“Your Highness, does the confection not suit your taste?”
Seated by the window in Class 1-A, Gilbert looked up from his untouched cup of tea, startled by the voice of a classmate.
“What? Ah, no, it’s good. The berries give it a nice bite.”
“I’m glad! Even though the tea party was canceled, it’s still fun to bring sweets together and share them like this, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It is.”
Most of the faculty had been pulled into an emergency council, leaving the students with an unexpected stretch of free time. Using their own tea sets meant there was no fear of poison, and so Gilbert’s classmates had taken it upon themselves to throw together a makeshift tea party, each bringing their own contributions.
“But what a dreadful business, poison in a teacup of all things. What could the culprit possibly have been after?” The sighing girl across from him lowered her brows, her words carrying the weight of unease. “And to think the victim was from our own class. Reprehensible. Don’t you agree, Your Highness?”
“Ah, yes.”
“And have you heard? They’re saying the grand duke’s daughter is under suspicion! Some even whisper she’s always hated commoners and attempted to hurt Restreive on purpose. Do you think it’s true?”
Gilbert said nothing. He dropped his gaze to the table. Every time those words—the grand duke’s daughter—passed someone’s lips, his chest tightened. No doubt it was because of what had happened earlier in the corridor. When they told him that if he defended Milly, it could cost him the throne, he had fallen silent.
Why didn’t I... Why couldn’t I speak up? The thought kept circling, leaving him hollow.
The truth was, Gilbert had never cared much for the throne at all. He had both an elder brother and a younger one, each with the talent and bearing suited for a king. Gilbert had no ambition to shove his brothers aside and seize the throne, nor any dream or ideal he wanted to realize by becoming king.
He was simply the second prince by birth, gradually drawn into the succession struggle without meaning to be. Even though he held no desire for rank or power, the people kept placing their hopes on him—saying things such as “We want you to be king!”—and that made it impossible for him to step out of the race.
I’m just drifting along with everyone else’s opinions. Thinking about it plainly filled him with misery. Living half-heartedly like that made him overly conscious of the nobles’ moods.
That was why he shied away from the notoriously unpopular grand duke’s household, and why he couldn’t bring himself to defend Milly even though he believed in her innocence.
“I could never say this to her face, but I suspect the grand duke’s daughter, myself,” a classmate confessed. “The other day, when I passed her, she gave me such a fierce glare, I just knew she hated commoners! I honestly thought she was going to kill me.”
If Gilbert weren’t so concerned with appearances, he could have denied that on the spot. He could have told her it was just Milly’s blunt expression that made her seem intimidating, and for the girl who didn’t know Milly’s background, he could have explained that they were childhood friends and that Milly had been different when they were little.
He held back because, at heart, Gilbert was still the same timid boy he’d always been. He worried about what others would think, and because he cared about how he was seen, he considered cutting ties with the grand duke’s house to protect a throne he didn’t want. It was pathetic and infuriating.
“Your Highness? Are you feeling unwell?”
The gallant, kindhearted second prince beloved by the people was nothing but a facade. In truth, when classmates whispered cruel speculations about his childhood friend, he sat mute, unable to defend her. One of the girls leaned forward to peer anxiously into his face.
“Ah, no, I’m fine,” he answered. “Just short on sleep. Would you mind bringing me something sweet?”
“Of course! Please wait just a moment.”
She bustled off, leaving Gilbert to exhale a long, heavy sigh.
Milly wasn’t the culprit. That much would soon come out, but the fact remained that many students already suspected her. And even if the real poisoner were caught, the stain of suspicion might not wash away. The grand duke’s household had earned fresh notoriety, and with that, Milly might be pushed out of the council altogether.
The thought circled in his mind until he nearly drowned in it. He forced himself to remember instead the day of the entrance ceremony. How Milly, saying she wanted to join the council, had smiled with a softness he hadn’t seen since her mother’s death.
Yes. That smile had reassured him. She hadn’t changed, not deep down.
“Gilbert. A word, if you please.”
Lost in memory, Gilbert almost cried out when a voice rang suddenly behind him. He whipped around and nearly dropped his teacup. There was Milly, drifting in through the open window on a broom, her hair full of leaves.
His mouth fell open before his mind caught up. “M-Milly?! What are you doing?! We’re three floors up!”
“Keep your voice down. Do you want my stealing a broom and flying all the way here to go to waste?”
