Chapter Seven: Jeanne, the Poison, and Schemes Twining

A week after the assault in the castle town, Herscherik was hosting a guest.

Jeanne, having been shown to the indoor greenhouse where they usually had tea, bowed deeply in gratitude. “I cannot thank Your Highness enough for saving us,” she said, sounding rather nervous.

Herscherik answered with his usual smile, “I’m sorry that such a dreadful thing happened to you. Please, take a seat.”

As Herscherik’s request was met by Oran pulling back a chair for her, Jeanne gingerly took her place at the table. “Were those men after Your Highness’ life...?”

“It seems so. Although I wasn’t given all the details...” Herscherik said with a chuckle. His answer wasn’t entirely honest—it was true that they’d been after him, but he did know the ins and outs of the incident. While he wasn’t allowed to attend himself, both Oran and Marx had been present at the interrogation.

Oran’s report had only managed to put more on Herscherik’s table. The attackers had no recollection of why they attacked Herscherik, nor who had hired them. They each claimed that their memory for the past few days were hazy, and they had felt as though they were sleepwalking when they attacked Herscherik. After an examination, they’d found evidence of memory alteration and brainwashing through Mind Manipulation magic. At the end of the day, since the attackers had been manipulated and no one had actually been hurt in the actual attack, they were sent to the Judicial department in charge of criminal trials.

“Is Violetta not with you today?”

“My sister is not feeling well today and has remained at the manor. Forgive me for calling alone.” She bowed once more.

“If that was all, you might have sent someone,” Herscherik said, visibly concerned that Jeanne coming all this way on her own might be viewed with suspicion.

Jeanne produced a box. “I’ve come to deliver this. A token of gratitude from my sister, for Your Highness’ protection of her.” Jeanne opened the box to reveal a cupcake decorated with cocoa and nuts. The finely-baked cupcake looked like a beautiful little hill coated in chocolate.

The sweet scent tickled Herscherik’s nose as a smile spread across his face. “Wow, it looks amazing! Schwarz? Tea, please,” he gleefully asked.

“Right away.” Kuro began preparing a pot of tea.

“Your Highness...” Jeanne handed over a second box, smaller than the first. “Please use these.”

“What are they?”

“Tea leaves I had imported from the Principality. They’re quite difficult to find anywhere in our own country.”

Herscherik took the box, which was small enough to fit in both of his palms. The gold and jewel decoration indicated its value. “Are you sure?” he asked. “This must have been expensive.”

“I would like nothing more than for Your Highness to enjoy the tea... A small token of my gratitude.”

“Then, I’ll gladly take it.” Herscherik handed the tea to Kuro.

Kuro asked Jeanne for the proper measurements and steeping time, and speedily poured the drink.

The cup of amber tea was placed before Herscherik, filling the room with a vibrant scent. Herscherik took a sip and found it was far less bitter than the tea he was used to, and refreshing as well. “It has such a different aroma from the tea around here. Very invigorating, too. It’s delicious!” He smiled.

“It is...” Jeanne’s expression hardened.

“Miss Jeanne? Are you feeling all right?”

“Y-Yes, I am.”

“If you say so... But don’t say that just for my sake,” Herscherik said with gentle concern.

Jeanne nodded, averting his gaze.

That made Herscherik even more concerned. “Maybe you should return to the manor at once and rest...? Oh, I see!” Herscherik clapped his hands at the revelation. He didn’t notice Jeanne’s shoulders twitch as he reached for the chocolate-coated cupcake. “You want to tell Violetta how I liked the cake! Then, without further ado...” Herscherik opened his mouth wide, about to take a heaping bite out of the cake.

Jeanne watched the next few moments pass in excruciating slowness, as if the god of time himself had intervened. What should have happened in the blink of an eye instead seemed to move ever so slowly as the cupcake approached Herscherik’s mouth.

“No...!” Jeanne leaped out of her chair just as the cupcake was about to touch Herscherik’s lips, smacking it out of his hands. She proceeded to smash the box that had carried the cupcake onto the floor. “No... I can’t... No...” Jeanne continued to mutter as she threw Herscherik’s tea cup to the floor. Then, she ran over to the serving table and smashed the tea pot and box onto the ground, too. When she finally stopped, her shoulders rising and falling, only the sound of her frenzied panting echoed through the greenhouse.

“Miss Jeanne,” a calm voice called.

Jeanne didn’t hear it. She stood there aghast, as the past week she had spent making preparations according to her father’s orders flashed before her eyes. What... What have I done?! She had no idea if betraying her father or Herscherik would be worse.

According to her father’s command, she had come prepared to assassinate the little prince. She had planted two separate poisons in the cake and the tea. On their own, either was harmless. But when combined, the two poisons would slowly stop the victim’s heart. Since this poison was almost unknown in this country and it took so long to take effect, this method had always escaped notice. Jeanne had taken many lives using this very tool.

Until the previous day, she had always convinced herself that there was no other way to protect her sister and herself, just as it had always been. But when she saw Herscherik wearing the same kind smile he had always shown her, Jeanne’s resolve wavered. In that long moment when Herscherik was about to eat the cake after drinking the tea, her wavering resolve had finally crumbled to pieces. She tightened her fist. Despite the pain of her nails digging into her palm, she couldn’t loosen her grip.

