Chapter 78

The King's Woods.

The former crown prince's country retreat.

"We haven't finished going over it yet. Watch your step, Sister."

"Oh. Of course. I wasn't thinking about the investigation. Sorry, Wilhelm."

Claudia turned to Wilhelm with a start.

"Would it be better if I came another time? It doesn't have to be today. I asked Harold and forgot to check with you first!"

"No, no. It's fine."

Before Claudia could speak again, Wilhelm quickly went on.

"I mean it, not just saying so. The suspect did try to get in, but he didn't stay long. He ran off right away."

"You're not lying?"

"Why would I lie?"

Claudia stared at Wilhelm. Wilhelm straightened his shoulders and answered squarely.

"Harold said too that it'd be easier for you to have a look while the nephews weren't around. Said the boys don't like strangers."

"Fair enough. The poor children."

Once the boys came up, Claudia let it go. Since they didn't know what the intruder had been after, Harold's nephews were staying in temporary lodgings for now. Wilhelm didn't doubt for a moment that Claudia had a heavy hand in arranging those.

Following Wilhelm's lead, Claudia made her way carefully toward "the Cradle." At the front entrance a dark scorch mark remained. Claudia carefully avoided the mark and stepped through into the garden.

The scene wasn't much different from the one in her memory. But unlike back then, when it had felt as if everything had stopped, the place was full of the signs of people living in it. The swing with its freshly replaced ropes, the book on the bench. The flower bed thick with fresh green herbs was surely Linda's work.

"What do people call this place these days? Grisha did away with the name."

"Well. Ever since His Majesty gave it to Grisha, it hasn't come up in any official documents, has it?"

Wilhelm followed after Claudia. While she looked around the garden, Wilhelm's eyes went to the marks left on the ground.

Only two days ago. There was still no agreement on what the dead intruder had been after.

"Shouldn't this incident be put on the official record?"

Having spent a long time as the wife of the Eastern Commander, Claudia — for all her gentle looks — knew the inner workings of the military well. Her father, the Marquis Reichnek, had also been a military man, though he'd since retired.

Given that, Wilhelm answered plainly. There was nothing to hide, and no reason to hide it.

"They'll write it up as an incident at Grisha Lambert's estate in the King's Woods."

"I see... yes, I suppose they would."

Claudia went into the house.

As far as Wilhelm knew, this was the first time Claudia had visited since Grisha had been given the place. His nephew still didn't like the house, and Claudia understood how her son felt and had never made a point of coming.

Even so, for all that time away, Claudia moved through the house as easily as if it were her own. The sun-drenched hall, the antique furniture, the carpets laid to hide the creaking floors.

Claudia looked at it all with fond eyes.

Young lovers, caught up in each other, had once promised themselves a life of happiness here.

Long ago. A story more than thirty years old now.

The happiness they'd promised each other hadn't lasted.

Claudia didn't regret the promise. What had come after wasn't something anyone could have helped either. It was just... one bad thing after another.

She didn't regret any of it. But the fact that her son was the one paying the price for all of it — that, she regretted.

"You know, Wilhelm."

Claudia stepped into the gallery.

Of the long line of portraits of kings, only one held her gaze.

"Grisha was born in this house. Were you there too?"

"Yes, Sister. I was in the royal guard back then too."

"Yes... that's right."

Claudia stopped before the portrait. A portrait that looked just like her son.

Or rather, a portrait her son looked just like.

Claudia couldn't quite bring herself to touch the painting; she carefully ran her fingers over the frame.

"In the last month of the pregnancy, I prayed and prayed that Grisha would inherit my hair color."

"..."

"Because if he took after me, at least Grisha would be safe."

In the painting, Waldemar Alharn held the hand of a woman wearing a blue cameo ring. The horse's head carved into that blue cameo was the exact match of the necklace at Claudia's throat.

Waldemar Alharn had died. On a spring day ten days before the wedding.

Claudia Reichnek had been a year younger than Waldemar Alharn.

A pleasure to meet you, Miss Reichnek.

The year she turned thirteen, she was told she would become the crown prince's fiancée. The pale-blond crown prince, his hair neatly tied back, had looked incredibly grown-up to young Claudia's eyes. He'd given his fiancée a flower as a gift. She hadn't yet understood the love the adults talked about, but she'd accepted the fact that she would have to spend the rest of her life with this person.

Good to see you again, Miss Reichnek. Have you been well?

Eighteen. Claudia met the crown prince for the second time. He'd brought flowers along with shell-shaped cookies. Because at thirteen, Claudia had told him she loved to walk along the shore collecting shells. She still couldn't say she understood love, but she'd thought she could spend her life with this person.

Claudia. Would you please...

At nineteen, Claudia fell in love. The crown prince still brought flowers to their meetings. When she told him about the exotic goods that came in from across the sea, his eyes lit up like a child's, and though he didn't even like riding, he rode with Claudia to make her happy. Every time the horse picked up speed his face would crumple, but the moment their eyes met, he'd break into a bright smile.

Will you marry me?

But I'm your fiancée, Your Highness. We are going to be married.

No. Not the Lady of Reichnek and the crown prince of Alharn — I want it to be Claudia and Waldemar who marry. Will you allow it?

