As Klifford walked the Great Corridor, he ruminated.
What did Octavia mean to him…?
She was the Sovereign to his Adjutant. She was the eldest princess whom he served as her bodyguard. But, as a man, how did he feel about her?
When she asked him, he had answered:
“A weapon…maybe?”
He felt like he had found his answer. To him, Octavia was like a weapon.
“Like this—”
He felt for her the same way he felt about the longsword he kept on his waist.
He felt upset whenever anyone besides him touched it.
He felt a need to care for its blade when it was tarnished.
He felt uneasy, unless it was with him.
Back in the dungeon, when discomfort had led him to fix the flowers in Octavia’s hair—the same discomfort he felt when the eldest prince fixed the flowers in her hair in the town square—it was because somebody other than him had done the gesture.
Whenever Octavia was hurt, he was angry.
Whenever she was away, he felt uneasy.
What he felt for her—it was incredibly similar to what he felt for his weapons.
Ever since the first time he used a dagger to take a life and save his own, weapons were the one thing he could depend on.
In silence, he rested his hand on his head briefly…then removed it.
He felt nothing, which was to be expected.
But when Octavia had touched his head…
It was, in contrast, not at all discomforting to him.
If anything, just the opposite…
Perhaps this was the sort of feeling an Adjutant was supposed to have for a Sovereign. When Octavia, his Sovereign who he cherished like his weapon, gifted him a new tassel for his sword—perhaps that was why he had liked the gift so much.
He served Octavia, the Princess Blackfeather, and he had a wreven feather ornament to match. He had considered the concept itself deeply intriguing. However—
“Klifford Alderton.”
Klifford stopped when he recognized who called his name. He was standing in the center of the Great Corridor before Klifford had arrived. It was just like that night long ago, but that night, it had been the younger prince Alexis, looking up at the painting on the ceiling.
“Have you ever wanted to kill yourself?”
“No,” Klifford answered curtly.
Not once had Klifford ever wanted to die. He would sooner kill someone else.
“I see. I’ve never wanted to kill myself as much as I do right now. I’m afraid—that tomorrow, I’ll forget my true desires, Octavia, everything.”
It was the eldest prince, Sirius. He looked no different than he had back in the dungeon. Rather, he was certainly the same man…but something clicked inside Klifford at the sight of him. Sirius had said so himself: memories. If memories were what made a personality, the man standing before him now was the true eldest prince of Esfia.
Either man was the eldest prince of Esfia, but the one before him now seemed more troubled.
“When tomorrow comes, I’ll likely be wary of you again.”
“Aren’t you wary of me now?”
“Wary? Of you? Because you’re the Emissary of Ongarne? Well, at the very least, when tomorrow comes, I’ll be stuck on the theory that Octavia has trained you as her dog to steal the crown and take Sil away from me.” He punctuated the thought with a deep sigh. “I’m still not completely free—and I struggle to know why. Why must my sister have that burden forced on her?”
“…………” Klifford didn’t answer.
“I would never be wary of you—unless you’re using Octavia and mean to betray her. If anything, Klifford Alderton, I think you’re a valuable asset.”
“Your words honor me…” His tone was passive aggressive, but Sirius didn’t seem to notice or care.
“I want to employ you as my own bodyguard.”
“Is that why you sent me to the dungeon?”
“Erm… Sorry about that. I’ll probably take back everything I just said tomorrow anyway… But what’s your answer?”
“I decline the offer.”
“Yeah… I assumed as much.” Sirius crossed his arms and gave a gracious nod.
“What do you want with me?”
Klifford was in no mood to play games. Sirius had come to the Great Corridor to wait for Klifford, anticipating his arrival.
“You surely want something. Otherwise, wouldn’t you be talking to Hugh Roberts instead?”
For just a moment, the prince’s face twisted with anguish. “After Octavia left, I stayed behind in the dungeon. You know that. Hugh and I…we talked. He talked with me—and with the other me, too. But our conversation is none of your business. I doubt it interests you anyway.”
He was right. Klifford had not a mite of interest in Hugh Roberts’s betrayal and the reason behind it. Even if he could understand it logically, he could not empathize in the slightest.
That’s why it was incomprehensible.
It was incomprehensible that Hugh Roberts’s actions would hurt Octavia, and not physically. Physically speaking, Octavia had not received any new wounds since the fight at the junior ball.
But her heart was wounded.
And even the wounds of her heart enraged Klifford.
He was enraged that something so trivial had hurt her, too.
Am I also angry at Octavia? For letting something so trivial hurt her?
The sudden question gave him pause.
Is this the sort of feeling an Adjutant is supposed to have for a Sovereign?
Sirius walked forward a few paces. He stood directly beneath the center of the painting which adorned the ceiling of the Great Corridor.
“I came to the Great Corridor…so I could remember.”
He looked up at the creation myth painting, searching for something, but Klifford didn’t even glance upward. The image would upset him.
“It was in here…that I lost a portion of my memory. But who did it to me? That, I can’t remember. It’s in a haze.”
That was understandable. Most people wouldn’t be able to remember such a thing. It was stranger that he was able to remember any of it at all. It wasn’t a feat that could be achieved by pure will alone. Thinking of it that way, you could say Sirius was putting up an abnormally powerful resistance.
“But only a small number of people are permitted in the Great Corridor. As such, I’ve been at least somewhat cautious around those people.”
Esfia’s eldest prince looked up at the painting on the ceiling, taking in the Sky God’s mercy and wrath as he murmured, “The first person I can think of is—” Releasing his gaze from the ceiling, he spoke the name. “Alexis.” Then he repeated the name. “Alexis. Be wary of him.”
He didn’t have to tell Klifford that twice.
“You don’t look at all surprised.”
Klifford just responded with a question of his own. “Why did you tell me this?”
“Octavia…she trusts you. Octavia is the one person Alexis can’t hurt. But if she were to lose you, Octavia’s heart would break.”
Would her heart really break…?
Klifford’s brows furrowed at the thought. A strange emotion welled up inside of him, but he did not know what to call it.
“You’d never do what Hugh did, would you?”
He remembered the question Octavia asked him just a little while ago. When she’d asked it, a question had formed in his mind.
If he did betray Octavia like Hugh betrayed Sirius…what would Octavia do?
As his gaze fell to the floor, the black feathers of his sword tassel reflected in his eyes.
—Fin.