A set of warm hands wrapped themselves around her clenched fist. “Miss Jeanne. Calm down... Please?” a gentle voice called to her.

“Your... Highness?” She saw the prince, so much smaller than she was, looking up at her. Jeanne retook her seat at Herscherik’s gesture.

He stood there, staring straight into her eyes. All the while, Herscherik held her hands in his. “I know everything.”

“What...?” Jeanne could almost hear the color draining from her face.

Herscherik held her hands tighter in reassurance. “Kuro switched out the tea, so I haven’t taken any poison. I trusted that you’d stop me before I ate the cake, too.”

“How...?”

“How did I find out? Because my butler is overqualified for his job.” They already knew that one of the Marquis Barbosse’s men had acquired two very rare poisons by underhanded means. Both of them were almost unknown within the kingdom, so Kuro might have been the only one to make the connection—along with the fact that a merchant who frequented the Barbosse manor had just brought in a rare and expensive tea. That’s why, in preparation for this day, Kuro had acquired a serving of tea leaves through some of his own connections.

“Besides,” Herscherik added, “the cupcake was a little too neat to be Violetta’s work.” He didn’t believe for a second that Violetta, whose cookies were still a little misshapen and overbaked every time, could have improved her baking skills enough to produce a nearly flawless cupcake in the matter of days. Of course, he hadn’t expected that Jeanne would force Violetta to make the to-be-poisoned cake, either.

“Why...” Why did you believe I was going to stop you? That was Jeanne’s real question. Until the very last second, she had been completely determined to kill Herscherik.

Herscherik chuckled. His men of service had warned him against this plan, too. Still, the reason he’d been so confident... was that he wanted to believe Jeanne. “A hunch, I guess? I didn’t want to be wrong about you.” He had no other reason to give. It was the same answer that had provoked such exasperation from his men.

A teardrop fell from Jeanne’s hazel eye, which set off an uncontrollable flood of sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” The tears rolled down her cheeks and off of her chin, wetting her hands and Herscherik’s, still wrapped around hers.

Herscherik stroked her hair as if he was comforting a child.

After some time, when Jeanne finally stopped crying, Kuro handed her a damp towel. Herscherik let go of her hand, so she timidly took the towel and pressed it against her eyes. It felt cool to the touch, and Jeanne could feel herself starting to calm down a bit. As she did so, she recalled the fact that she had just cried in front of Herscherik, and then he’d held her hands and stroked her hair, of all things. He’d sat there stroking her hair the entire time she was crying, even. Jeanne couldn’t even remember her own mother doing something like that for her. She could feel her cheeks growing red again.

“I’m mortified by my unsightly display...” Jeanne said, without raising her eyes. She was surprised by how faint her own voice was.

“Don’t worry about it.” Herscherik’s voice was as calm as it always was, which somehow reassured Jeanne. Her relief, however, dissipated at his statement that followed: “Miss Jeanne. I also know what you’ve done in the past.” Jeanne snapped her head up to find Herscherik’s eyes lit up with sincere emotion.

Kuro had gone through Jeanne’s background with a fine-tooth comb and told Herscherik everything he found—how she’d carried secret letters and messages on Barbosse’s command and even eliminated her father’s political enemies by killing them or incapacitating them with poison. Herscherik doubted anyone else would have suspected the Marquis’ daughter in those incidents, even had the nobles under the minister’s thumb not actively concealed them.

Jeanne lowered her gaze once again and tightened the grip on the towel. “I have... no defense to offer for myself.” It was entirely possible that she would be sentenced to death for her actions. Jeanne was fully aware that the crimes she had committed in her life thus far would have warranted that punishment. Her hands tightened in her lap.

“Miss Jeanne.” Herscherik held her hands again, as if to say Everything will be okay. “I want to know more about the life you’ve lived.”

Jeanne took a moment before slowly beginning to recount her life’s story. “My mother used to serve my father’s wife. I grew up in the red-light district.” She had never told this story to anyone. No one else knew of her origins, other than Barbosse himself and perhaps his closest confidants.

Jeanne’s mother, a merchant’s daughter who had been an attendant to Barbosse’s wife at the time, had been approached by Barbosse, who’d taken a liking to her looks. They slept together, and Jeanne was the result. When Barbosse’s jealous wife discovered the affair, she threw Jeanne’s mother out, with only a handful of cash to tide her over.

That money had allowed her to give birth and survive for a short time after that, but it didn’t last long. Having been disowned by her family at this point, Jeanne’s mother had no options for reputable employment with a newborn in tow. She ended up in the red-light district.

There wasn’t a day in Jeanne’s life that she could remember when her mother did not scream at her. She still vividly remembered her beautiful mother shouting at her with furrowed brows. “Useless!” “If only you were never born...!” She was reminded of it every day. But, after each tirade, her mother had always looked depressed, and it truly seemed as though she was more hurt by her own outbursts than Jeanne was.

