Chapter 3: Reaching Greybridge

The evening of April 16th—

The westering sun shone through the large, west-facing window in one of Margaret’s thirteen private rooms. Tea and sweets had been placed on the table, and the maids in attendance were standing by the wall, obediently awaiting their next order.

Their master was currently sprawled out across the sofa as large as a bed, having stripped away her silk dress to bare her chest and thighs. As she was gradually enveloped by the light from the setting sun, her entire body was wrapped in hues of such a deep red that it appeared as though her skin had been set ablaze—or perhaps more appropriately, bathed in blood. Even her black hair and amber eyes were now a vivid crimson.

“Have they written anything interesting?”

“Unfortunately, there is not a single report that would entertain someone with such refined tastes as Princess Margaret.” Oswald reverently bowed his head, holding the reports behind himself.

Margaret languidly curled her pointer finger, beckoning over a maid carrying a basket full of roses, all the while keeping her gaze on Oswald. “So have they found Liz yet?”

“...My deepest apologies. She was sighted in Applewood, but the princess has eluded us.”

“My oh my... It seems my dear Lizzy is a lot more nimble than the last time I saw her. Or have you simply lost your motivation? Could it be that you don’t really want to capture her?”

“Not at all.”

“I don’t hate kind men.”

“This petty officer lives solely to exterminate anyone who stands in the way of the one and only Princess Margaret. It is wholly impossible for me to feel compassion for Princess Elizabeth.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. I, for one, do pity Liz. That’s why I must pick out roses for her.”

All of the flowers in the basket that the maid was holding out had turned a bright red under the evening sun; it was impossible to make out the finer differences between them. Why had she purposely chosen this room, at this hour, to choose roses? That was surely something that only Margaret knew, and Oswald had no intention of asking her to explain. He would not question. He would not hesitate.

“The incident occurred early this morning. The soldiers spotted a girl whom they presumed to be Elizabeth in the city of Applewood, but were immediately taken down by a boy who appeared to be accompanying her.”

“Looks like not everything goes as planned. If this were a play, she would have been captured so easily. Then Liz and I would meet—such close cousins, now turned enemies. In a play, our dialogue would be the real climax—the two leading actresses, finally together in one scene. I’m sure it would be a vibrant display, one that everyone would cheer for.”

“It is as you say.”

“But... this is not a play. How unfortunate. Incidentally, didn’t Glenda go to Applewood?”

“You are most correct. The first lieutenant participated in battle... but was overwhelmed by the boy in question, and has sustained injuries as a result.”

“Oh dear, that’s a disappointment.”

This boy was clearly a master of his craft. Glenda could be counted among High Britannia’s ten most skilled soldiers; to think he had been able to overpower her one-on-one. What’s more, he had bested her using only a dagger.

Who could he be? Oswald pondered.

According to the report, there was a high chance that the boy came from the Belgarian Empire. It was true that the imperial army was known for its strength, but there couldn’t be too many people out there stronger than Glenda. After all, Oswald had taken great care to gather intel for this upcoming war. The newest firearms and cannons; armor, swords and lances made from High Britannia’s newly developed alloy—he would be able to lead their great nation to victory through this superiority in equipment. That was what Oswald had determined. He had gone out of his way to sell these newest weapons to various neighboring countries such as Varden, not only for the funds, but to confirm their applicability in real combat. The results had come back favorably.

That was precisely why it was so urgent that he look into who this boy could be. He needed to know who was protecting Princess Elizabeth.

Margaret narrowed her eyes at the scent of the rose in her hand. “How troublesome... It’s just disappointment after disappointment, failure after failure. Nothing’s going well at all.” She paused for a second. “How wonderful. I can’t wait.”

“...This petty officer cannot bear the shame of causing such worry to the compassionate Princess Margaret. But I beg of you, please allow me a little more time.”

“Do you think Liz will make it to the palace?”

