Chapter 109
The clatter of carriage wheels.
Amid the clatter, the neighing of horses and the frantic voices of the attendants could be heard.
(...This is a dream.)
In her dream, Tsetsilia sat trembling in her carriage seat.
The maids were trembling violently as well, tears filling their eyes. Tsetsilia, too, wanted to scream in terror.
Even so, to preserve the dignity of a saint, she clenched her fists in her lap and endured the urge to scream.
...But Tsetsilia's flimsy pride was utterly useless in the face of the fear of death.
The carriage jolted violently, then stopped.
The instant someone's death cry rang out outside and the carriage window was dyed red, Tsetsilia could no longer endure it and screamed.
'Kill the saint! Wipe out every last trace of Achenwald's blood!'
'Protect Her Holiness! She is this country's hope!'
The cries to kill the saint and the cries to protect her both drove Tsetsilia into a corner.
(No, no, no more!!)
A dull gleaming sword tip shot out right before Tsetsilia's eyes as an assassin outside thrust it through the carriage.
If she stayed here, she would die!
Panicking, Tsetsilia fell right into the assassin's trap and rushed to the carriage door. She was trying to escape outside.
The moment Tsetsilia laid a hand on the carriage door, Mia, the youngest maid, shoved her.
"Princess, no!!"
There was a wet, visceral sound as the sword pierced flesh.
The blood-soaked sword had gouged Mia in the side.
Tsetsilia's memory cut out for some time after that.
Thanks to the knights who rushed to reinforce them, all the assassins were slain.
But the casualties on their side were far too many.
Blood was everywhere, inside and outside the carriage. Several people were receiving first aid, and among them was Mia, the maid who had shielded Tsetsilia.
As Tsetsilia staggered closer, the guard treating the wounded slowly shook his head with a grave expression.
...She was beyond saving.
"Princess..."
Mia moved lips stained with bloody froth.
Tsetsilia knelt beside Mia and could do nothing but sob.
"Mia... Mia... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."
The maid, younger than Tsetsilia, twisted her face in pain, yet managed to lift the corners of her mouth in a smile.
"...I was able to protect... Her Holiness... Mia is... so proud..."
Ah, ah, Tsetsilia covered her face with trembling hands.
(No... That's not true... I...)
Mia was about to depart for the land of the dead, proud to have protected the saint.
How could Tsetsilia tell such a girl the truth?
(I... truly have no right to be protected by any of you.)
＊ ＊ ＊
Tsetsilia shot upright in bed.
Her entire body was drenched in cold sweat, and her heart was pounding with unpleasant thuds.
Clutching her chest and repeatedly taking ragged breaths, she heard footsteps approaching.
Tsetsilia steadied her breathing and looked toward the footsteps.
A petite girl with light brown hair was looking at Tsetsilia worriedly.
──Good morning, Princess!
"...M...ia."
For an instant, the figure of her dead maid overlapped with the girl before her.
That's right, she too had been a petite, innocent-looking, unassuming girl.
As Tsetsilia stared wide-eyed and rigid, the girl before her—〈Silent Witch〉 Monica Everette—spoke hesitantly.
"Good morning. Um, are you all right, Tsetsilia-sama...? You were having a nightmare."
Monica wore the Seven Sages' robes instead of the previous night's dress robe, her staff held to her chest.
Last night, after Tsetsilia confided her innermost feelings to Monica, she returned to Auzerhorn Palace, where she was staying, changed out of her dress into nightclothes, and continued chatting with Monica in the bedroom for a while.
'Whenever I enter a room and everyone around me turns to look at me... I just want to pull a cloth over my head.'
'I feel safe when I hide inside curtains too.'
'Oh my, hehe... I've never actually gotten inside a curtain, though... Does it make you feel calm?'
'It makes me feel really, really calm... When I was at Minerva, I once fell asleep inside a curtain and got scolded by my professor...'
Their conversation was by no means lively or boisterous; they simply shared old failures little by little, then laughed softly together. That alone was comforting to Tsetsilia.
If her brother or tutors saw her confiding her weaknesses to someone from another country, they would surely frown.