In hindsight, Jeanne understood—after her mother’s fall from grace, she had ended up in a red-light district after serving a marquess. If she hadn’t had someone else to blame for it, her mother might not have been able to carry on. Jeanne didn’t know if her mother had ever loved her, but she did feel grateful that her mother had at least raised her. Even as she spent her days showering Jeanne with insults, she never let her daughter go hungry. And then, five years ago, her mother had died from an illness.

“After I lost my mother, I was all alone. I looked for a job so I could survive, but not even the brothels would hire me, whether it be for my age or appearance.” Poverty had left Jeanne little more than skin and bones, and she would never be as beautiful as her mother had been. In desperation she had even taken to standing on a street corner, but due to her age and inexperience she attracted no legitimate clientele.

“When I felt as though all was lost, I remembered what my mother told me about my father... so I went to see him.” Based on some of her mother’s last words to her, Jeanne had called on her father. While her mother had sold almost everything she had left from the marquis’ house, she had held on to a ring with the Barbosse seal that Jeanne’s father had given her on a whim.

With this ring in hand, Jeanne knocked on the door of the Marquis’ manor. “My father accepted me, in exchange for raising my sister and obeying his every command.” She had spent every day after that taking care of her sister and desperately learning to fit in with the nobility, terrified that she would be kicked to the streets at any moment. She did every heinous deed her father commanded, because she was convinced that there was no other way to survive.

Thinking back on it now, there had been other paths open to her. She could have knocked on the door of an orphanage instead of her father’s house, or even run away once she learned what her father wanted her to do. Bu, Jeanne had given up on looking for a way out by that point and had chosen the path of least resistance. She realized now that she had committed all of those crimes as her father dictated simply because she wanted to survive as easily as possible.

Seeing that Jeanne’s thoughts were making her look even more distressed, Herscherik asked, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I...” Jeanne stammered.

Herscherik did not let up. “What will happen to Violetta, now?”

“I don’t know, but...!” Violetta was the only one who had ever shown her a genuine smile. She was the only one who cared about Jeanne without an ulterior motive, and she even looked up to her as a sister—despite Jeanne only being a half-sister born in a red-light district. Violetta had been the only thing that ever truly mattered to Jeanne. In the end, though, I was just using Vivi as an excuse.

After convincing herself that everything she’d done was all to protect her dear Violetta, Jeanne had put her own emotions—her feeling that she didn’t want to kill Herscherik—above her sister. Thinking about it now, Jeanne’s own actions seemed so selfish, pathetic, and slimy to her. The tears returned, falling on her hands that were still clutching the towel.

“That was a mean thing for me to say. I’m sorry... Don’t cry, Miss Jeanne.” Herscherik placed his hands on hers once again. Jeanne brushed back her polished-copper hair, her hazel eyes meeting Herscherik’s. Seeing that she was looking at him now, he added, “Miss Jeanne, you know lies come in many shapes.”

“What?” Jeanne asked, taken aback by the sudden turn in conversation.

Herscherik paid no mind to that as he continued. “People lie in all sorts of situations.” To fill their pockets, to protect themselves, to protect others... “Out of all the different kinds of lies, there’s only one I’d never want anyone to tell.”

When Herscherik had first met Jeanne, he felt like she was as tense as could be, always watching her surroundings. She’d always been overly sensitive to the gaze of those around her, constantly double checking where she was standing. Even as she protected her own place in the world, it seemed like she was trying to convince herself that there truly was nowhere else for her to go. She had suppressed her own feelings and deluded herself all this time, in order to keep herself convinced.

A spiral like that only had one place to go. “If you keep lying to yourself, your heart will ache more and more... until it finally dies.” Herscherik couldn’t help but think how sad it would be for her heart to finally grow cold. That was no kind of life to live.

“Your Highness...” Tears began to pool in Jeanne’s eyes once again.

Feeling remorseful for making Jeanne cry again, Herscherik stroked her silky copper hair, which felt nice on his hand. “You don’t have to fight alone anymore.” He pulled Jeanne closer to him and let out a chuckle, realizing that she couldn’t help but lean over to put her head on his shoulder, since he was so much smaller than she was even when seated.

As she cried, Jeanne couldn’t help but wonder why she couldn’t stop doing so in stop of Herscherik. She had never shed a single tear in front of anyone before. I think I understand now... As she wetted Herscherik’s shoulder, Jeanne finally realized her own feelings about the prince.

Jeanne patted at her swollen eyes with another wet towel that Kuro had prepared. “Thank you, Your Highness.” She bowed her head; the poisoned cupcake and tea had been removed, and a new set of tea had arrived.

As he sipped on his cup of (non-poisonous) rare tea, Herscherik asked Jeanne, “What now?”

“I won’t lie to myself anymore,” Jeanne answered with conviction. She was no longer a frightened child, after all. “I must atone for my actions. I would turn myself in now, if I didn’t...” Jeanne paused for a moment before continuing with renewed resolve, “...have something I must do. I swear that I will be of use to Your Highness.”

Herscherik’s expression clouded. “Something dangerous?” He didn’t want Jeanne to just go directly from being Barbosse’s pawn to being his.

“Your Highness needn’t concern himself with me. I’ve gotten out of a few tough scrapes myself,” she cheerfully answered.