“That would be impossible. I have placed not only Applewood, but every station and train carriage under strict surveillance.” As far as the public was aware, it was a precaution to prevent any traitors from using the death of the Queen to cause a commotion. “It is only 100 miles (160 km) from the palace to Applewood, but there are thick forests and high mountains between us. A carriage on the highway would take five days at least, plus they would have to undergo inspections at every important checkpoint. She will never reach us in time.”

“And to walk that distance would be so very tiring.”

“Correct.”

Oswald knew that, by foot, it would be impossible for Princess Elizabeth to reach the palace in seven days. An unexpected boy had entered the fray, but thanks to the early death of Queen Charlotte, Oswald’s plan had only been further solidified. Furthermore, Glenda’s injuries were reportedly light ones; he would summon her back, give her knights to lead, and then send her after the princess once more. The boy may have been untouchable, but she was the only one they needed to assassinate.

Margaret brought the rose to her lips, then touched the tip of her tongue to its petals. “So Liz won’t be coming to the palace. I thought we would finally meet after so long.”

“This encounter will have to wait until after the great Princess Margaret is crowned... at the state funeral.”

Queen Charlotte’s state funeral would be held on the last of the Seven Days of Silence, with the new queen then being crowned at the Daybreak Declaration the following day; for Oswald to suggest the encounter would take place after Margaret had already been crowned meant it likely wasn’t Queen Charlotte’s funeral he was referring to.

As Oswald bowed, Margaret held out the rose she had brought to her lips. “You can have it.”

“...This is... too great of an honor for me.” A present from a lady could not be accepted with one hand; Oswald placed his reports on the floor, fell to one knee, and held out both hands together. The rose was placed gently on his palms.

Margaret’s gaze moved to the reports on the floor. “Fufufu... So they failed to capture Liz, did they?”

“So say the reports.”

“And those who fail must be punished. What do you think?”

“As you wish.”

“Then off with their heads.”

“...The death penalty, is it?”

“Fufufu... Correct. Off with their heads.”

“I admire the judgment of our wise Princess Margaret. The High Britannian Army shall go to war in but a few days’ time—should we neglect to punish those who were overpowered by but a single boy, victory shall never be obtained, no matter how superior our equipment may be. The one responsible shall atone with their life, while the rest shall receive a reprimand.”

“Right. That sounds splendid.” Margaret pulled another rose out of the maid’s basket, plucking its petals one by one and dropping them into the tea cup on the table. Red rose petals, red tea. Then, a look of pure delight on her face, she downed the blood-red liquid, still lounging under the crimson light of the westering sun.

✧ ✧ ✧

Noon on April 16th—

Having slipped out of Applewood, Bastian and Elize proceeded through the forest that ran alongside the road. At their current pace, they would not reach the palace by the morning of the 23rd; their only feasible option was to travel at least partway by carriage.

Bastian and Elize took a quick break, resting under the shade of a tree. They were only a few trees deep from the road; if a carriage came along, the plan was to walk out and attempt to negotiate. If soldiers came by, they would instead keep low.

Bastian was able to make full use of his heightened sense of hearing in the forest, so much so that he actually considered the forest much less dangerous than the city. As he gazed at the map Elize had scratched into the dirt, he let out a sigh. “That’s far. We need a carriage... but there’ll be soldiers at any town we stop at.”

Elize nodded in agreement. “The large cities are dangerous.”

“Guess we should just get off whenever we’re getting close to a place like that. But will avoiding the roads even be an option once we start nearing the palace?”

“...That’s a good question.” As she stared at the roughly drawn map, Elize began to look increasingly conflicted. Bastian would protect her—she knew that resolve hadn’t wavered—but it would be especially dangerous if soldiers managed to surround them in an open space. No matter how fast he could move, it would be impossible to avoid attacks from all directions.

So how do we get to the palace?

Elize looked over the map, then pointed to an isolated area southeast of the castle. “I think we should head here.”

“Something there?”

“There’s a place called Fort Greybridge. The commander there, Bruno Carlo, is my father’s younger brother—in other words, my uncle.”

