Chapter 8

"Sorry, Harold. I was trying to let you rest with the kids."

Anne wore an apologetic look.

Harold shook his head. Honestly, given how out of his depth he'd been with the boys, the interruption hadn't been entirely unwelcome. He might need to read a parenting book or two.

He liked being with the children, and he knew he had to get closer to them — but raising them was a different problem.

"It's fine."

If nothing else, he could take comfort in knowing the boys were somewhere safe for now.

"What is it?"

Anne wouldn't have pulled him away for nothing.

It had been only a few hours since he'd told Anne he wouldn't get involved in the investigation. In his experience, being summoned this urgently had never once meant good news.

"So — Adrien Renard was your family's butler, right? He kept that title for a month even after the Count died."

Harold felt a chill of foreboding.

"Right after we opened the investigation, I sent out an official notice."

"You told me. To stop Adrien Renard from doing anything stupid in the Bertholdt name —"

"Mattheus said he sent word to the bank the moment my brother died. The accounts aren't something a butler could touch in the first place."

"Honestly, even calling him butler, there isn't much he could do on his own authority, is there?"

"...Anne."

The Anne Archibald Harold knew wasn't the type to belabor obvious facts.

Dragging out things he'd already said, dancing around the real point — that meant whatever he had to say was going to make Harold angry.

"Just spit it out."

"...."

Then again, if he had room to dance around it like that, maybe it wasn't as bad as he was thinking.

"Adrien Renard was spotted last night."

"Last night?"

"The duty officer told me about it this afternoon when he came in, after he saw the notice."

Anne handed him a letter. The envelope had already been opened, but Harold recognized the seal stamped on it at once.

It belonged to a state agency.

The name signed at the bottom he didn't recognize. Harold raised an eyebrow and looked at Anne.

"It's, ah... it's a bit complicated, so which agency is handling it — well, that's not important right now."

Harold read the letter.

Anne kept explaining as he read.

"When the Count died, I told you the watch and Intelligence both looked into the accident, right?"

"Mm."

Of all names, the letter had Albrecht Bertholdt's on it.

"We couldn't take the investigation any further until you got here. But we couldn't just leave the Count where he was either... we needed somewhere to keep him."

"...."

"They said the morgue the watch uses wasn't suitable, so Intelligence stepped in. And His Majesty granted use of one of the chambers reserved for the royal family. Essentially top-tier security."

Maybe because it was a royal facility, the letter was wrapped in elaborate flourishes. But the message was simple.

Around midnight, a man claiming to be the Bertholdt family butler arrived asking to view the Count's body, on Lord Bertholdt's orders.

"...You didn't let him in, did you?"

If they had, it wouldn't have ended with a single letter. But he had to ask.

"No. The Count's instructions were clear — only you can confirm. They sent him away saying they couldn't open it for anyone but you, in person."

"...."

His head was a mess.

He'd thought he had more time. Even after seeing the empty estate and his nephews, his brother's death still hadn't really hit him.

Maybe he just hadn't wanted to face it.

People might wonder what kind of knight got this worked up over a single death. Harold himself hadn't expected to be this shaken.

It still felt like his brother might be in the study at any moment. Stone-faced, ready to nag him that he could at least visit home once a year — that wasn't asking much, was it?

"Harold? You all right?"

But his brother was dead.

The man who hadn't seemed like he'd die even if you killed him was dead.

Albrecht Bertholdt, called a genius without equal in the kingdom's history, was gone.

Whether his death had been an accident or not, every part of this was suspicious.

And even setting that aside, Harold had no intention of forgiving Adrien Renard.

So what was there to change?

One more charge wouldn't make him any less guilty.

He just needed to pull himself together. His brother had asked him to.

Take care of Edgar and Edwin.

Harold Bertholdt's knighthood was no empty title.

"Anne."

"Yes."

"Where's my brother? You said the palace helped."

"Ah, yes. Since the Count worked for Intelligence... You're going now?"

"It was the middle of the night. He's had more than enough time to know the others were arrested. If he took that kind of risk anyway, there's a reason."

Harold strode out of Anne's study. He had no clear idea where he was going, but he couldn't stand the thought of sitting still.

Anne snatched up his coat and hurried after him.

"H-hang on, Harold! I'll call a carriage!"

That was when two small heads caught Harold's eye.

Down at the end of the hallway, two pairs of blue eyes peered at him through the cracked-open door of the guest room.

The moment their eyes met his, all the anger filling his chest drained away, and only sorrow was left.

"Edgar. Edwin."

"Uncle!"

He reached out without thinking, and the cheerful one came running and threw himself into his arms. Unlike Edwin, Edgar came hesitantly closer.

Did these children understand death?

How had they made sense of their father's?

"Uncle, where are you going?"

"Mm. I have some business."

"Again?"

"I'll be back soon. You can stay with Edgar and be good, right?"