“Miss Jeanne...” Herscherik muttered. Her expression was lively now. A weight had visibly been lifted from her shoulders.

Jeanne’s expression became more serious. “Could Your Highness call me Jeanne? And... may I call Your Highness ‘Prince Herscherik’?”

“What?” Herscherik said, completely taken aback.

Still, Jeanne continued, “And... If I ever atone for my crimes... Will Your Highness promise to keep me by his side?”

“Huh?” Herscherik replied, still utterly dumbfounded.

Blushing, Jeanne stared Herscherik down. “I want to serve at your side, Prince Herscherik—at any cost. Please, I implore you,” Jeanne pleaded, clasping her hands in front of her chest with teary eyes.

Herscherik felt like his heart was starting to beat a little faster. “Y-Yes, of course. And you can call me anything you like.”

A joyful smile spread across Jeanne’s face.

Herscherik couldn’t help but feel like the temperature of the room, which was kept steady at all times, had gotten warmer.

After seeing Jeanne out and returning to Herscherik’s room in the outer quarters, there was a strange silence among the prince and his men.

“You’re blushing to your ears,” Kuro began.

Herscherik had been uncharacteristically flustered. Now, he rushed to put his hands over his ears.

Seeing Herscherik’s reaction, Oran came in for the second attack. “So you’re into older girls, Hersch.” His master shot him a death glare, which Oran brushed off with a laugh.

“Her connection with the Minister aside, Lady Violetta is certainly cute—and smart, too. I know they’re both your type, Hersch, but remember... you can only marry one of them.”

Herscherik could feel his body temperature rising more with Kuro’s comment. “Sh-Sh-Shut up about it, already!” Herscherik turned his back in an attempt to shield himself from any further teasing, which seemed inevitable.

Herscherik had no interest in romance, but he also wasn’t oblivious enough to mistake the meaning behind Jeanne’s request and expression for anything else. This had never happened to Herscherik—nor Ryoko—ever before. This was the first time anyone had ever sincerely professed their feelings for him at all. While Ryoko had been on the receiving end of numerous otome game characters’ confessions, Herscherik’s heart was beating quite a bit faster right now than Ryoko’s ever had.

Late that night, Jeanne entered the hidden office in the manor where she lived. This was a secret room only known to a handful of people; it contained documents, books, and all sorts of things Barbosse didn’t want to have out in the open. In fact, Jeanne had discovered her signature combination of poisons from one of the books in this very office. As quietly as possible, with nothing but the tiniest ball of light she could produce to guide her, Jeanne searched through the piles of documents.

She didn’t yet see anything that would help Herscherik. What kind of information would Prince Herscherik need...? Would it be evidence of her father’s crimes?

No, there’s something he needs even more than that. With this in mind, Jeanne looked around the room, which did contain some material related to her father’s crimes—but no definitive proof. Barbosse was a careful man. He wouldn’t leave anything that could destroy him just lying around, no matter how closely kept, where anyone else could find it.

Besides, Jeanne knew that he always gave incriminating evidence to his accomplices in order to protect himself. He always calculated his profit and risk, and was ready to throw any of his supporters into the fire to save his own skin. Such was the philosophy of the Marquis Barbosse. Jeanne wondered if her cunning father would really leave behind any evidence she could find.

With a quiet sigh, she stood up. Just as she began walking towards another spot in the room, she felt something under her foot; she crouched down and peeled back the carpet to find a patch of flooring that looked slightly different from its surroundings. Jeanne easily lifted the floorboards and peered beneath them to find a safe with a dial lock. What’s in there...?

The safe wasn’t guarded by any magic barriers. Jeanne wondered if it contained dirty money or something like that before another thought crossed her mind. The benefits of a magic barrier were mostly its defense and the fact that an alarm could be set to go off when the barrier was broken. However, the barrier itself would be a glaring target for anyone who could detect magic, signifying that anything inside the ward was worth protecting. Safes with magical barriers could be assumed to contain more valuable things than those without them. Additionally, a hidden safe without a magical barrier had significantly less chance of being discovered at all.

Jeanne felt her heart race as she put her ear up against the safe and began turning the dial. Back in the red-light district, one of her mother’s regulars had particularly sticky fingers. While he waited for her mother, he’d taught Jeanne all sorts of thievery tricks. One of them had been on how to crack a dial-locked safe.

The lock finally opened with a click. The safe contained several scrolls and documents. Jeanne removed each one and read through them, then closed her eyes for a moment. Father, I always knew you were... Carefully, Jeanne removed every single document from the safe and went to work.

Once she was done, she replaced the documents, floorboards, and carpet exactly as she had found them, and left the room. I have to notify Prince Herscherik at once. Then there’s Vivi... Her mind raced as she walked down the hall, resisting the powerful urge to break into a run. Then, someone stepped into her path.

“What are you doing up at this hour?”

“Just getting some fresh air, Father. I couldn’t sleep.” Jeanne felt a twinge of panic. She knew she had a very low chance of running into her father at this hour. Her luck must be really rotten.

“Has the prince been taken care of?”

“Not yet... But there will be more opportunities,” Jeanne answered with a business-like tone, trying to maintain a calm and collected façade.

