Chapter 36

3. A Birdcage of Iron Chains When Shizuku had started college, she’d experienced the anxiety of living away from her family for the first time in her life. That anxiety, however, had faded after about a month. All alone, she woke up, did her chores, took classes, and then came home. She’d gotten used to that lifestyle. Although it had been almost three months since she’d arrived in Kisk, Shizuku was keenly aware that she was yet to adjust to her new way of life. “Excuse me,” Shizuku called out as she entered the spacious room. Everything in the room was pale green. As soon as she stepped inside, Shizuku bowed to the woman who was reading a book in a chair she’d placed by the window. Shizuku covered the woman’s stomach with the shawl she’d brought, and the woman smiled up at her. “Thanks, Shizuku.” “No worries. Is there anything else you need?” “No. It feels like time’s been passing really slowly lately.” A vague sense of calm radiated from Seilené’s expression. The first time they’d met, Shizuku had been struck by how self-important she seemed, but of late, that seemed to have faded almost to nothing. As the monotonous days passed, she seemed to have become one with her unborn child, who was slumbering in amniotic fluid. She’d become a shadow of her former self… Shizuku saw her every day, yet she felt unable to ask what was weighing on her mind. Seilené caressed her round belly. Her eyes didn’t seem to focus on anything as she distractedly gazed out of the window. “Hey. Could you take care of this baby once it’s born?” she asked. “We’ve already arranged for a wet nurse, but I’ll help out in any way I can.” “Thanks. That makes me feel…a little bit better.” Seilené let out a deep sigh, then leaned back in her chair, almost as though she were sinking into it. She must have been anxious about the impending birth. It occurred to Shizuku that getting Faneet to take her place might calm Seilené down. She silently bowed to the woman, then looked back at the clock. “Shizuku,” Seilené called her. “When I’m gone, I want you to hide that book somewhere.” “I’m not sure I can make any promises…” When would Seilené be leaving? If it was after the child had grown somewhat, Shizuku wasn’t sure she’d still be in the country. However, Seilené gently shook her head. “It’s just hypothetical. I’m talking about that untitled book. You remember it, right?” Shizuku gulped slightly. That was precisely what she had been wanting to ask Seilené about. She glanced at the bookcase. The navy-blue, leather-bound book was still on the shelf. Is this my chance? Shizuku hesitated for a moment, then made up her mind and opened her mouth to speak. “Are you from Anneli, Seilené?” Seilené hadn’t heard of Flower Rain Day—an event that everyone from Kisk seemed to know—meaning she must be from abroad. What’s more, she’d reacted upon hearing Lyshien’s name. Lyshien might have been the princess of Anneli, but her very existence had been kept secret. Didn’t that indicate that Seilené had been in a position close to her? The mysterious woman’s eyes widened slightly. “You do ask some funny questions. No, I’m not,” she replied. “Are you from Rozsark, then?” “…” After being released from her confinement, Lyshien had lived briefly as a hostage in the neighboring country of Rozsark. Shizuku also recalled seeing a book on Rozsark’s history in Seilené’s bookcase. Shizuku had never truly suspected Seilené was from Anneli—this was her real question. Niké had let Lyshien get away, but he’d also said that he had a “substitute.” Most likely, that “substitute” was someone who could provide information about Rozsark’s king. “Did you offer Kisk information about Rozsark in exchange for protection for yourself and your unborn child?” Shizuku had come to the conclusion that Seilené must be in Kisk because, for some reason, she’d been left with no choice but to leave her homeland and seek refuge here. Seilené looked at Shizuku. After a long silence, she sighed. “And where are you from?” she asked. “I…” If Shizuku were to answer that question, she would have said, “I’m from nowhere.” As she hesitated over what to say, Seilené watched her intently. The look in her eyes was somewhat indistinct, and her thoughts were unreadable. “To say that I sought protection for my child sounds too noble,” Seilené continued in a voice that made it impossible to tell how she was feeling. “I weighed Rozsark up against Kisk and chose the one that offered more for both me and my child. That’s all there was to it.” Seilené averted her gaze and looked out of the window. This seemed to signal that their conversation was over. Still, Shizuku felt like she’d gotten pretty close to the core of the matter. For now, that was enough for her. Shizuku silently bowed again and was about to leave Seilené’s presence when a hoarse voice called out from behind her. “But I do wonder…did I really do that of my own volition?” “Huh?” What did that mean? Shizuku