“I see... But there’s no guarantee you can trust him just because he’s family. Back home, my own brother is out poisoning our siblings and sending them off to the front lines.”

“Which is why the third son fled overseas?”

“Pretty much.”

“What a troublesome count house you come from.”

Whoops. Bastian clapped a hand over his mouth. But does it really matter at this point...? He had half a mind to just throw caution to the wind. Elize was clever and clearly well read in contemporary Belgarian history; she almost certainly knew by now. But there was something far more important to address:

“Can we really trust him? He’s a military man.”

“That is because of his lineage. As the second son, Bruno Carlo joined the army in place of his older brother, my father... who instead married my princess mother and became a diplomat.”

“I see.”

International relations between two countries could change entirely based on something as seemingly small as the status of the person sent to negotiate. For this reason, those connected to royalty were expected to perform more in diplomacy than in the military. Perhaps someday in the future, the Empire would push a similar role onto Bastian.

“I wouldn’t want to be a diplomat,” he sighed.

“Really? You’d probably manage quite well; I have to say, your Britannian isn’t half bad.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m the man who’ll write a masterpiece!”

“Ah, yes. Your Britannian is passable, but that may be a rather ambitious goal with your questionable level of Belgarian.”

“N-Not true at all. I’m already so close. I just need one more push. Maybe two.”

“I can’t do much, but I am supporting you.” Elize smiled.

Bastian bashfully scratched his head before Elize pulled the conversation back on topic.

“My uncle is so overflowing with love for his country that Her Majesty Queen Charlotte proclaimed she would have recommended him for the royal guard had he been ten years younger. What’s more, though he’s a soldier, the man is a genuine pacifist. It’s a one-day trip from his fort to the palace; if we can have his unit guard us, we should make it in time.”

Bastian thought for a moment. There was no doubt that it would be tough for him to escort her all the way to the palace on his own. If there was someone influential near the palace whom they could rely on, then entrusting her safety to their unit would be the wisest move.

“I can’t think of anything else... Let’s pray this uncle of yours is reliable.”

“He’s already fifty, but he’s robust and strong of heart. I’m sure he’ll help us.”

“Got it. If you’re so sure, we’ll head to the fort.”

Their discussion over, Bastian and Elize chewed on some aralia sprouts they had picked up while walking through the forest, waiting to see if any carriages would pass. The sprouts would normally be salted and boiled, but there was nothing preventing them from being eaten as is. Not that they tasted any good. As expected, Elize had never eaten aralia before, but Bastian had been taught how to forage by Eddie and his grandfather.

He was sure they would be able to reach the palace by hiking through the mountains, but they would have needed a few more days to work with. Luckily, the roads seemed to be a little busier than they had been that morning, and a canopied two-horse wagon passed by just as Bastian was beginning to get sick of waiting. A lone, bearded man was seated on the perch; his lack of guards either meant that the coachman wasn’t carrying anything of value or that he was extremely confident in his own strength. Whichever it was, Bastian walked straight out into the middle of the road.

“Excuse me!”

“Wha—!? Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

Perhaps owing to the fact that the boy who had run over was wearing a school uniform, the driver warily came to a stop. Bastian lowered his head.

“I’m begging you here! We need to get to a fort called Greybridge! Please give us a lift!”

“Greybridge, y’say? If ya headin’ that way, I’ll be stoppin’ at a town nearby,” he said in a strong regional Britannian accent.

“Great!” Bastian clenched his fist in triumph. He wasn’t very familiar with High Britannia’s wider geography given that he had only seen a crude map drawn into the dirt, so it was lucky that they had been able to catch a carriage already headed in that general direction.

“Thank you very kindly.” Elize lined up next to him and lowered her head.

The carriage driver stroked his rugged beard and furrowed his brow. “Why’re ya lookin’ for a wagon out ’ere anyway, eh? You could just as well’ve taken the coach from Applewood.”

“Th-That’s...” As Elize searched for the right words, Bastian stepped forward just enough that he could whisper in her ear.