“I see... Speaking of, I need you to do something for me. It’s urgent.”

“Understood,” Jeanne answered her father as she usually did.

Violetta did not like her father. She had always feared his large stature and intimidating presence, and never truly wanted to see him. But this time, it was different. Her aversion to her father was but a small obstacle when she wanted to find her dear sister.

Now that she stood in front of his office, Violetta stopped. Through the slim crack in the door, she heard a voice that didn’t belong to her father. Does he have a guest? In a decidedly unladylike decision, Violetta quietly eavesdropped.

Apparently, her father had multiple guests over.

Her father’s voice came through the crack. “Will the knights and the constabulary be quiet tonight?”

“Arrangements have already been made.”

“Good. What is that archbishop up to...? Ah, but it’ll be a small price to pay for finally getting rid of that pesky Seventh Prince.”

Violetta froze at hearing those words that should have never come out of the mouth of a royal advisor. She couldn’t process what her father was saying. His guests, however, chimed in with agreements.

“About your daughter, Your Excellency...”

“You mean the brat Jeanne? There’s no proof that she’s actually my child. She was useful enough and it kept her quiet, but her time is about to end. There’s no value left there.”

Violetta nearly screamed at her father’s words, clapping her hands over her mouth to stifle the noise. She knew that Jeanne was only her half-sister, but she had never once doubted that Jeanne—who even had the same eyes as her—was her real sister. Even if Jeanne wasn’t related to her by blood, she was much more dear to her than many of her closer relatives. Violetta’s father was always working and never paid her any mind; her oldest brother always looked down on her; her other brother she had never met and didn’t even know where he was right now.

“The Church will take care of her, along with the prince. But keep up your preparations for the events that will follow. This country is mine,” Barbosse declared.

Violetta faltered a few steps back, still covering her mouth. She knew that “the Seventh Prince” referred to Herscherik. And if her father was serious, he was going to kill her sister along with him. Then, despite only being a mid-ranking aristocrat, he declared that this whole country was his.

No... Violetta fled the scene without making a sound, running back to her room. What can I...? What can I do?! Thoughts whirled in her mind, but only one figure remained clear. Prince Herscherik! With that thought, Violetta grabbed her coat and ran out of her room.

She left out of the back gate to avoid being spotted, heading directly for the castle. I have to help Jeanne and Prince Herscherik! But how?! She didn’t even know if a child her age would be allowed into the castle alone. Her sister had come with her every other time and dealt with all of the paperwork and such. She couldn’t disclose that she was the daughter to the Marquis Barbosse, either, for fear they would alert him.

Violetta proceeded through the main street, blending into the crowd. Since she had always traveled to the castle by carriage before, she had never realized how far the castle actually was from the manor. She still had a long way to go.

Then, Violetta noticed the crowd part, and a carriage approached them from behind. The people of the castle town always knew to make way on the street whenever a carriage of high status passed through—they’d always parted for Violetta’s carriage like this, too. She turned to look at the carriage, and as soon as she recognized the crest, she jumped out of the parting crowd... but tripped over something underfoot and crashed to the ground. The coachman noticed her and yanked the reins. The horses neighed in protest, but stopped in their tracks.

“How dare you, girl?! Don’t you see the emblem there?!” the coachman shouted.

Violetta pushed herself up on her elbows and shouted back at the coachman, unafraid, “Please help me!”

“Nonsense! Make way!”

“I beg you, please help!” Violetta groveled, rubbing her forehead on the ground.

Irritated, the coachman climbed down and approached Violetta to move her out of the way.

“Hold it.” The carriage door opened and a young boy stepped out. He gave the coachman a sharp glare. “You dare turn away a little girl, a citizen of this country, begging for help in tears?”

The remaining two passengers of the carriage passed the coachman as he turned his head to and fro in confusion and helped Violetta up.

“Are you all right?”

“Dry your tears. Here.” A girl, one of the two other passengers, handed Violetta her handkerchief. When Violetta didn’t take it, the girl wiped her tears away as the other, a boy, patted the dirt off of her clothes.

The first boy to exit the carriage joined them after his conversation with the coachman. “Wait, aren’t you...?” he said, apparently recognizing Violetta.

Violetta snapped out of it, and clung to the girl. “I beg all of you, please let me see Prince Herscherik!”

The royal triplets—Cecily, Arya, and Reinette—shared a look.

Herscherik was about to welcome an unexpected guest.

“Sorry to barge in like this, Hersch.”

“What’s the matter, Mark?” Herscherik asked, having hurriedly gathered up the papers scattered all over his room after Kuro had notified him of his brother’s arrival moments earlier. He didn’t want Marx to worry about him, at least not more than he already did. That being said, he and Oran had simply ended up throwing all of the papers into the adjoining room.

“You’re up to something again,” Marx said as he gave Herscherik one look.

“No...? Why do you say that?” Herscherik desperately denied what must have been obvious, letting his gaze wander about the room.

Marx sighed in exasperation. “We’ll talk about that later. We have more pressing matters at the moment. Come in, Will.”

William entered at Marx’s call. He had always had a cool handsomeness about him, but his aura seemed especially icy today.

“William?” Herscherik had never had William actually come into his room, and had no idea why he would choose to do so now.

