“Now then, where might Tia be?”
Led by Zeno, I made my way toward the western gardens. It was a reasonably large area with expansive lawns, paths winding between flowerbeds and trimmed hedges, so I expected it might take a while to find her.
Fortunately, I located her almost immediately.
Not through any miraculous intuition or “husband’s instinct” or whatever Bard would probably call it, but by following the unmistakably loud voice of a man who clearly fancied himself charming.
“Ah, Lady Bertia, you are radiant as ever! A rose in full bloom! To simply stand within your gaze—what fortune has blessed my humble soul! If it is not too forward of me, might I have the honor of kissing that lovely hand?”
Who, exactly, is the suicidal fool trying to flirt with my wife?
To make matters worse, he had the audacity to call her “Lady Bertia” instead of “Her Highness the Crown Princess.” My close aides—those who’d known her before the marriage—still used that form of address in private, with permission. But this man was clearly doing it to strip away her title, to treat her as an unwed woman.
A dark, molten emotion welled up in my chest. I forced a pleasant smile across my face and began walking toward them.
Behind me, Zeno muttered quietly, “Your Highness, the black aura is leaking again.”
I ignored him. It didn’t need to be contained.
As I drew closer, the would-be suitor came into view. Ah, of course.
Prince Ramtak.
There he was, all oily charm and practiced flattery, kneeling on one knee before Bertia where she sat on the fountain’s edge, his fingers wrapped around her hand.
Not a gesture of affection but a performance.
He wasn’t courting her out of genuine interest. This was something else entirely. Ramtak had always disliked Bertia. His sudden change of tone was too artificial to be anything but a ploy.
The heat in my chest cooled to a low, heavy disgust.
So that’s your game, then.
I furrowed my brow and stepped forward, ready to separate him from her when Bertia suddenly gasped.
“F-Futamata-chan?! N-No, wait! Futamata-chan’s turned into a ‘thousand-handed Mata’!”
“A thousand-handed what?” I echoed under my breath.
Her finger was pointing toward Ramtak’s face, eyes wide with alarm.
Wait, ‘Futamata’? So the serpent’s involved again?
In this world, there were those who could see spirits and those who couldn’t.
To the latter, a spirit’s form remained invisible unless the spirit chose to show itself.
Those who could see them were exceedingly rare, able to perceive a spirit’s presence even when it wished to hide.
Still, spotting one actively concealing itself required focus. The harder a spirit worked to remain unseen, the deeper you had to reach to glimpse it.
I was one of the few born with that ability. Yet right now, I couldn’t see Futamata at all.
Which could only mean one thing. He didn’t want anyone but Bertia to see him.
With that in mind, I centered my breath and turned my gaze toward where Bertia was pointing.
There he was.
Futamata had his tail coiled tightly around Prince Ramtak’s neck, both heads moving so fast they blurred in and out of sight. He’d dart forward, retract, and twist again and again in rapid succession, creating a dozen afterimages that made it look as though he’d sprouted an impossible number of necks.
Ah. So that’s it.
He wasn’t invisible; he was just too fast.
The afterimages were faint and harder to catch than the true form. The eye couldn’t easily follow something moving that violently without conscious focus.
Nearby, Cynthia—who’d been smiling very politely while visibly suppressing her outrage—leaned toward Bertia and whispered, “Um, Lady Bertia, forgive me, but what exactly is a ‘thousand-handed Mata’?”
Her voice was perfectly composed, but her tone was tight with strained courtesy.
Cynthia clearly despised Ramtak’s oily flattery, yet since he was a royal of Seahealby, she couldn’t just interject uninvited. So, she’d been waiting for the right moment.
But once Bertia’s outburst left everyone frozen, including Ramtak himself, she must’ve decided it was safe to move. And spotting me just behind Ramtak had probably helped. With me there, she knew she could afford to act a little more freely.
She stepped closer to Bertia, ostensibly to speak, and at the same time neatly extracted Bertia’s hand from Ramtak’s grasp. Then, with a small, courteous smile, she produced a handkerchief and began gently wiping the spot his fingers had touched.
Cynthia. Even if you’re confident I’ll smooth things over, wiping off the hand of a foreign prince right in front of him is pushing it.
Well, if I were in Cynthia’s place, I probably would’ve done the same thing. So yes, if Prince Ramtak started getting angry, I’d step in to smooth things over.
Bertia, meanwhile, seemed entirely unconcerned about the political tension she’d just caused.
“Senju means ‘a thousand hands,’” she explained brightly. “In Jap— a faraway island country, they have a deity known as Senju Kannon, a divine being with a thousand hands.”
You almost said “Japan” just now, didn’t you?
The “faraway island country” part wasn’t fooling anyone with even a passing knowledge of geography, but at least she was trying to cover her tracks. I decided to let it slide.
“So that’s why I said Senju-Mata-chan! It’s Futamata-chan but with a thousand hands!”
Ah, Bertia. Completely unaware that only she—and, in this case, I and Zeno—could actually see the twin-headed serpent thrashing around.
Naturally, everyone else, including Cynthia, was hearing only the words “thousand-handed Futamata.”
“A thousand hands, two-timing…” Cynthia repeated carefully. “So, in other words, a man with many hands. Someone who’s been reaching where he shouldn’t?”
“That’s exactly right!” Bertia said with an innocent, radiant smile.
The effect was immediate.
The maids’ faces went pale as they all turned toward Prince Ramtak with identical looks of frozen horror, each one realizing the implication that he was the “thousand-handed two-timer.”
Seizing the moment, Cynthia stood and swiftly drew Bertia to her feet, stepping back a few paces to place herself between the prince and her charge.
My guards, stationed nearby, collectively grimaced. One actually muttered, “Oh no,” under his breath. Another, however, was looking at Ramtak with an expression of admiration that would definitely be corrected later. I made a mental note to ask the commander to drill some sense into him.
Zeno, of course, was doubled over, one hand clamped over his mouth, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
Yes, Zeno, I see you understand perfectly. He was well aware of the misunderstanding and was thoroughly enjoying every second of it.
Still, I supposed this wasn’t the worst outcome.
Letting them believe Bertia had simply insulted Ramtak for being an unfaithful flirt was better than revealing there was a visible spirit—a snake god, no less—hanging from his neck.
“Ha? What are you talking about?”
Normally, being accused, however obliquely, of having a thousand hands would be an enormous insult for a royal. Under normal circumstances, Prince Ramtak should have been livid.
Judging by his bewildered expression, it seemed he hadn’t yet heard about Bertia’s infamous “two-timing prophecies.”
Right now, he was simply confused and unsure why everyone’s mood had suddenly curdled around him.
It was, admittedly, a very entertaining sight. Still, Ramtak was a foreign prince, and leaving him to stew in this mess wouldn’t do. Besides, if he suddenly realized what Bertia’s words implied and turned that anger on her, things could escalate quickly.
So, I stepped forward, closing the distance until I could easily reach him.
Apparently exhausted from his furious thrashing, Futamata slowed the rhythm of his attacks. Both serpentine heads swayed lazily now, each wearing a mischievous, utterly unrepentant grin.
Before that grin could turn into another stunt, I reached out, caught both necks in one firm hand, and yanked.
“Shu—?!”
“Guh!”
Futamata hadn’t even realized I was behind him. When he looked up and met my smile, his eyes went wide, and he quickly averted his gaze, expression turning sheepish.
Caught red-handed.
Once I had him under control, things became simple enough. We could all have a little talk later, Bertia included.