“...Leave this to me. I’ve given it some thought this time.”

“...All yours.”

Bastian smacked his chest, then boldly turned to the cabman. “We are holy knights fighting against a congregation of darkness. An evil magician has blown us all the way out here, and this country shall be in grave danger unless we return to the fort at once. Good sir, please lend your assistance to our cause!”

“Gah!” Elize thrust him aside with all her might.

“Whoa!?” Bastian had been taken completely unaware, and dramatically flopped onto the ground.

The driver was now scrutinizing them both with palpable skepticism in his eyes. “...Yer ’oly... what now?”

Elize cleared her throat. “My apologies. This man tends to get a bit caught up in his own imagination, but he... he’s precious to me.” Elize blushed. “You see, ah... truth be told... we’re eloping!”

“Say wha—!?” The cry of surprise came from none other than Bastian himself as he tried to stand, only to be kicked hard in the knee. He writhed around in pain as Elize turned back to the carriage driver, red from ear to ear.

“H-He’s foolish and unresourceful—he doesn’t even have a good grasp of our situation—but... You see, he’s still a student, and I’m the daughter of a noble... and we’ve both fallen in l-l-l-lo—”

“You smitten?”

Elize timidly nodded. “We are, but... my father told me I would be marrying a count who has quite the temperament.”

“Hm... Been bleedin’ suspicious ’round ’ere these days. Soldiers’re up in arms, nobles all worked up fer some reason...”

“I have an uncle I can count on in Greybridge. Could you... Could you please take us!?” she desperately pleaded.

The man stroked his beard, a pensive expression on his face. Elize continued to look up at him, her gaze serious. The elopement was of course a complete lie, but her desperation was real; she was putting her life on the line, not for herself, but for her country. Bastian was in the same boat, and while he remained crouched on the ground, he looked up at the cabman as well.

One hand still on his beard, the man pointed behind him—back toward Applewood. “Go on.”

“O-Oh... Well, thank you anyway.”

“I’m sayin’ to ’op in the back. Just make sure you’re under the ’ood; bandits’ll give me a right headache if they see I’m transportin’ a noble lad and lass.”

“Th-Thank you so much!” Elize lowered her head in a show of appreciation. Bastian shared her gratitude, so much so that he was sure he had never been so thankful in his entire life.

✧ ✧ ✧

That night, they camped out by the wagon. The driver’s beard was too thick for Bastian and Elize to be able to tell his age, but he must have been carrying goods for quite some time as he was very well accustomed to traveling.

“An inn? Might as well just throw me coin away. Won’t be makin’ us a fire neither—you won’t believe ’ow much work it is to light one every night. Best thing ya can do is go straight to sleep, that’s what I say.”

They all shared preserved foods for dinner, and while the cabman drank ale, Bastian and Elize were given the same water as the horses. It had simply been fetched from the river, but they were in no position to complain; he had even kindly lent them blankets to keep them warm in the cold weather they were so terribly unprepared for.

Bastian wrapped the stiff, starchy cloth around himself as he lay at the base of a tree, Elize beside him under a blanket of her own. The cabman was asleep under the cover of his wagon.

“...The stars.”

“What’s wrong, Bastian?”

“There was this one day... The chamberlain completely snapped, so I ran away. I went into the mountains and just ran, and ran, and ran; I didn’t even come home that night. I was just thinking that... the sky I saw that night was exactly like this one.” As he spoke, Bastian gazed up through the gaps in the leaves, watching the stars that glimmered so brightly that he was sure he’d be able to reach out and grab them.

There was a light rustle of cloth as Elize changed her posture. “...I’ve... never looked up at the night sky like this before.”

“...That so?”

All of a sudden, Bastian had the urge to look at the girl to his side. Her face was illuminated by the gentle light of the moon; she looked absolutely sublime. He was caught in a trance, and a single word slipped from his mouth:

“...Beautiful.”

“...Yes, they’re so near yet so far. It’s like they could fall right out of the sky.”

