“Father, please contact grandfather immediately.”
“There’s no need. They’ll handle it over there.”
Even after he heard his son’s report and learned that the last generation’s heads of the Robur household—his parents—were in danger, the man’s response was curt.
I had come here under the pretext of reconsidering a previously submitted application, but the way things had turned out was quite interesting. His son surely must never have imagined I was listening alongside his father.
The communication device sat between us. It was a circular plate set with a round magic stone, but the stone itself was as large as an infant’s head, making the device rather hefty. A generation ago it would have been even larger, the size of a toddler’s head, so this had been a considerable improvement. Still, it remained inconvenient to carry.
Magic stones of this size were precious, and when fashioned into a device like this, the cost became exorbitant. Even among high nobility, few possessed one. Consequently, though the Academy provided a few for public communication, users remained limited.
“But that woman—I mean, Duchess Robur—harbors a clear intent to kill grandmother! Admittedly only at a basic level, but she can now wield magic and even control beasts. She’s dangerous!”
“That woman,” eh. It seemed the former Duchess Robur had been abandoned by her son.
I glanced at the document bearing my signature and seal, which had just become today’s official stance.
“There is no need for any concern over your grandmother. If your mother tries to harm her, she’ll get her comeuppance.”
“But...”
“Enough. Leave her be.”
“Father...”
With that, the nation’s most powerful mage, Laiyevist Robur, severed the magical power supply to the communication device. The private office of the captain of the Royal Mage Corps fell silent.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Sure about what?” Laiyevist said with utter indifference. “If you’re done here, shouldn’t you return to your duties as king?”
He remained as devoid of emotion as ever. His tone didn’t bother me, though. We weren’t in public, and he was the younger brother of my late friend—someone I’d known before I ascended the throne.
Both children of the Robur family seemed to have inherited their grandmother’s spirit, surpassing even their parents... No, that wasn’t quite right. The girl’s ideas and actions were far too eccentric; far beyond anything any of her relatives had ever done. The only way in which she resembled her grandmother was her appearance—she had that in common with my late friend.
“Your mother is being targeted,” I pointed out. “Is she not in danger?”
“Why would that be?” His expression suggested he genuinely couldn’t grasp the meaning of my question. He was probably right. As he’d told his son earlier, even if the previous Lady Robur were targeted, he was absolutely certain she would remain unharmed.
It wasn’t merely that the previous Robur head could protect his wife. The absolute protection bestowed upon that lady by Princess Beljeanne during her lifetime still functioned to this day.
Even so, I stared intently at Laiyevist’s face. He looked younger than his actual age. That consistent attitude since childhood, showing no interest in anything but magic. Couldn’t something be done about it? The only glimmer of interest was toward his mother and brother, but even that had faded as he grew older.
I was close in age to Laiyevist’s late brother. At first, it was the elder brother who had come to the castle as a friend and potential confidant, deepening ties with the young lords of other houses. But perhaps he’d been concerned about his emotionally detached younger brother; at some point, he’d begun bringing his brother to court with him.
“Heh.” Oops. I’d just recalled that time—the diminutive, adorable Laiyevist, walking along hand in hand with his brother. But I knew very well that even if I accidentally laughed, he’d still show no reaction whatsoever. Unless magic was involved, he showed little interest even in family. His utter inability to direct interest or concern toward anything beyond his own passions truly marked him as one who’d inherited the Robur temperament.
Yet, having known him for so long, I understood. Although his interest was far thinner than that of the average noble parent, to say he had no affection for his own children would be untrue. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have personally taught healing magic to his son at such a young age.
Honestly, teaching healing magic—which demanded concentration and imagination—to a child with limited magical knowledge was quite troublesome. A child’s magic control was still immature, so attempting to thread magic through such fine points often led to magical mishaps.
That aside... Even if the previous lady had insisted the previous head of the household enforce it, having the entire household gather for dinner once a month? Knowing this man, I was surprised it’d lasted this long. And for Laiyevist himself to suggest breaking off his daughter’s engagement? I never saw that coming. I’d assumed it would be his son, the next head, if anyone.
“Shall I hand over the documents?” I asked.
“Please report if there are any developments.”
Thinking there was nothing more interesting to be gained by pressing Laiyevist further, I obediently handed over the documents in my hands. Unconcerned by the usual lack of response, I left the room and returned to my quarters.