Even so, it was precisely because Monica was from another country that Tsetsilia could let her weaknesses show.
After all, Monica, being from another country, did not expect Tsetsilia to be a strong and wise saint.
In her homeland, Tsetsilia was expected to be a saint, and for a very long time she had been starved of someone to whom she could voice her weaknesses.
The two of them chatted in fits and starts until well past midnight... and somewhere along the way, Tsetsilia dozed off and fell asleep first.
Apparently, Monica had kept watch throughout the night.
"〈Silent Witch〉-sama, I'm sorry... I fell asleep first..."
"No, I'm your guard. And I'm good at staying up late."
Monica smiled with her brows lowered; Tsetsilia clutched the front of her nightclothes and gave an awkward smile.
"〈Silent Witch〉-sama, please go get some rest now. I'm all right..."
"Ah, yes! I'll go call one of the maids!"
Monica bowed politely and headed for the door.
Tsetsilia reflexively called out to her retreating back.
"Um, 〈Silent Witch〉-sama?"
"Y-yes! What is it...? Ah."
Monica had bitten her tongue hard, covered her mouth with a hand, and lowered her head in embarrassment.
(Ah, I understand... When you bite your tongue because you get carried away, it's incredibly awkward, isn't it...)
Murmuring inwardly, Tsetsilia gave a small smile.
"...Will you have tea with me again sometime?"
Monica's cheeks flushed bright red, and she nodded repeatedly. "Yes!"
＊ ＊ ＊
Tsetsilia's most important engagement today was a tea party with Queen Wilma, the Kingdom of Riddle's First Queen.
Only three people were seated at the table: Queen Wilma, her son Prince Lionel, and Tsetsilia.
It was an extremely small tea party, but that was precisely why Tsetsilia could not relax. In other words, this was an interview with Queen Wilma.
Queen Wilma was a princess of Randor, a small country between the Kingdom of Riddle and the Empire, and apparently she had once joined the knights and swung a sword around despite being a woman.
Nowadays, her reddish-brown hair was neatly tied back and she wore a glamorous dress, but her body was muscular enough to show even through the dress. Her features, with their prominent cheekbones and sharp eyes, closely resembled Lionel's.
"Princess Tsetsilia, did you enjoy the ball the other night?"
Queen Wilma began without so much as a smile.
Her blunt manner, devoid of a polite smile, apparently did not mean she disliked Tsetsilia; that was simply how she treated everyone. She was entirely different from Queen Phyllis, the Third Queen, who was always smiling.
Thinking this, Tsetsilia smiled and offered the model answer.
"Yes, it was a wonderful time. Thank you for holding such a grand banquet for me."
"I see."
Queen Wilma answered curtly and took a sip of tea.
Lionel, sitting beside Tsetsilia, made no mention of her condition.
It was probably out of consideration for her, so Queen Wilma would not hear that Tsetsilia had retired early because she was tired the previous night.
(I must thank him discreetly after tea...)
Tsetsilia took a sip of tea and savored the flavor.
It was tea commonly drunk in the Empire as well, and its flavor was familiar. With this, she could offer an inoffensive comment.
As she considered the flow of conversation—perhaps touch a little more on the previous night's ball first, then bring up tea when they ran out of other topics—Queen Wilma returned her cup to its saucer.
"I dislike probing one another. Princess Tsetsilia, let me ask you directly."
The instant Queen Wilma's sharp eyes fixed on Tsetsilia, the atmosphere changed.
The gentle spring afternoon air grew taut, and a heavy sense of intimidation settled on Tsetsilia's shoulders.
"Are you prepared to exchange marriage vows with my son and shoulder the burden of this country?"
Queen Wilma cut straight through the safe, inoffensive conversational course Tsetsilia had been considering.
Queen Wilma's voice was low and powerful. Though she wasn't speaking loudly, it carried a weight and pressure that reverberated in the pit of one's stomach.
Her eyes demanded to know whether Tsetsilia was prepared... but what should she say?
Marrying Lionel was her brother's decision.