“Yeah... sounds about right.”

“Hm?” Elize looked over at Bastian, but he had already turned away out of embarrassment.

“We were talking about how beautiful the stars are. Now how about we get some sleep? We may have hitched a ride, but we’ll still need to have our wits about us.”

“Point taken.”

It wasn’t long before Bastian could hear Elize’s slow, steady breathing as she fell into a deep slumber. But something kept him awake a little longer than usual that night.

✧ ✧ ✧

On the evening of the 17th, it started to pour with rain. When it came time to sleep, the cabman moved some of his cargo out from under the canopy to make space for Bastian and Elize. That cargo got wet as a result, but he said he was more concerned about them catching a cold.

On the 18th, it rained the entire day. As they were moving to one side to let another carriage pass, one of their wheels slipped and pulled them off of the road. The other carriage had offered to tow them out, but Bastian simply picked the whole thing up and placed it back on track.

On the 19th, they were stopped by soldiers. Thankfully, Bastian had heard the clatter of armor well in advance, and so had been able to grab Elize and jump out of the wagon before they even came into sight. They then walked through the forest, circumventing the checkpoint. Just as the two thought they would have to find a new carriage, they found the bearded man waiting for them further down the road.

The 20th was sunny. So sunny, in fact, that it felt much too hot for spring. Fort Greybridge was halfway up a rocky mountain; it wasn’t too steep to climb but was strewn with large stones up to waist-level that made the footing too poor for siege weapons or cavalry. From the base of that mountain extended a town. Two rivers carved through the rocky slope, and perhaps due to the past few days of rain, they were flowing strong with the boisterous babble of water.

✧ ✧ ✧

The sun was nearing the horizon. Taking its light head-on, they dragged their growing shadows down the road from east to west. The sound of running water could be heard as soon as they left the forest. They had reached a town. A large stone bridge stretched across to its entrance, and while it was considerably old, its sturdy appearance was enough to impart a sense of security.

The bearded driver pointed to it. “That there bridge is what got tha town its name.”

“I see, so that’s why it’s called Greybridge... Hm, I can use that.” Just as Bastian was thinking up a new special move, Elize shot him a scornful glance.

“You’re caught up in something strange again, aren’t you?”

“When you’re working on a masterpiece, you’ve always gotta be looking out for new ideas.”

“I know we’re not on the road to the capital just yet, but please do stay focused on our safety.”

“Just leave it to me—I’ll protect you.”

“Ah... Um... N-Not what I meant. If you get injured then we’re done for. That’s why it’s so important that you look after yourself.”

“Mn? Yeah, sure.” Bastian rarely ever worried about himself; while he had done his fair share of reckless deeds, he never bore any lasting damage.

The wheels let off a gentle, rhythmic rattle as the carriage crossed the bridge. Bastian took a look around from the shadow of the canopy. There were some people in armor, but he could discern from their appearance that they were mercenaries. He couldn’t see any regular soldiers from the High Britannian Army, so it seemed they hadn’t pursued them this far.

The town of Greybridge was somewhat of a mess. A number of narrow paths spread out at random from the central square, and there was nothing that could be called a main street. A black flag had been raised to signify mourning—proof that the Seven Days of Silence had begun.

Apparently, most stores in the royal capital would be closed, but a more provincial city did not exercise such self-discipline. A chaotic jumble of stalls had been opened along the narrow streets, and those shopping carefully avoided one another as they browsed.

“This place is kinda like a rubbish heap.”

“You’re being rude, Bastian.”

“Didn’t used ta be a fing out ’ere before the civil war ’appened an’ the fort was put up. Then traders all started comin’ in, and whenever people start gatherin’ together they’ll always set up a market and a town or two. That’s why the place is a mess—there was absolutely no plannin’ done.”

“Hm...” Elize made a small noise to interject. “The town is sandwiched between two rivers from which beautiful stones can be picked up, so I hear they’ve carved out a niche by making ornaments from precious metals.”

