Interlude: Her Bloodstained Hand

A certain woman strolled past.

The servants standing in her path quietly moved to the sides of the corridor, fell to their knees, and waited for her to pass. In their matching black uniforms, the women looked like shadows crouching along the edges of the hall.

When one young servant noticed something dripping from the woman’s hand onto the white marble floor, the girl opened her mouth to cry out.

At once, the elderly servant by her side clamped a hand over her mouth. It would be one thing in the main residence, but here in the east wing of the royal palace, no one was allowed to say anything.

This was the queen’s palace.

No matter what their master did, no matter how she looked, no one was to speak to her—so long as they valued their lives, that is.

Ever since she had married into the royal family four years ago, Queen Marianne had always worn a Llewynian-style gown tied with a sash. On the train of her dark green dress, a black stain was forming from the blood trickling down her right hand.

One half of her reddish hair, a common trait among Llewynians, was pinned up haphazardly, while the rest of it spilled down her back. As the most exalted woman in Farzia, she had more opportunity to dine on gourmet food than anyone, but you would never have guessed it from her bony figure—which finally ambled out of sight.

Once Marianne was gone, the old lady breathed a sigh of relief and took her hand off the girl’s mouth.

“Goodness! You startled me!”

“You gave me quite the scare, dearie. Had you offended her in any way, you would have found yourself on the receiving end of a lashing. You must be more careful,” the old woman chided her.

“Thank you for stopping me. I was so surprised, I couldn’t help myself,” the young servant replied between gasps, head bowed.

Then again, she had heard the stories of the queen’s wounded hand.

Queen Marianne would sometimes injure her hand. She liked to personally feed her pet bird, and when she did, it would peck at her hand.

Thus, her hand was always covered in cuts and scratches.

“Lately, it’s been especially frequent.”

In the past, her injuries had always been relatively light, but more recently, she wouldn’t even staunch the wounds, allowing the blood to flow freely from her hand as she wandered the palace.

At that, the servant girl shuddered and said, “Now that I think of it, a friend of mine mentioned she saw it happen once.”

Whenever a servant came inside their room to clean, nobles would typically ignore their presence and continue about their business. So, like always, Queen Marianne had replaced the bird feed herself.

The bird was a little large for a pet, but the cage that held it was as tall as a person and too wide to hold in the arms, so she had to stick her entire arm inside to reach the feed box. The bird didn’t much like that, so it would peck at the queen’s hand.

It ought to have hurt, but the queen had simply laughed in delight.

Even as her skin tore, even as blood flowed from her hand, she had simply watched as the bird abused her hand.

“My friend said it was almost like... she was offering up her own blood.”

Why would the queen keep enduring such a thing? Nobody knew. If her own attendants asked her, they too would only be chastised, so they had long ceased to comment on it.

At that point in their conversation, another nobleman passed by, so the two servants hushed up and rushed back to their posts.

As she walked down the hall, the old woman mused aloud. “Ever since Lord Patriciél’s visits became more frequent, there’s been no sign of Lord Credias... It could be connected to what’s happening on the battlefield, so I do so wish I could send word.”

For a moment, she stopped walking and heaved a sigh.

She’d wanted to send a messenger bird from the royal capital, but any movement in and out of the prince’s palace was strictly monitored, so there was no room to do that. The best she could do was pose as a servant in order to skulk about the rest of the royal palace.

Moreover, anyone leaving the royal palace was inspected on the way out, so she would instantly be exposed as the prince’s attendant, Mabel.

Rumor had it that Évrard had withstood Llewyne’s attack. Prince Reginald was unharmed. Apparently, a spellcaster had appeared to back the margrave.

Although it was a relief to know that he was safe, she couldn’t relax. Given his position, Reginald had no choice but to stop the Llewynian army’s march on the capital.

Mabel desperately wished he would run away. If only she could tell him there was no need to bear any more suffering, help him escape to a friendly nation, and let him live out the rest of his days as an ordinary knight.

Unfortunately, his striking silver hair would serve as a target for all those chasing after the prince.

After losing his father and witnessing the persecution of his mother, surely he had no love left for the royalty of Farzia. But tragically, the color of his hair drew a link to the royal family that kept the prince tethered.

All Mabel could do was gather information in hopes that she could one day pass it on.

The reason she had once again slipped out of the prince’s palace was to search for the king, who had yet to show his face since issuing a call to arms against Llewyne and appointing a general.

Mabel theorized that Llewynians were holding the king captive somewhere. If she had the opportunity, she needed to rescue him.

Of course, as far as her personal feelings went, Mabel had no interest in saving the king. But so long as he was missing in action, the queen could run the country on his behalf.

The queen had already begun to dictate various matters herself under the pretext that the king was in poor physical health. Her meddling was to blame for the unprecedented amount of trouble the general sent to intercept the Llewynians was having in gathering soldiers.

On top of that, because they were granted the queen’s permission to visit, those who had passed through Llewynian ranks without issue—namely, the count of Patriciél—weren’t being vetted at all. On the contrary, he would come and go from the royal palace like he owned the place.

Still, no matter where she’d searched over the past few days, Mabel hadn’t managed to find the king anywhere in the royal palace.

Thus, she had made her way to the queen’s palace.

While she made a show of cleaning and sweeping, she gradually moved deeper and deeper into the residence.

She failed to find anyplace suspicious.

By now, she was worn out from her search, but when she saw a nobleman passing by, she ducked inside the chapel to hide from him.

So long as no service was being held, the royal family’s chapel was off-limits to everyone but the priests. Once she had escaped the man’s notice, Mabel made to leave the chapel—and then she froze as the smell of blood reached her nose.

From that day on, a new rumor spread among the servants:

The king had already been killed at the hands of the queen.

◇◇◇

“Hehehe... Have you heard? There are rumors in the air that I killed my husband. Dear me. Do you think perhaps someone stumbled upon that, Owen?” Queen Marianne addressed her visitor, Count Owen Patriciél, with a smile.

The queen seemed neither incensed nor offended by those rumors. She spoke of the matter almost as if it were someone else’s affair.

His stern face set in a frown, the count replied, “Must you continue to damage those beautiful fingers of yours, Your Majesty?”

As he rose to his feet and came over to where Marianne stood beside the birdcage, the count clasped her right hand in both of his. With a giggle, Marianne pulled her hand away.

“Beautiful? What beauty is there to fingers that have become little more than skin and bones?”

“No, I assure you they are most beautiful.” The count kneeled down on the spot, lifting the hem of her dress to place a kiss upon it. “You are no less radiant than the first time I laid eyes on you, Your Majesty.”

“Meaning you still see me as a foolish girl of thirteen? You absolute imbecile.”

The look in Count Patriciél’s eyes as he stared up at the queen was so earnest that Kiara would have been shocked to see it. However, she did not return his gaze.

She simply continued to watch the green bird in the cage, her smile unfaltering.