Chapter 84

Rotte looked at Iberin with a face full of worry.

Another attempt could come at any moment, and they didn't even know who the assassins were.

If it came down to it, Lyssel would've killed the dark figure the same way — but it would've been better to keep him alive and trace the chain back.

Lyssel kicked himself for it after the fact.

Though in that shock-stunned moment, who could've stopped to weigh that.

After that day, Iberin cut her activities down sharply.

It was only recently that she'd had so much to do outside; she'd hardly gone anywhere before, so it amounted to a kind of rest.

Iberin stuck close to Lyssel — the safest spot in the house.

And clinging right beside her were the kids.

Rotte was there on the pretext of looking after them, and Pons was at Lyssel's side.

Seven people were now crammed into Lyssel's office.

Word of the night's chaos had clearly reached the rest of the staff too, because the whole house was on edge.

You could see the resolve to be ready for whatever came.

"Mommy, hehe."

For the kids it meant lessons and training were all called off.

They got to glue themselves to Iberin all day, and they couldn't have been happier.

"Mommy, do this with Ether."

"What is it?"

"Coloring!"

Ether was the type who preferred running around to anything else.

Lately he'd been so swamped with training and lessons that there'd been almost no playing.

"You want to do this?"

"Yes. This one is fun."

So it had been a real while since she'd played with Ether like this.

Iberin felt it too.

"Sure."

It had been a while since she'd played with him, so she would've loved to take him outside. But they were keeping outings to a minimum — that was off the table.

"In exchange, next time we'll go out and play Red Light, Green Light."

"Wow, yes!"

"Red light, green light? What's that?"

Rozelia tilted her head and asked.

"Huh? Big sis Rozel doesn't know?"

"That's why I'm asking."

"It's a game Mommy taught us. You play outside. Before we went to the capital, we used to play it lots!"

"Can't we play it here?"

Rozelia was clearly curious now.

"Heeere?"

The office wasn't exactly small.

The moment the words Red Light, Green Light came up, Rotte's eyes lit up too — she enjoyed the game more than anyone.

Pons had only joined later, so his eyes had that same look Rozelia and Kal did.

"Now that I think about it, Lyssel, you've never played with us either."

"That's true."

"If you're up for it…"

"I am."

The answer came before she'd even finished.

Lyssel went so far as to gather up the papers he'd been working on and tuck them neatly away in a drawer.

And so a game ended up unfolding right there in the office.

Ether looked a bit thrown too, but he beamed — anything beat coloring.

For people who'd just survived an assassination attempt, the time felt remarkably ordinary.

Even if it was all just on the surface.

---

A few light rounds in and she was already tired.

She hadn't slept properly because of last night.

She'd worn out faster than usual.

"What is it."

She'd glanced at him on reflex — if she was this drained, how must Lyssel feel.

"You're not tired?"

"I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Really."

He genuinely didn't look tired, so she didn't know what else to say.

Lyssel must have caught the worry in her face, because he added,

"I tire less easily than most. Don't worry too much."

"Less easily doesn't mean not at all. I'm worried you'll push too hard just because you say you're fine."

It wasn't her first time worrying about exactly this.

When it came to anything involving Iberin, he charged in without a second thought.

"If I get tired, I'll rest."

Lyssel answered, more readily than she'd expected.

She'd been bracing herself for him to refuse to rest until the assassination problem was settled.

"It's embarrassing to admit, but I realized this isn't something I can manage on my own."

"What?"

"Cutting down enemies, I can do as much of that as anyone needs. But, just as you said, I'm not made of steel, and standing guard without a wink of sleep isn't workable. So I've asked Marquis Bilson and Count Elton for help."

He'd been quick on his feet.

Iberin looked at him, mildly surprised.

"There's been no reply yet, of course, but I expect they'll help."

Iberin thought so too.

It hadn't been long since they'd built up the friendly relations to begin with, and there was nothing better than putting them in your debt for the price of sending a few knights.

Even friendly relationships ran on some degree of mutual interest, after all.

The ijet they still hadn't delivered would be reason enough on its own — neither could outright refuse.

"So, just until the replies come, I'll push a little."

"…Fine, you win. Do that."

"Thank you."

"What are you thanking me for. I'm the one who's grateful."

He'd already known she'd worry, and had set up a perfect escape route from it in advance.

It wasn't a bad move.

Lyssel was never going to do anything Iberin wouldn't like, anyway.

---

For all the tension, nothing else happened after that day.

"They might be waiting for us to let our guard down."

But they couldn't relax.

If they got complacent and something terrible happened, they wouldn't be able to live with it.