“Yeah, Greybridge accessories’re all the rage.”

“That so?” Whenever Bastian had attended parties in the imperial court, he would hear noble girls talking about accessories—perhaps this town’s name had even come up in their conversations, but he had never paid enough attention to say for sure. When he heard of how the town came to be, what had just moments ago looked like a jumbled mess now began to seem strangely appealing. It was a most peculiar phenomenon.

The cabman stopped his carriage at the edge of the town square. “An’ ’ere we are.”

Now that he thought about it, Bastian was sure this was the first time he had seen the man smile. He and Elize stepped down from the wagon, giving their sincerest thanks once again.

“We couldn’t have made it here without your help, good sir. Thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks mister!”

“Nah, don’t worry ’bout it. I’m just hopin’ you two lovebirds ’ave a future ahead of ya... Take care, okay?”

“Ah, yes...” Elize looked pained by the fact that the story they had given him had all been made up. She looked like she wanted to say something, but Bastian held up a hand to stop her before she could.

With a flick of the reins, the carriage they had been in the care of for the past five days was off. The sound of its wheels grew fainter and fainter until it had fully melded with the noises of the town, and its figure disappeared into the shadows of the brick buildings.

“No need to get him involved,” he reminded her.

“Yes. I know.”

They looked up at the fort on the mountainside. It looked just as old as the bridge, and somehow even sturdier. It was a considerable distance from the town at the mountain’s base. If I was going to attack, where would I start? Bastian inadvertently ended up thinking, before dismissing the thought with a shake of his head.

He groped around for his pocket watch. “You think we’ll get there before dinner?”

“If you’re hungry, we should find somewhere to eat in town first.”

“We don’t have the money. What are you gonna barter off now that your handkerchief’s gone? Don’t tell me you’re gonna pawn off your skirt.”

“Don’t say something so shameless, Bastian.”

“I’m only joking. Mn? Huh?”

“What’s wrong?”

“No... My pocket watch... It’s missing...”

“Eh!?”

No matter how much Bastian searched, he couldn’t find the old pocket watch that he had brought from Belgaria. He sighed. It had definitely been in his possession when they left Applewood, and they hadn’t stopped by any towns these past few days. He hadn’t needed to perform any crazy feats of dexterity, either—in fact, they had barely even met anyone.

Elize’s expression sank.

Bastian cocked his head as he produced a pair of sunglasses from his breast pocket and put them on. Then, he started to laugh. “Hahaha, now I’ve gone and done it. I must have dropped it somewhere.”

“Err...”

“What’s wrong?”

Elize’s concerned face shifted into a gentle smile. “Nothing. That part of you is just—”

“Now then! How about we get going? Feels like forever since we last had a hot meal.”

“Fufu... Very well.”

She silently placed her hand in Bastian’s outstretched palm, and the two of them set off for the mountain path to Fort Greybridge.

✧ ✧ ✧

The night of April 19th, the day before Bastian and Elize arrived at Fort Greybridge—

“Pardon me.” Glenda entered with a bow, a white medical cloth wrapped around her head.

She had just stepped into Oswald’s office in the palace. Books and documents lined the entire face of one wall, and a single large office desk occupied a space near the back. A conference table used for drafting up plans was placed smack-dab in the center of the room, over which he had laid two maps: one showing High Britannia and its neighboring countries, and the other showing the area around the palace. Oswald was standing at attention beside this table, on top of which a girl wearing a dress had taken a seat.

It was Princess Margaret.

There was no sofa in the room, but there was a leather chair by the desk; why she had chosen to rest her bottom not only on the hard conference table, but on top of both maps, was a mystery.

Despite this being an office, Margaret’s maids were standing at the ready along the wall, this time dressed in normal maid uniforms. They all glanced over at the armor-clad visitor; she was a woman all the same, but carried a completely different air about her. For one, Glenda was still wearing her light armor despite being in the palace.

She gave the same model salute as always. “First Lieutenant Glenda Graham. I have made my return.”

