisha answered with a distinctly unconvinced look.

"I don't know about that. Edgar and Edwin are far better behaved — chances are Adel would end up bullying them."

"That girl..."

Claudia started to argue for her daughter's honor, then closed her mouth.

"...She might, at that. It's all right, Harold. We're being strict about manners with her these days."

Harold gave an awkward smile.

Claudia took Harold's hand, patted it, and turned to her son.

"As I always say, be careful, Grisha."

"I know, I know."

"Anything you want me to pass on to Ryan and Gloria? I'm going to see them tomorrow."

At the king's and queen's names, Harold looked at Grisha. Grisha shrugged.

"Just tell them the First Prince seems to be harassing the city watch. Say it that way and they'll understand."

"He's still at it?"

Claudia shook her head, exasperated.

"Sorry to interrupt. You two go on and finish talking."

The duchess was just about to say goodbye to Harold one more time —

"Young master, someone's here from the city watch."

A servant hurried up.

"The watch? What for?"

Before the servant could answer, the door flew open without warning. A watchman shoved past a flustered attendant and rushed inside.

He'd come in such a rush he was drenched in sweat. Not even catching his breath properly, the watchman came up to Grisha.

"You need to come at once!"

Harold stopped the watchman.

"What's happened?"

"The hospital!"

"The hospital?"

The watchman answered, gasping.

"Dustin Glenn is dead!"

---

The sun was going down.

Edgar looked at the sky. Wasn't it about time for his uncle to be back? The road leading up to the little house was empty.

"The wind still gets cold at night, Master Edgar. Let's go inside."

"When's Uncle coming?"

"Well. He didn't say he'd be late today."

Linda held her hand out to Edgar. Edgar hesitated, then took it and stood up.

The portrait of Waldemar Alharn was a mystery. He could tell Grisha Lambert had something to do with him — but that was it. He resembled Waldemar most closely, but he also resembled the young portraits of the current king.

Maybe there wasn't a direct connection — maybe, like Ryan Adler, he came from some distant branch of the Alharn royal line. Someone from a collateral branch turning up looking that much like him would naturally start people talking.

Of course, Edgar wasn't that naive. Considering what was going to happen in the future... something more complicated than that had to be hidden here.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"I want to eat with Uncle."

"Then how about a small snack? We can have a proper meal when Sir Harold gets back."

"Mm..."

Edgar nodded. He wasn't particularly hungry, but Edwin would be another matter.

"...If Edwin's hungry, he can eat."

"What about Sir Harold?"

"I'll just eat with Uncle tomorrow."

"Very sensible. Shall we go find Master Edwin, then?"

Linda smiled. Something about the smile made him embarrassed for no reason, and Edgar pushed his lower lip out.

Did his uncle know Grisha Lambert's secret? If he put on a bit of a crying act, would his uncle tell him? But he had a feeling this was the sort of thing his uncle would dig his heels in on for different reasons.

Then again — this house had someone besides his uncle who was close to Grisha Lambert, didn't it? As Edgar remembered it, Linda had been Grisha's nursemaid. She'd spoken about Waldemar Alharn with real fondness, too...

"...Master Edgar."

"Yes?"

Linda let go of Edgar's hand.

"Master Edwin's on the second floor. Go up and come down to the kitchen with him. Don't go outside — you're to stay in there."

"Yes?"

"Understood?"

"..."

Linda gave Edgar a small smile, then nudged him along by the back. Something in the air had changed.

Edgar went up to the second floor, puzzled.

"Edwin. Something's off."

"Shh, come here."

"Linda said to go to the kitchen."

Edwin was pressed flat against the window, waving Edgar over.

"Look. Someone came."

"The royal guard?"

From Edwin's bedroom window you could see the front entrance of the house. Edgar looked at where Edwin was pointing. The royal guard's uniform was familiar enough to Edgar by now.

Linda was blocking the guards' path. Words were being exchanged, but Linda kept the guardsman there, holding her ground. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he was starting to feel uneasy. Edgar pulled at Edwin.

"...Edwin. Let's go downstairs."

Fortunately Edwin peeled away from the window quickly.

"Wait."

"What?"

"More people are coming."

Edgar looked where Edwin was pointing. Another set of royal guards had appeared.