Now and then, a few guests resting in the garden turned their heads to watch us pass. A brief smile and the faintest edge of authority in my gaze were enough to make them look away.
We walked at an unhurried pace toward the path leading down to the cove. At the entrance stood a knight on guard duty, who straightened at our approach.
I explained that we wished to walk down to the beach for some air. The knight stammered slightly but recovered quickly, warning us to watch our footing despite the lamps set along the path. He also mentioned that part of the beach had been laid with mats to keep the sand from dirtying fine clothes, and that we were welcome to rest there.
He was visibly tense—speaking with foreign royalty would make any soldier nervous—but his manner was polite and professional.
A good man, I thought as I gave him a nod of thanks.
With his respectful bow behind us, we descended the narrow path.
We’d walked this same route earlier that day, yet under the soft glow of the lanterns and the shroud of night, it felt entirely transformed. The darkness carried the hush of the sea, the salt wind brushing against our faces, the gentle sound of waves replacing the chatter of the ballroom above.
Guiding my overly spirited wife down the slope, I soothed her with quiet words until we finally stepped onto the sand.
Just as the knight had said, wide swaths of the beach were covered with woven mats, and wooden benches had been set up here and there.
Several knights stood discreetly along the perimeter of the beach, far enough away to grant any guest a sense of privacy.
“Ah, ah, ah! It’s the sea! The sea!” Bertia exclaimed, eyes sparkling. “White sand, the ocean, and look, there are rocks over there!”
The moment she caught sight of the moonlit waves, her intoxicated enthusiasm exploded into pure, childlike glee.
“Tia, don’t step off the mats, or your dress will—”
But before I could finish, she was already running.
Too late.
I reached out instinctively, but she was gone before I could stop her, her laughter echoing like a string of bells carried on the wind.
“…”
I felt a stare and turned my head. The knight stationed by the entrance was doing his best to keep a straight face, though the corners of his mouth twitched with suppressed amusement.
I sighed softly, then smiled at him—a calm, pleasant smile that carried just enough weight to make its point.
“My wife is adorable, isn’t she?” I said in a tone as smooth as the sea breeze. “But I’m not particularly fond of others… witnessing her cuter moments. You understand, don’t you?”
The color drained from his face. He straightened so fast I thought I heard his armor creak.
“I— Of course, Your Highness! I will never speak of this to anyone!”
“Good,” I said cheerfully. “I appreciate it.”
Satisfied that he understood, I turned and followed Bertia’s footprints, tiny, erratic marks trailing down the sand toward the edge of the tide.
“Hehe… the water’s so cold! The waves go splash!”
Her bright laughter drifted through the darkness. She was sitting near the edge of the mats now, back to me, the faint glow of the lamps tracing her silhouette. Even in the dim light, I could see the hem of her gown dangerously close to the surf.
For a moment, I braced myself for the sight of her soaked dress and ruined shoes, but then I noticed something odd. The water lapped just short of her feet and veered away, the sand beneath her remaining perfectly dry.
Clever, Kuro.
He must have thrown up a small barrier the moment she ran off, keeping her and her gown miraculously untouched.
“Impressive as always, Kuro,” I murmured. “While you’re at it, could you extend the barrier to us as well? And make it so the knights can’t see too clearly from their posts. Nothing too obvious. Just enough to discourage prying eyes.”
The air grew thick with the presence of shadow, and that meant one thing: this was Kuro’s domain. For a spirit born of darkness, such an hour was ideal, her strength at its peak beneath the moonless veil.
She caught my glance and grinned, raising a thumb.
Then, with a flick of her tail, a ripple of black wind swept past us.
To the eye, nothing seemed to change; the air merely stirred for an instant. But I could tell our surroundings had shifted in subtle ways. My clothing would remain spotless no matter where I stepped, and more importantly, the world beyond our small circle of light could no longer see us clearly.
A faint shimmer in the air told me that Zeno had joined in as well, weaving his wind magic to muffle sound. The night grew softer, quieter, as though the waves themselves had taken a breath and hushed.
Perfect. Even if something questionable were to happen out here, no one would see or hear a thing.
Of course, both Kuro and Zeno had the sense to keep the effects balanced—just enough to avoid suspicion. Still, best not to push our luck. I’ll keep things calm and subtle.
That thought had barely crossed my mind when—
“Lord Ceciiiiiiiil! Look! There’s a snake with two heads!” Bertia cried, eyes wide with wonder. “You know, in the old stories, the Yamata no Orochi always loved sake! Oh? But with only two heads, it doesn’t quite qualify as ‘Yamata,’ does it? Still, it’s drinking happily, so I suppose that’s close enough, isn’t it?”
She shifted slightly, turning toward me with a radiant, tipsy smile.
And there it was.
A two-headed snake, gleaming faintly under the lamplight, its scales catching the moon’s reflection. One head had the mouth of her sake bottle firmly clamped between its fangs, drinking greedily.
“…”
“…”
“…”
The three of us—Kuro, Zeno, and I—stared, speechless.
What exactly was the appropriate reaction to this?
Somehow, this feels very… Bertia.
“Oh my, oh my, oh my!” she chirped, oblivious to our stunned silence. “That’s not fair, is it? Only one head gets to drink? Here you go. The other one’s turn now!”
With a delighted giggle, she pulled the bottle free with a bright pop! and promptly handed it to the other head.
The second head accepted eagerly, tilting back to guzzle the sake while the first watched on in clear resentment, its unblinking eyes practically sulking.
“A two-headed serpent…” I murmured. “Just like the one on this country’s flag. I have a bad feeling.”