“Splendid work on your recovery.”

And as per usual, Oswald spoke to his subordinate in a cordial tone. Margaret shot him a delighted glance. She was short in stature and sitting down, but being atop the table meant her eyes were level with his.

“My oh my. What could this mean? ...Hey, Oswald?”

“Whatever could be the problem, O Refined Princess Margaret?”

“Glenda is here.”

“This petty officer has called her back from the front in Applewood to give her new orders.”

“Fufufu... Did I not say that those who failed should be put to death? This is strange. So very strange. What could it all mean?”

Margaret seemed absolutely exuberant. She was used to everything always going her way, which was why she found it so amusing when fate turned against her. To have it all as she wished was so, so boring that she was constantly craving some form of stimulation.

She focused on Glenda, her glistening amber eyes reflecting the warm glow of a nearby gas lamp. They were beautiful... but that very fact made them equally as terrifying.

Glenda could easily place among the top ten strongest in High Britannia; she was a daring, valorous knight, but even she couldn’t hide how nervous she was.

Why was she so anxious? Margaret was just a princess—she had absolutely no authority over High Britannia’s army or its people, and even if she became queen, she did not have the right to punish someone based on her own arbitrary judgment. Parliament’s approval was needed for any of her orders to be carried out, and if over twenty-four of its thirty members were against them, the queen’s orders were refused.

Or at least, that was the official stance, but Margaret was special—if she gave an order, it would be made into a reality. Oswald, for example, was only a colonel; above him were the ranks of brigadier general, lieutenant general, and general, and within the palace he was but a single strategy officer. However, his authority stretched over the entirety of the High Britannian Army.

Margaret’s eyes were fixed on Glenda, and there was a discomforting intensity to her gaze. Glenda was hoping Oswald would say something, but her loquacious superior officer stayed silent for once. She gulped, then bowed her head low.

“M-My humblest apologies!”

“What might you be apologizing for? The fact that you let Liz get away in Applewood, the fact that you still haven’t found her, or the fact that you’re still alive?”

“E-Erk...”

“That’s no good, Glenda. You have such a scary look on your face. Smile some more, it’ll make you look much cuter.”

“Kh... I am apologizing for the fact that I was overpowered by the boy accompanying Princess Elizabeth.”

“Oho, I don’t care about that. Just hurry and let me see Liz.”

“...Understood, ma’am.”

At that, Oswald finally stepped into the conversation:

“O Gentle Princess Margaret, if you will allow me to report on those you sentenced to death...”

“Fufu... I’ll allow it. Even if they are the words of poor Oswald, who values his subordinates over yours truly.”

“Perish the thought. Your order to have the one responsible pay with their life and the others given a harsh reprimand was most definitely carried out.”

“Dear me, this is strange then. Has she come back to haunt us?”

“Given Princess Margaret’s extensive knowledge, she must surely be aware already... but if I were to state the obvious, Glenda is not the commander of Applewood. She is a first lieutenant, and the on-site commander is—was—a lieutenant colonel.”

Margaret nodded. She seemed to be enjoying this quite a bit. “You’ve evaded me yet again. What a pity... I was so looking forward to seeing the troubled look on your face... but my efforts were in vain.”

“This petty officer is no more than a pebble by the wayside—not someone great enough to deserve the great Princess Margaret’s interest.”

Margaret shrugged and called over one of the maids by the wall, who approached holding a teacup on a tray. Meanwhile, Oswald cut back to the matter at hand.

“Lieutenant, based on what you know from the reports from the soldiers, Princess Elizabeth has not taken a straight path from Applewood to the capital. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir!” Glenda straightened her back and nodded, her usual dignified air having returned. “Princess Elizabeth must be aware that she needs to arrive before the 23rd. If she has not taken the train, then she can only be riding by carriage. This limits the routes she can take.”