"Will it take long?"

"No. I told you, I'll be right back."

Something about that made Edwin burst into peals of laughter.

"...."

"Edgar?"

Beside him, Edgar's lips moved, his face pouty.

It looked like he wanted to say something. Harold bent down. Edgar took a deep breath, then opened his mouth.

"Have a safe trip, Uncle."

Harold knew his face must look stupid right now. But you couldn't will the muscles into staying still when they wanted to go soft.

He could hear Anne stifling a laugh. At least it was only Anne — his dignity in front of a junior officer was safe enough.

Honestly, even if anyone else had seen, he wouldn't have cared.

"Uncle?"

Edgar looked up at him, puzzled.

"...It's nothing. Uncle's going now."

---

Harold.

I didn't want to leave you with anything this cliché.

But if this letter has reached you with my will, then I'm certainly dead. This isn't one of the pranks I used to pull when we were kids. So don't hold on to the idea that I'm still alive somewhere out there.

My funeral can't be held without you. Whatever happens, see my body yourself. I've made sure you'll be able to.

Harold. You always hated anything inconvenient. You hated using your head, never had any interest in chasing complicated honors or power. I know that's why you haven't come back to the capital.

That's why I didn't want to ask you for this. But there's no one else.

Take care of Edgar and Edwin.

You don't have to do anything else. Whatever you decide, I won't blame you. But you're the only family those children have left now.

I'm counting on you, Harold. Look after the boys.

---

"I never figured you for the domestic type."

"Neither did I."

"Back at those volunteer events, you couldn't even go near a kid. Said they scared you."

"I was young."

Anne snickered.

Once upon a time, he'd have made some crack about Anne not knowing his place around a senior, but the mood wasn't there. Truth was, that line had never managed to faze Anne anyway.

Still, his chest felt a little lighter. He was still afraid of seeing his brother's body. But it had to be done.

Whatever he found out, it was what his brother had asked of him, and it bore directly on the children's safety.

The carriage rolled smoothly along the road.

"...Where exactly was it the palace lent us?"

The view outside was strangely familiar. Watching the long, straight road stretch on, Harold turned to Anne.

"It's not the palace itself, is it?"

"If it were, that bastard Adrien Renard wouldn't have even thought about trying."

"Right."

"He's got plenty of nerve either way, though."

Fortunately, it wasn't the palace.

But that didn't make the uneasiness of riding down a road he knew go away.

"Lily Manor."

And, as he'd suspected, the place Anne named wasn't an ordinary one.

"...There?"

"It's where royals usually stay. When the Count was at Intelligence... I got the sense that taking him there was a sign of honor. Something like that."

Anne glanced over at Harold.

"Do you know what the Count did for a living?"

"No. But whatever it was, Albrecht would have been good at it."

"Hah, true, true. That sounds like Albrecht."

Someone call his brother that left Harold feeling {odd.}(#4wm509gwxgtq)

Living next door to a child his own age, Harold had known Anne since well before they entered the academy. By the time he and Anne had enrolled, Albrecht was already at Intelligence.

Still, his brother had been fond of the little girl from next door in his own way.

"Anne doesn't tear books apart like you do."

"How does anyone tear a book apart, Albrecht?"

"I don't know. Harold manages it."

Old memories.

For Anne, his brother's death must have been a shock too. What must she have been thinking, during that month she couldn't reach Harold, working the investigation into his brother's death.

The sister-in-law she'd looked up to like an older sister had gone missing. The brother she'd looked up to like an older brother was dead.

"...Thanks."

"Hm? For what, all of a sudden?"

"Nothing. Just — I know you've been working hard on it."

Anne let out a small laugh.

"You think I did it for your sake? I just wanted to do something. That's all."

"That's exactly why I said it."

This time Anne didn't reply.

In the meantime, the carriage had been slowing. The grand mansions had fallen behind them, and somewhere along the way they'd entered what looked almost like a forest, with trees pressing in thick on either side.

Strictly speaking, Lily Manor wasn't a palace. Nor was it large enough to really deserve being called a manor. It was a small, two-story house with a garden — only the surrounding woods, the only forest left in the capital, set it apart.

It was a kind of retreat the royal family used now and then. As Anne had said, somewhere royals went for vacations or to recover. Even that had stopped after the previous king's reign.

Lily Manor hadn't been used in more than thirty years. The fact that it had been opened up at all said something about the kind of work his brother had done. The journal still lingered at the back of Harold's mind.

Was the journal a state secret of some kind? Considering his brother had worked at Intelligence, the odds were good.

"We've arrived."

Harold stepped down from the carriage.

The caretaker of Lily Manor had already come out to meet them, having spotted the carriage coming from some way off.

The middle-aged man, who had a worn-out look about him, bowed politely.

"Captain Archibald."

"We got the message, Viscount Manfred. This is Lord Bertholdt. He's here to see the Count."