As the saint chosen by the Empire's ancient magical artifact, the 〈Mirror of Bern〉, she was to marry into the Kingdom of Riddle and become a hostage.
All Tsetsilia could do was obey.
(...But... I...)
Tsetsilia pressed a hand to her stomach, which ached as though it were being twisted tighter and tighter, with trembling fingers.
It was her brother who had decided she would marry into the Kingdom of Riddle.
Tsetsilia, who was merely obeying her brother's orders, had not the slightest resolve to shoulder the Kingdom of Riddle.
To make matters worse, there was something Tsetsilia was hiding from those around her.
(...I have no value as a hostage...)
She knew she had to nod at Queen Wilma's words, but her tongue trembled and would not move.
She could think of any number of safe, noncommittal things to say to gloss over the situation.
But Queen Wilma surely would not allow her to evade the question with vague words.
(...I...)
How long had Tsetsilia sat in silence with her head bowed?
Suddenly, a gulping sound came from beside her. Lionel had drained his tea in a few great swallows.
Lionel exhaled softly and returned the cup to its saucer.
When Queen Wilma raised one eyebrow and glared at him as though reprimanding his lack of manners, Lionel spoke with a broad smile.
"My apologies for the bad manners. I was thirsty. This is truly delicious tea. It was brewed by the maid Annemarie, wasn't it?"
"Lionel."
At Queen Wilma's reproachful word, Lionel replied boldly without flinching.
"Since this is a tea party, we ought to taste the tea first; otherwise it would be rude to the person who brewed it. Isn't that right, Mother?"
"I was planning to ask you the same thing, Lionel. Are you prepared to shoulder this country?"
Queen Wilma's eyes as she glared at Lionel were as sharp as a bird of prey.
The overwhelming intimidation Queen Wilma radiated made her earlier attitude toward Tsetsilia seem gentle by comparison, yet Lionel said without so much as a change in expression:
"To be honest, I am not yet prepared to become king. I lack confidence. I am a man with no talent beyond swinging a sword. There may be those who would prefer Felix or Albert to become king."
Clear anger and displeasure appeared on Queen Wilma's face.
But before Queen Wilma could raise her voice to rebuke him, Lionel continued.
"However, I love this country. That is precisely why I intend to do everything in my power to make it a better place. Are you not satisfied with that answer?"
Lionel said this gently and cast a brief glance at Tsetsilia.
For an instant, Tsetsilia saw Lionel smile at her kindly.
"If I am not prepared, it would be strange for me to demand that Princess Tsetsilia be prepared. Mother, could you give me a little more time—until I can tell you that I am ready?"
At Lionel's words, Tsetsilia realized with certainty.
(...No.)
Until recently, factions supporting the First Prince and Second Prince had been at odds in the Kingdom of Riddle.
But Duke Crockford, leader of the Second Prince's faction, had fallen from power, and the Second Prince had renounced his right to succession.
If Lionel refused to become king under these circumstances, the nobles of the realm would split once more, and a new structure of conflict would emerge.
There was no way Lionel failed to understand that.
(He had long since resolved to become king.)
And yet he had said he was not prepared in order to divert Queen Wilma's attack away from Tsetsilia.
Queen Wilma had surely realized Lionel's intention as well.
She looked back and forth between Lionel and Tsetsilia with the eyes of a bird of prey, then spoke.
"A king is often required to make swift decisions. If you insist on taking your time, you will only put your own neck in a noose."
"That's harsh. Then I suppose I'd better steel myself before Mother puts a noose around my neck."
Lionel flashed his white teeth in a grin and called out to a servant.
"Sorry, but please bring me another cup of tea! And tell the person who brewed it that it was truly delicious!"
As Tsetsilia gazed at Lionel's rugged profile, a host of emotions welled up in her chest.
Lionel was a person like the sun.
Unlike her brother, who was like a black sun that burned everything to ash, he was a warm spring sun that gently illuminated new shoots.
(How dazzling he is...)
The feelings welling up in Tsetsilia's chest were gratitude and admiration.
...And that was precisely why she could not help hanging her head.
(Someone like me could never be a match for him.)