She beckoned for a map, and for a brief moment Oswald’s eyes flitted to the conference table. Princess Margaret was still sitting there, elegantly drinking her tea, and the maps were under her buttocks. Oswald picked up where Glenda had left off as though nothing had happened.

“...Her options are limited, and if she wishes to break through the royal palace’s security, having a single boy as a guard will not be enough.”

Glenda silently listened, standing at attention. Margaret seemed preoccupied, complaining that her tea was lukewarm to her maid, who was offering her most earnest apology. But just when Glenda thought the princess was staying out of it, she suddenly piped up.

“Hey, Oswald?”

“What could it be?” Abrupt as it was, he answered without the slightest delay.

“Where did Liz go?”

Oswald glanced down at the map that was now creasing under Margaret’s bottom. “By this petty officer’s conjecture... she is probably headed for Fort Greybridge.”

Soldier eyewitness accounts, Elizabeth’s personal connections, geographical factors... Taking them all into account, there really was no other option.

Under normal circumstances, she would give up on returning to the palace and flee—perhaps she would be able to rely on the boy accompanying her to help her defect to Belgaria. But that wasn’t in her character. After narrowly escaping death, she still dared to appear at Applewood that very same day.

“Fort Greybridge.”

“That is correct.”

“Fufufu... Is that around here?” Margaret asked as she indecently opened her legs, pulling up her skirt to such an extent that she came dangerously close to exposing what was underneath.

Glenda flinched, but Oswald remained unmoved. Between the princess’s white thighs was the map of the area around Queenstower.

Margaret’s upturned eyes curiously watched Oswald’s expression. “Fufufufu... Now, where is Greybridge?”

“To answer the noble Princess Margaret, Greybridge is right here.”

With no hesitation at all, Oswald placed his right index finger on a point on the map. His hand was so close to her that he could feel her body heat; it was almost as if he had stuck a hand directly up her skirt.

“Mn... I see. It’s surprisingly close,” Margaret remarked, a nasally tint to her voice.

“While the steam train does not stop there, it is only a day’s journey by coach. Though it would take more than five days on foot.”

“And that’s where... you’re sending Glenda, is it?”

“Indeed, it is. I will send the riflemen with her—they should certainly be able to capture Princess Elizabeth.”

“Certainly, you say?”

“It is inconceivable to cause the magnanimous Princess Margaret any further anxiety or disappointment. Please wait patiently with peace of mind.”

“Fufufu... Not a chance.”

“—!!”

For a moment, Oswald was at a loss for words. Margaret reached out and held his cheeks in both hands, her lips curling into a heated smile.

“I’m going to Greybridge too. I’ve grown tired of waiting.”

“...Understood. All is as you command.”

As her fingers were still resting on his face, Oswald could not move a muscle. Unable to lower his head in reverence, he could only respond in words.

And just like that, Margaret removed her hands. She swung her leg round as though performing some kind of showy roundhouse kick before leaping down from the table, her skirt streaming behind her. She usually just lazed around, even leaving an action as small as bringing her teacup to her lips to her maids, and yet... when she moved, she was almost like a feral cat: supple yet graceful.

“Very well, Liz. How wonderful. It’s all thanks to you that I’m having such fun. Now, what shall I do? What shall I do to you? Which dress should I pick? What shoes shall I wear? I wouldn’t dare to appear before you wearing anything embarrassing; you deserve better than that.”

And with that, Margaret exited the room, leading her maids along behind her. The office’s usual air of silence and order had finally returned.

Oswald touched a finger to his brow and sighed. He looked over at Glenda; she had gone a bright red and was frozen in place. In terms of age, she would be older than the princess, but... honestly, it was just cruel to compare them.

“Well then, give this to the riflemen... and this to Princess Margaret’s guard,” he said, handing over the decrees he had prepared in advance.

“Eh!?” Glenda’s eyes opened wide. “Don’t tell me you even anticipated Her Majesty’s flight of fancy!” Her tone was insolent, but Oswald did not scorn her for it. He simply shrugged.

“It is foolish not to carry an umbrella when you know it might rain.”