With a scowl, William answered, “Eutel’s gotten worse.”

“What?” As William’s words sank into his mind, Herscherik could almost hear the color drain from his face. “Big brother... Eutel...?”

“Archbishop Hoenir was scheduled to treat him today, but didn’t show. We tried to contact him and were turned away. Then, he demanded that you be sent to the Grand Cathedral if we wanted to save Eutel... And that we need to give you this.”

Kuro took the letter, opened the seal, and handed it to Herscherik, who gave it a quick read. He could feel his expression hardening as he did. It was a simple letter, only demanding Herscherik to come to a particular chapel within the Grand Cathedral by the designated time that night, accompanied with no one but his men of service. If he sent a member of the knight’s order or a team of constables, the letter threatened, both Shiro—who was supposed to be on their side—and Jeanne, surprisingly enough, would die.

The one thing Herscherik could infer from the letter was that Shiro was clearly only a pawn of the Church, rather than a willing servant of the organization. While his curiosity about Shiro had finally been satisfied, it didn’t make Herscherik feel any better.

I didn’t expect the Church to go straight to brute force... He had anticipated that the Church was about to make some sort of move, which was exactly why he had been preparing to deal with it—but they had been far quicker than he’d expected.

But why would they take Jeanne too? Oh, no... An ominous feeling crept up Herscherik’s spine, further hardening his expression.

“You knew that the archbishop contacted us because he was after something, didn’t you?” William’s cold tone brought Herscherik out of his pondering.

“Yes, I did...” Herscherik answered, after a long beat. He knew that, for whatever reason, the Church had an ulterior motive for getting close to the royal family. He didn’t believe that the Church was solely there to treat Eutel for a second.

“You knew... and didn’t tell us.”

“Because I—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” William sharply cut him off.

Herscherik swallowed the words that were going to follow: I didn’t want to put you in danger. Marx, who had gotten involved in the drug trafficking ordeal, was already in a much more dangerous position than before. Herscherik felt he couldn’t afford to put his family in harm’s way any more for his own goals. The more they knew, the more dangerous it would become for them. When he had gotten Marx involved, he had only done so because he saw no way around it.

“Your Highness!” Oran raised his voice in defense of Herscherik. Both Oran and Kuro knew that since Herscherik had discovered the Church’s approach, he had been more anxious than ever, and was always afraid of worrying his siblings. Herscherik’s kindness had backfired this time, but Oran still believed that it wasn’t right to blame him.

“This is a matter for the royal family. Stay out of it, servant.” William silenced Oran with a sharp glare.

Oran turned to Marx for a helping hand, but he only shook his head.

“Yes or no, Herscherik?”

“I’m sorry...”

“Will your ‘sorry’ cure Eutel? Or get us out of this situation?”

Herscherik bit his tongue. As his brother said, apologies wouldn’t make anything better.

“You think you can handle everything by yourself, do you?” William added.

“No, I don’t!” Herscherik knew how powerless he was, more than anybody else. “I...!” Herscherik was nearing his limit, his face twisted with the effort of holding back tears.

Then, he was interrupted by the door opening. “I think we’ve bullied Herscherik enough, Will.”

Herscherik froze at the voice, then slowly turned towards the source—only to see someone who should not have been standing there. “Brother...?” William had only just said that Eutel had gotten worse, but Eutel was now standing in the doorway, looking better than he had when Herscherik had gone to visit him last.

“I know you’re worried about your dear littlest brother, Will, but it doesn’t help that your face seems to only show the opposite of whatever emotion you’re feeling.” Eutel shrugged.

Herscherik ran to him. “Eutel!”

“But—” Eutel lightly smacked Herscherik on the forehead. “I agree with Will,” he said, patting Herscherik’s hair. “Trust your family, Herscherik. Especially Will, who’s so high maintenance that he keeps moping around because you never play with him.”

“Shut up, Eutel,” William said with a huff.

Many questions flew through Herscherik’s mind, but the first was obvious. “Are you all right, Eutel?!” His brother had previously been so ill that he could barely stand. Now, he was not only standing but walking completely on his own

“Hm? Not all right, but I’m doing fine,” he continued as he kept stroking Herscherik’s hair. “I’ve known for a long time that my growth wouldn’t catch up to my Magic. I’m fine if I regularly use magic or put my Magic into items.” Eutel added that his forte was Puppeteering spells.

“Most people in your state can’t use magic at all, by the way. You’re the outlier,” Marx said.

Herscherik turned to William, who was nodding in agreement. “Then why were you bed bound and being treated by the Church?”

Eutel shrugged. “I’ve never been the healthiest person. When I was resting from a summer cold, I noticed that you were up to a few things, Herscherik.”

It had all begun when Eutel was using a form of wind magic to practice his Elemental casting and expend some of his own overflowing Magic Within by eavesdropping on conversations throughout the outer quarters. While the Royal Quarters was protected by magical barriers, none of them protected it from magic cast within the quarters. By coincidence, Eutel had overheard a conversation between Herscherik and his men.

