“Forty-six...” Bernigi muttered softly as he turned over the page. On his desk in the D’Orazi manor were penmanship worksheets for children. As a small mound had accumulated, so had his sense of accomplishment. His handwriting was so awfully illegible that he had regularly delegated paperwork and letters to his wife and subordinates; it had become all too natural to simply scribble his signature on the bottom and call it done. As such, this situation had befallen him. But if it was for a great-grandchild’s hand, going through a child’s education again was no hardship—so long as his children and grandchildren did not witness this happening, at least.
His attendant and the maids had been dismissed from the study. His instructor and wife Mersela scrutinized the tip of his pen. Though she herself worried about wrinkles and becoming somewhat plumper, with her long, white hair tied into a chignon, she had the dignity and elegance of a mature noblewoman. “It is said that one hundred pages are required for any changes to your handwriting and three hundred pages for you to develop muscle memory, so keep working at it, my dear.”
“And I shall!” Bernigi boomed with enthusiasm as he began carefully scribing ink on the forty-seventh page.
When the boys were young, she had taught them to write as well. Bernigi had once secretly peeked at their littlest son Bernardi’s practice, and it had frankly been terrible—he had been told to take his time and try his best, but his printing had been large and messy, like what one would expect from a child; he’d gripped one edge of his sheet. “I can see that you have improved!” he’d commended his son—then, to add to the encouragement, Bernigi had flipped over the practice page and written, “Just like me” in his own large and messy print.
Bernardi had giggled and treasured that sheet of paper. He’d often said, “Father, I want to become a knight like you,” and in time, he’d done just as he’d proclaimed he would, despite having the magical strength to be a mage; he’d chased his father’s footsteps and become a knight in the Order of Beast Hunters.
How was it, then, that they had come to be at odds with each other? Bernigi hearkened back to the day twenty-odd years ago.
“There is a woman who I’d like to marry—”
In the study, Bernigi smiled when he heard those nervous words coming from his son, a knight who wore his Beast Hunter’s uniform far more properly than his father did. Just the day before yesterday, Bernigi and Mersela had been conversing about how it was about time their youngest son found himself a spouse, but Bernardi had gone on to tell them, “I am yet lacking as a knight, and I have failed to even find romance; I have no intention of marriage.” He rarely, if ever, participated in teas or soirees, so that he himself had found someone came as a surprise.
“Good. And have you told your partner?”
“Yes, and she said yes as well. However...” Bernardi paused and drew his lips tight. His hesitation suggested it was someone less than appropriate, perhaps a noblewoman from another faction or someone with whom he had a large age difference, perhaps even a maid or a worker whom he frequently saw at the castle.
If they shared the same feelings, then Bernigi would like to do whatever he could to facilitate the relationship. “From which family does she come?”
The son’s kite-brown eyes looked unflinchingly into his father’s. “Marcella is her name, and she is a woman from the red-light district.”
Bernigi heard him just fine, but there were a few moments between hearing and understanding. The D’Orazis were a marquisate that traced its lineage back to the founding of the kingdom. It had produced many royal knights and mages, and others even regarded it as possessing prestige. Bernardi had been educated and raised well as a D’Orazi. Why, then, had he been so easily fooled by a prostitute? Their relationship was founded on monetary exchange; there was no doubt she had deceived him. “What joke are you playing, Bernardi?” His words came out stronger and louder than he had meant.
“Father, I am serious.”
“Be rational—this is about money.”
“No, it isn’t, father. She does not wish for nobility or wealth. As long as Marcella and I can be together, I need neither status, my knighthood, nor money. All I want is to be with her.” There was no uncertainty, no humor in his gaze—it was obvious that his feelings were not superficial. But a harlot? Could the same have been said for her?
“Are you deliberately trying to sully the D’Orazi family?”
“If I may not receive your blessing, then please disown me.”
“Calm yourself, you fool!”
“Time will not change a thing! I have been thinking over this for the past two years, and not once has my love for her changed!”
Two years, but Bernigi hadn’t heard it mentioned once, nor had he noticed. The two of them continued their heated exchange, neither yielding one step to the other. This was the first time they had argued, and it hurt his head so.
“I shall return to the barracks, father.” In the end, Bernardi’s farewell was formal—distant, even.
Bernigi only nodded. There was no changing the boy’s mind when he was so infatuated, but perhaps time would cool him down—so he thought, as he pretended to go over some documents and his youngest son walked out of the room. This would be the last interaction he would ever have with Bernardi.
The next day, a hydra appeared at the border. By the time Bernigi found out, it was evening already, and the Beast Hunters had long since been dispatched on sleipnirs; Bernardi had joined the reconnaissance party. Bernigi could not find it in himself to express his concern. His son had never suffered any grave harm since joining the Order, and he would return with merit, or so Bernigi continued to convince and reassure himself, at least. He would return, and they would continue their discussion with cooler heads. And just as he repeated that to himself for the myriadth time, a messenger arrived—Bernardi had been killed in action.
At the same time, a mess of responsibilities fell upon Bernigi; there was no time to mourn his son’s death. The casualties within the royal orders and along the border had been great. There were too many dead and critically injured, and there was a call for others to take their place. Due to the appearance of the hydra, other monsters were moving about; they needed to be exterminated, and nearby settlements had to be on high alert. Then came rumors that the hydra was being chased toward Ordine so Ehrlichia would not suffer more damage, followed by rumors that Ordine was casting spells to direct it to Ehrlichia; the two nations were very tense for some time, to say the least.