Habil and the jeweler were so worried they set their work aside for ages.

"So — have we figured out where this assassin came from?"

The assassin was dead, but the route by which he'd gotten into Lecashe had been combed over thoroughly.

On top of that, there'd been a guild mark inside the body.

"An assassins' guild called Moana."

"Moana?"

"Yes. They've got a reputation for doing anything if the money's there."

"Could we flip them — buy them off?"

"Possibly, but the guild has no honor to speak of. There'd be no trusting them."

"I see."

"Looks like they got paid quite a lot, too."

"Did they?"

That tracked. Grand Duchess or not, the job was about setting foot on Lecashe land — supposedly the strongest in the realm.

No ordinary fee would've gotten them to move.

"Their main base is in the capital, but they've apparently relocated recently. Coincidence or not."

"Whatever the case, the job isn't finished. They'll be back."

They had to prepare.

That night had only been one assassin — if a whole group came at once, they could take real losses.

Iberin didn't want to see a single person of Lecashe hurt.

In that light, it was a relief Lyssel had moved fast to ask for help.

After however long the wait was —

Count Elton, closer than Marquis Bilson, arrived first.

"Greetings. I'm Esmore, captain of House Elton's Second Knight Order."

Count Elton hadn't bothered weighing anything — he'd sent an entire order outright.

A handsomely uniformed order, banner aloft, saluted Lyssel.

She'd known he'd help, but she hadn't expected this immediate a response.

"Thank you for coming. I'm Lyssel Lecashe."

In a way, this was Lecashe exposing a weakness.

As long as Lecashe was bound to the Aleta Holy Empire, there was no way around it.

Lecashe wasn't allowed to maintain its own knight order.

"I've heard a great deal about you. I was curious what sort of place Lecashe was after my lord spoke of it."

"I hope you'll stay a while and take the time to look around."

"Not at all. We aren't here as tourists — I'll do that after we've finished the job."

"That would be appreciated."

Captain Esmore was a middle-aged man with bronzed skin.

He had the air of someone built to last.

"This is my wife, Iberin Sherburn Lecashe."

"It's a pleasure, Your Highness."

"I look forward to working together."

The knights behind him stood at sharp attention; you could feel the discipline.

Count Elton had picked them himself and they looked dependable.

"Yes. Just leave it to us."

After exchanging greetings, the order followed a member of the staff to their quarters.

---

Marquis Bilson sent the latest sales figures on the crops along with his own knight order.

In a way it was a tone-deaf addition, but the mood it set wasn't bad.

It made the whole assassins' guild thing feel like a non-issue.

Actually, it landed well.

Iberin had burst out laughing the moment she saw it.

"This is good news for Lecashe too. And you can tell Marquis Bilson put real thought into the order he sent."

Like the men Count Elton had sent, the knights had the look of well-honed blades.

"They do. They're strong."

"From what I hear, they go on hunts together — plenty of real combat experience."

"Oh my. I see. Anyway, since sales are good, once this is settled I'll have to clean out the storehouse again through the order."

"As you like, Iberin."

"Oh — and I couldn't bring it up with the sudden assassination attempt, but before another storehouse run, I want to send aid to the people in the Gelta Six territories. They're in a bad way, and it'd help kill the rumor too."

"That's one approach."

"Yeah. It's a bit galling, but what can you do."

Iberin scrunched her nose.

"If that's what you want to do, we'll do it. It doesn't sound bad."

These were people who'd risen up because they were starving.

From what they'd heard, the granaries had already been sold off by the nobles, so there still wasn't anything to eat.

If Lecashe sent relief grain, the rumor would die down to some extent, and they'd win over the people's hearts too.

With the knight orders from Marquis Bilson and Count Elton here, Lyssel could finally breathe a little.

The truth was, keeping his senses sharpened around the clock had been wearing on him.

Not just one day — several days in a row.

He hadn't been sleeping properly, and even though he hadn't said so, you could see him getting gaunter.

"Your Highness, please get some sleep now."

Pons had been worried sick the whole time, and he said it quickly.

Lyssel must have realized how worried everyone was, because this time he just nodded without argument.

But Lyssel went to his room to sleep, and was up again before he'd even managed two hours.

When Iberin came to check on him and found him reading a book, her brow knit hard.

"I just woke up."

Lyssel hurried to defend himself.

"So you only got two hours, then?"

"I can't sleep anymore. I thought a book might help me drift off…"

"Ugh. What am I going to do with you."

After days of holding his senses on a knife's edge, he'd clearly gone past wired into something worse.

"Want me to stay with you?"

"You, Iberin?"

"I'll sing you a lullaby."