“Then, the Church approached me, having gotten a tip from who-knows-where. You seemed to be struggling against them, so I thought it’d be a perfect opportunity to keep an eye on them.” Eutel added that he hadn’t told Herscherik to prevent him from making any moves that would tip the Church off. However, he also clarified that he would have told Herscherik—if he had come clean.

“I see...” Herscherik said. “Then, you’re safe. Good...”

“You’re more worried about me than the Church? I can’t be mad at you when I see your adorable smile,” Eutel chuckled, producing a small bag from his pocket. “That arch-fake-bishop gave me this on his last visit. A drug that would make me healthy... according to him, anyway.”

“A drug?!” Herscherik couldn’t help but think of the drug that circulated the capital two years prior, which did have the effect of physically strengthening the user. However, the end result was the opposite of healthy, and he told Eutel so.

“Thought so.” Eutel shrugged. “I never took any of it, since it seemed a little too good to be true. Glad I didn’t. Pass this on to your Spellcaster of service, Mark?”

“I’m sure this will help with that antidote. And this definitively links the Church to the drug, Hersch.”

Herscherik nodded. The incidents two years prior didn’t leave them with enough evidence to actually prosecute anyone. Thanks to Eutel, Baron Armin’s last words were proven true.

“Now,” Eutel clapped his hands with a charming smile. “That’s threatening royalty. Let’s unleash some knights on the Church, shall we?” Despite his cutesy-looking gesture, his proposal was quite drastic.

“Calm down, Eutel.” William glared at him.

Eutel countered, still smiling, “I’m perfectly calm. Not only did that arch-idiot break the separation of government and Church, but he threatened the life of the royal family. Why would we ever send our little brother into an obvious trap, anyway? Let’s get rid of that absolute joke of a priest, as soon as possible. For our country’s sake.”

Herscherik felt his perception of Eutel crack and crumble to dust. I thought he was the soft-spoken, sickly prince... Turns out he’s the spitfire with a dark side... Although Eutel was ruthless in his delivery, everything he said was logically sound. Herscherik swore right then that he’d never get on Eutel’s bad side. He knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against his brother in any kind of debate.

“We’re not talking about some vermin here, Eutel...” William said, rubbing his temple as if he was suffering a migraine.

Eutel simply answered, “I’d prefer vermin. They don’t scheme, and they’re easier to get rid of.”

“Excuse me? Knock, knock,” Reinette peeked through the door that had been left open, still dressed in his academy uniform. He looked around the room, then frowned at the sight of Eutel. “It’s always scary to see Eutel’s true colors.”

Eutel smiled. “What was that, Reinette?”

Reinette started. “Nothing, I’m sorry.”

“Something wrong, Reinette?” Marx asked.

Reinette only answered with a serious look and stepped into the room, followed by Arya and Cecily.

Herscherik’s eyes widened as he saw the figure standing between the two other triplets. “Violetta?”

Violetta ran to Herscherik and kept that momentum as she embraced him, which would have knocked Herscherik straight onto his back if it wasn’t for William quickly stepping in.

Herscherik thanked his brother before speaking to Violetta, who just continued to cry in his arms. “What’s wrong, Violetta? Isn’t Jeanne with you today?”

As soon as she heard her sister’s name, even more tears rolled down Violetta’s cheeks.

“Jeanne...! Jeanne...!” She sobbed.

After consoling Violetta into explaining what she’d heard, Herscherik gazed up at the ceiling. Violetta’s words showed that the letter from the Church was legitimate, and Herscherik’s bad feeling had come to fruition. Barbosse is ready to cut off his own daughter so easily...? And I knew he had to be connected with the Church. The silver lining was that it sounded more like an alliance of convenience rather than a true alliance.

“Don’t cry, Violetta. We’ll save Jeanne, I promise,” Herscherik said with a gentle smile. He then gave Violetta to Cecily before turning to his brothers. “I’ll go, exactly as requested.”

“Even if we can’t mobilize the knight’s order or constabulary, we can at least use the royal guards,” Marx said. “You won’t even take them?” Even under the minister’s watch, they could command the royal guards with the king’s direct order.

Herscherik shook his head. “If they see the guards with me, they may hurt Jeanne or Mister Shiro. I need to prioritize their safety.”

“Shiro is the adopted son of the archbishop, and this Jeanne is the daughter of the Marquis Barbosse, right?” Marx asked.

Everyone in the room except Violetta understood the implication. Herscherik understood that all of them heard of their family’s tragedy from their father. Volf Barbosse had taken the lives of the previous king, their uncles, and their oldest sister, disguising the murder as a natural illness. Marx was asking if they really needed to save the daughter of their nemesis and the adoptive son of the archbishop, who was arguably the cause of this entire situation.

“It doesn’t matter who their parents are. Mister Shiro, Jeanne, and Violetta are all people I care about,” Herscherik answered William. Were children responsible for the crimes of their parents? Herscherik didn’t believe so. After getting to know them, even for just a few months, he couldn’t force himself to be so heartless—nor did he want to.

Marx gave up on arguing with his younger brother—not that he expected Herscherik to listen to his advice in the first place. “All right. You have one hour. If we don’t hear from you for an hour after you go into the cathedral, William and I are going in with the royal guards.” This was as far as Marx was willing to compromise.