“Y-You what?! And why in the world do you have leaves in your hair?”
“I may have misjudged my approach and flown straight into a tree. But it is rather festive, like being part of the decorations, so you should try it sometime. More importantly, where’s Lady Grey? She isn’t in class right now?” Still hovering on her broom, Milly scanned the room, narrowed her eyes, and muttered, “Not here.” Clearly, she had no intention of explaining herself further.
Gilbert sighed, smoothing the tension from his expression. After all these years, he knew better. Asking Milly for a reasonable explanation was a waste of time.
“She went to Class C,” he said at last. “Said she was looking for Lady Bickel.”
Milly’s gaze flicked to the tea cakes on the table, and Gilbert shoved a cookie into her mouth before she could reach for one.
“She’s going after Brima?” she said, her voice muffled by the crumbs.
“Swallow before you talk. And she should be back soon enough. Said it wouldn’t take more than ten minutes.” Gilbert glanced at the clock. Indeed, nearly ten minutes had passed since Angelina had left.
Milly balanced on her broom with unnerving ease, one hand resting against her chin. “I need to speak with her. Alone, if possible. But I do wonder about something—she’s so wary of me, she may refuse to be anywhere near me without an audience.”
Gilbert frowned. “You have something to discuss with her?”
“Yes, but if she bolts before I can get a word out, it’s pointless. That’s why I thought I’d come take a look from the air first.”
“Why is your version of a compromise always something insane?” he muttered before he could stop himself.
Still, he couldn’t deny her concern had weight. Angelina had clung to his side right up until leaving the classroom, chattering without pause, and eight parts in ten of it had been some variation on: “The grand duke’s daughter terrifies me. How can anyone share a council chamber with such a monster?”
He had tuned her out after a while, but Milly was right. If she so much as beckoned Lady Grey, Angelina would almost certainly make a spectacle of shrieking, “She’s trying to poison me!” Gilbert could see it already.
“But that’s my only option,” Milly said at last. “Time is running out.”
Her face was as impassive as ever, yet there was an urgency in her voice that gave Gilbert pause. For a heartbeat he forgot to answer, caught by the strangeness of it all. Milly, calm to the point of iron even in chaos, looked pressed.
“This is important, isn’t it?” Gilbert finally asked.
“Huh?”
“You said there was something you needed to discuss. But does it absolutely have to be a conversation with just the two of you?”
“Oh, yes. It does.” Milly nodded, then fell into pensive silence.
Gilbert, watching his reflection in her downcast eyes, couldn’t help but recall the scene in the corridor earlier, that moment when he’d failed to defend her. How had he looked in her eyes then?
Knowing Milly, she might have excused it with something like, “It’s no surprise the second prince can’t openly side with the grand duke’s daughter.” But he could just as easily picture her pouting, thinking he might at least have offered some token of reassurance.
What he knew for certain was this: As things stood, in Milly’s mind, Gilbert was still the same unreliable second prince he had always been.
When they were children, he cried in front of her more times than he could count. Cried when she beat him at games, cried when she locked him into some wrestling hold, cried when the grand duke scolded him. That image of a helpless boy must still be etched into her memory.
“If I were the one to summon her, she might actually come.” The words escaped Gilbert’s lips before he realized it, born of sheer frustration at himself.
“What?”
“I don’t know exactly what you intend, but you just want to get her alone, don’t you? If I were to ask her to meet me privately, she’d likely agree. And if I add something about her going there first so the classmates don’t start gossiping, it will sound perfectly natural.”
In other words, the plan was to use Gilbert as bait to draw out Angelina. The second prince was not so dull as to miss all the attention she lavished on him, and he was well aware she favored him. She would surely answer his summons. Then, when she came, Milly could simply take his place and confront her.
Milly seemed to grasp it too. Her sharp eyes widened in surprise. “You... You’d really do that for me?”
“Yes. I don’t like the idea of tricking someone, but if it helps you, then it’s worth it.” If this was the way to make up for not defending her earlier, then so be it. He wanted to be of use to her now, in whatever way he could.
Milly met his gaze, her eyes shining like stars. “Th-Thank you! I swear I’ll make this work!”
What exactly she meant by that, Gilbert had no idea. But with her looking at him like that, there was no way he could refuse. Smiling wryly, he gave a firm nod. “All right. Leave it to me.”