Of course, Waldemar.

And at twenty, Waldemar Alharn became king. Complications from a war injury had taken the old king. No other royals were left. The king's marriage became a matter of state.

"Wilhelm. Do you resent me for marrying your brother?"

Waldemar Alharn had died at twenty-one.

At twenty, Claudia had been two months pregnant. At any other time it would have been a blessed birth. The wedding was set, and there was nothing better than an early heir for the king.

But sadly, the wedding of Waldemar Alharn and Claudia Reichnek never took place.

"Are you still on about that?"

Wilhelm gave a snort.

"My brother would have done anything for you, Sister. Marriage was one of the... gentler options, actually."

"..."

Wilhelm knew why Claudia had brought up that ancient question. And why she'd dug up feelings she'd kept buried for decades and come to look at one of the few remaining portraits.

"Sister. Grisha is my nephew. I've watched him since the day he was born. My brother was showing him off before he could even open his eyes, going on about how much he took after him."

The memory must have come back to her; Claudia gave a faint smile too.

"Honestly, how much could he really look like my brother? He's a sharp one — he takes after me, if anything. All that time I spent playing with him as a boy paid off, clearly."

"Wilhelm..."

"If I resented you, Sister, I'd have said so from the start. If I hadn't wanted to accept Grisha, I wouldn't have gotten involved in the first place."

Claudia raised her head.

The fiancé long dead still smiled in the painting, gentle as ever.

Claudia wasn't young enough anymore to still be carrying a girl's love around inside her. Knowing full well that she was carrying the dead king's child, she'd taken the hand of the childhood friend who'd asked her to marry him. The second love had caught fire far more slowly than the first, but the depth of it was no less. If anything, it was steadier.

Wilhelm's eyes went to the portrait too. Waldemar's sudden death had been a disaster not just for Claudia but for the kingdom. It must have been a disaster for Ryan Adler too.

"If Grisha had taken after you, Sister..."

Wilhelm glanced at the portrait of Ryan Adler beside Waldemar's.

"I don't think things would look all that different from how they do now."

Wilhelm turned the question back on her.

"Do you think they would?"

"..."

Claudia didn't answer.

A long while later, she spoke quietly.

"I wanted Grisha to have a peaceful life."

"..."

"Was even that too much to ask?"

Claudia gave a bitter smile.

"His Majesty isn't allowing it."

It wasn't the dead man's fault, but there was nowhere else to lay the blame.

---

The palace was silent.

It wasn't a place where you'd expect loud voices to begin with, but somehow "silent" fit it better than "quiet." Even though people did live there.

Of course, there were only a handful of people who could call the palace home. And even those few — the king and queen — surely didn't think of it as home. They'd spent more of their lives here than at Marquis Adler's private estate, but even so.

The palace's silence was surely a strong reflection of the king's own preference.

"Grisha."

King Ryan Adler came out into that quiet to greet Grisha himself.

Not in the audience chamber — this was the king's private quarters. Grisha was evidently used to the king rushing over and taking his hand in delight; he smiled softly and returned the greeting.

"Your Majesty."

"Yes, I hear you've had quite an ordeal. Were you hurt at all? Gloria's been so worried about you. If you have the time, do go see her before you leave."

Only after asking after Grisha at length did the king turn to Harold.

Whatever Harold might have privately thought of him, a king was still a king. Harold called up the palace etiquette he'd hastily reviewed and saluted. The last time he'd seen the king was seven years ago, at a decoration ceremony.

"Sir Bertholdt?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"I am sorry about what happened to Count Bertholdt."

"...Thank you, Your Majesty."

Ryan Adler gripped Harold's shoulder firmly. His eyes were wet.

"I hear you're the one who stopped the assassination."

"It was my duty, Your Majesty."

"And you're an old friend of Grisha's?"

"Your Majesty."

"I hadn't heard of Grisha keeping anyone particularly close."

"We were classmates at the academy. I've been away from the capital recently..."

"Ah! Yes, yes. The academy — that reminds me. Are you that friend who used to visit the Cradle so often?"

It was the first time Harold had seen the king in a private setting.

No — this wasn't private. Harold pulled himself together. Grisha was here to make a report. As head of Intelligence, or as something else.

Ryan surely knew that. Grisha had said he'd applied for an audience through proper channels.

But Ryan's manner...

"That was the first time Grisha ever asked for a special pass for someone. Ah, yes. It's coming back now. When I heard it was Count Bertholdt's younger brother, I asked the count about you."

Harold glanced at Grisha.

Meeting his eye, Grisha smiled ruefully and shook his head. So this was what he'd meant by saying Harold had come as his escort and should stay quiet.

Meaning Grisha was used to this. Surely the king didn't behave this way toward Grisha in front of his own son too?

"I'm so glad Grisha has someone like you by his side."

Harold quietly bowed his head.

"Your Majesty."

"Grisha... there's no one here but us, so you can call me Uncle. Didn't you say Sir Bertholdt knows?"

"...He does, but even so."

Ryan Adler's brow drooped, and there was a note of sadness in his voice.

"Waldemar was like a brother to me. Grisha, no matter what anyone says, you'll always be a precious nephew to me."