With impressive timing, a wind carrying a hint of magic blew through the room, followed seconds later by a voice calling my name. I recognized it as one of my sons by both the magic and the tone.
“What is it, Regulus?” I asked. Few would dare teleport into my private chambers without permission. Naturally, this room was protected by a barrier spell that denied entry to all save those I authorized. That was the point.
“You know something about the Robur family head and his wife, don’t you?” my son asked.
“I know about some things and know nothing about others. What are you getting at?”
As always, when that lady was involved, my son threw all his abilities into action. Was this what they called a first-love fool?
I had been raised from birth to be king. Therefore, I was unfamiliar with the subtleties of such emotions. Given my position, I offered appropriate praise and consideration to the queen and consorts for their respective roles, but I did not understand ordinary love or affection. Thanks to my children, however, I’d come to understand family love to some degree. Yet I often judged them through the lens of a king.
“I was with Mihail Robur,” Regulus told me.
I chuckled inwardly—he was accounting for the possibility I might have overheard the Robur heir’s report to his father. As an heir to the throne, it was only prudent for him to be wary of me as king.
“I see.”
I absolutely did not believe my royal bloodline was somehow noble. My father, the previous king, had completely secluded himself in a building called the Palace Retreat by the time I’d become aware of my surroundings. The building was about the size of a small villa, the sort nobles occasionally built as what they called an “atelier.”
My coronation ceremony had taken place in the early spring of my nineteenth year. At that time, I’d seen the previous king seated for the ceremony, flanked by the then Duke Robur behind him and his two queens on either side. That was the last time I’d seen my father. He’d appeared terribly haggard and emaciated, casting frightened glances around him and trembling slightly. He’d looked far older than his years.
I couldn’t say how my two half brothers had felt, but for me, the eldest son, no emotion had stirred. More than my father, it was the then Duke Robur who’d caught my attention then. His cold, emerald-green eyes had held what could only be called a quiet murderous intent. He’d been directing that gaze, however vaguely, toward the king. At the time, I hadn’t understood why.
Barely months after my coronation, my grandfather, who had been king before my father, secluded himself within a palace built beside my father’s retreat at the edge of the royal castle. For a long time, he had kept the late king formally in the public eye while effectively ruling behind the scenes with his son’s two wives, the previous queens. For someone who’d wielded such power, his departure was remarkably abrupt.
The night before my grandfather’s seclusion, I’d been summoned to his villa. He’d wished to tell me personally the truth about the late princess, who was infamous as a villainess.
As he’d recounted the tale of the princess, I’d learned of the sacrifice made by the previous Lord and Lady Robur—the couple blessed by all as destined lovers who’d become husband and wife. Only then did I understand the reason behind the murderous intent that had dwelled within those golden-green eyes.
Yet what my grandfather spoke of that day was not the whole story. At the time, I’d had no way of knowing. But the truth was so shocking that even now I could not recall how I’d returned to my room in the main castle afterward. As I’d left the palace, though, I had caught sight of my father’s building next door through the window; it was then that I’d realized.
My father had long been confined to a building with no windows and only a single entrance. And my grandfather’s palace was a place for him to personally monitor his son and quietly suppress his son’s feelings for his daughter.
Less than two years later, on a winter morning, both my grandfather and father had passed away. The funeral, led by my mother, the queen mother, had been attended only by the royal family. Though it was said to be the deceased’s wish, it had been a wretchedly bleak ceremony.
Standing close together, two frail figures gazed at the coffins sinking into the earth.
“You chose that anniversary of passing, didn’t you?” said a former consort of my father’s.
The queen mother, who had also been a consort, nodded in agreement. “Yes.”
Only my queen and I understood whose anniversary it was. But at that moment, I did not grasp why both women fixed their gazes—those emerald eyes flickering with murderous intent—upon the coffins.
I learned the full truth, including the secret of the princess’s birth, only much later.
I had learned about it when a diary was found in the detached palace where my grandfather had been temporarily confined, not long before Regulus became cursed. My grandfather, burdened by something akin to his own sins, had not told me everything.
Perhaps someday, Regulus, too, would read the diary I’d hidden once more. Although that thought crossed my mind, the words I spoke aloud to him were something entirely different.
“The divorce requested by Duke Robur has been finalized.”
But the perceptive Regulus pressed further: “Only under national law, I presume?”