“Yes. I’m sorry about this.” Herscherik bowed to his family, then glanced at his men of service. “Kuro, Oran. Prepare the carriage, please. We’ll drop Violetta off, then head to the Grand Cathedral.”

“Herscherik,” Cecily countered. “Won’t it be dangerous to send Violetta back to the minister? I vote for keeping her here in the castle.” Cecily held Violetta, stroking her hair to calm her down.

Herscherik shook his head. “It’s more dangerous to keep Violetta here. That may make Barbosse suspicious and he may come to take her away.” He couldn’t bear to mention the possibility that Barbosse could cut her off as he had done to Jeanne. Not in front of Violetta, at any rate. “I have an idea. I’ll make sure Barbosse won’t be able to touch her, even if he suspects something. Please, leave it to me.”

Cecily reluctantly agreed. Now that an agreement had been reached, Herscherik’s men exited the room to make preparations. Marx took William to see their father.

“I’ll be in my room, since I’m supposed to be bedridden. Won’t go too well if they find out I’m not. Oh, and I’ll draft up a formal declaration against the Church,” said Eutel. While it seemed extremely unlikely that the entirety of the Church was involved in this incident, they couldn’t rule out the possibility that the whole hierarchy was connected to Hoenir and had orchestrated the whole thing. Not even the Church could disregard a formal declaration, which would also serve as a warning if things went further south. “We’ll get dirt on the Church and curry some favor with any factions that oppose Hoenir.” Eutel gave a much-too-innocent smile and left the room. The only ones left in the room were Herscherik, Violetta, and the triplets.

“Speaking of, how did you find out what I was doing?” Herscherik asked the triplets. Eutel had overheard a conversation with his men, but he hadn’t figured out how the triplets had found out about his operation. But they were still standing there, without even a look of surprise on their faces.

“We don’t know the details like Eutel does, but we knew that you were sneaking out into town,” Reinette declared as if it was nothing.

“That, combined with the rumors and the timing of your little outings made it easy for us to guess what you were up to, Herscherik. Not to mention how often you went out there... Prince of Light. Of course I’d recognize my own brother, crossdressing or not,” Arya chuckled.

“We were worried sick every time,” Cecily said, as she sat Violetta (who had stopped crying by now) into her chair and began to prepare some tea. She let out a sigh.

In short, they had seen Herscherik leave the castle for some Fortune Favors the Bold operation, and they knew that the rumors about the Prince of Light were actually about him. They had seen Herscherik crossdress, too. I think I underestimated my siblings... If Ryoko’s life counted, Herscherik was over forty years old, which was more than twice the age of his oldest siblings. As a result, he had always seen them as people he had to protect.

But, now that he thought about it, they weren’t children who needed protection all of the time. They matured on their own, thought independently, and chose their own actions. Both William and Eutel had asked Herscherik to trust them. It wasn’t hard to imagine that Marx and the triplets wanted the same from him. “I’m sorry...” Herscherik let out an apology as guilt for how he treated them came rushing in.

“No, we’re looking for a different phrase from you,” Cecily teased as she handed him a cup of tea.

After a moment, Herscherik said, “Cecily, Arya, Reinette. Thank you.”

The triplets answered with three nearly identical smiles.

The sun had gone down, and the street lamps were beginning to light up when a carriage driven by Kuro finally arrived at the Marquis Barbosse’s manor. Oran had ridden his horse alongside the carriage.

“Prince Herscherik!” Barbosse had appeared after receiving word of the party’s arrival while Herscherik had given Violetta a hand to climb down from the carriage. “I’m terribly sorry for Violetta’s behavior...”

“I was simply happy to see her. Wasn’t I, Violetta?”

Violetta nervously looked at Herscherik and held his hand, to which Herscherik returned a gentle smile and a nod. Violetta gave him a nod of her own, and walked away from him to stand beside her father.

Before Barbosse could speak, Herscherik fired the first shot. “Minister Barbosse, I accept the arrangement to marry Violetta.”

Barbosse’s eyes widened. Evidently, he hadn’t expected this answer. “Are you certain, Your Highness?”

Herscherik met Barbosse’s incredulous look with a smile. “I will be back with official papers at a later date. So...” Herscherik’s expression changed. While his mouth maintained the same smile, his eyes pierced the minister. “If any harm comes to my fiancée, you will be held responsible.”

This wasn’t a simple statement of fact, but a threat. Herscherik assumed that Barbosse would grow suspicious of why she had come to him—in secret, no less—and the minister wouldn’t hesitate to kill even his own young daughter, just as he had with Jeanne. That’s why Herscherik had officially declared Violetta his fiancée. If something happened to her, now engaged to a royal, thorough investigations and severe punishment would follow. Those consequences would be dire even for the most powerful man in the country, regardless of his titles.

This was a clear-cut threat. If any harm would come to Violetta, Barbosse would not get away with it.

“Very well...” Barbosse answered.

Herscherik’s glare subsided. “I must be going, now. See you later, Violetta.” He gave her a reassuring smile.

“Yes, Prince Herscherik...”

Herscherik turned around, followed by his men of service. “Shall we?”

“Your wish is our command,” they answered in unison.