turned around, but Seilené was still looking outside. She stroked her belly with a pale hand. “Don’t give that book to Farsas, Shizuku,” she added. “Don’t give it to Farsas? Why not?” But Seilené didn’t answer. Shizuku would never have given Seilené’s personal belongings to Farsas anyway, so why would she say such a thing? Confused, Shizuku waited for Seilené to continue, but it didn’t look like she was going to budge. That last comment she’d made was delivered in a monotone, as if she were reading off a script. Still puzzling over it, Shizuku left the room. That evening, however, Seilené’s labor pains began. “You’ll be okay! Just breathe!” Shizuku told the woman lying on the bed in pain. It had been two days since her labor pains started, and the waves of pain had pushed Seilené’s stamina to its limits. With each contraction, Seilené writhed in agony. Shizuku found the situation incredibly intense—especially considering she’d never witnessed childbirth before—yet she stayed by Seilené’s side the whole time, even forgetting to sleep or feed herself. She rubbed Seilené’s lower back when she was hurting and gave her words of encouragement as they waited for the moment to arrive. However, on the morning of the third day, a mage doctor arrived. “She’s almost at her limit,” he declared with finality. The mage insisted on getting the baby out using magical intervention, pointing out that Seilené had almost exhausted all her energy. Having learned about this method beforehand, Shizuku nearly objected to the risky procedure, yet she couldn’t deny that Seilené was getting weaker. Shizuku reluctantly entrusted Seilené to the mages and exited the room. Faneet was in the antechamber, and he served her some hot tea. “You have nothing to worry about,” he told her. “The baby will be fine. In the meantime, you should get some rest.” “Yeah… Maybe you’re right. What about you?” “I’m staying here.” His response was decisive and forceful. Although Faneet wasn’t allowed to enter the birthing room, he’d been waiting in the adjacent room since Seilené had gone into labor, without even taking any breaks. His unshakable tone reassured Shizuku. “Can I sleep for a little while, then? Wake me if anything happens.” “I will.” Stifling a yawn, Shizuku left and returned to her chambers deep inside the castle. Her room was about 140 square feet in size and contained nothing more than the basics, making it look plain at first glance. That said, all of the furniture she’d been supplied with was of superior quality. After washing away her sweat in her bathroom and wrapping her wet hair in a towel, Shizuku crawled into bed. Exhaustion soon took hold of her, and she fell into a deep sleep almost immediately. As she slept soundly, Shizuku had many dreams. She dreamed about her family and friends, being at home, being at university—and she dreamed of her travels with him. It was as if, one by one, her memories of times gone by had been extracted and were displayed, glittering inside a glass cabinet. Shizuku knew she was dreaming…and that alone was enough to make her feel a little bit sad. Shizuku had been completely exhausted, but she was jarred awake by a weight pressing down on her body. In fact, it might be more accurate to say that it had fallen on top of her. The sudden impact made her catch her breath. “Guh… What?!” The room had gone dark in no time at all. As she shouted, Shizuku looked down at her bed…and was left speechless. “What are you doing? Is this a prank?” A man was lying face down on top of her blanket. She hadn’t seen the mage in question for a while, and his sudden presence made Shizuku grimace. The absurdity of the situation made her feel like she was still dreaming. Maybe she actually was. Still in a daze, she gently shook her head as she put on the jacket by her bedside. “Hey, Niké. What are you in here all of a sudden? At least knock…or bang on the door before you come in.” Suppressing a yawn, Shizuku hit Niké on the back of the head, but he didn’t reply. She began to frown—but finally realized something was amiss. Beneath his body, the blanket had gradually started to turn crimson. The unmistakable scent of blood immediately made Shizuku feel wide awake. She shoved her legs out of the bed and leaped toward Niké. “What’s going on? Niké! You idiot!” There was no response. Shizuku cradled the unconscious man’s head. At that moment, Shizuku heard something that sounded like an insect buzzing above her head. She looked up. In the dimly lit room, a small golden arrow was suspended in midair—dripping blood from its tip. It was vital to always have more than one plan. If Ortea truly wanted to bring Farsas down, she needed a meticulously thought-out strategy. However, Niké suspected that what she really wanted was to create pandemonium. Farsas was said to be the strongest nation on the continent, and Ortea wanted nothing more than to plunge it into uncontrollable chaos. Even if Kisk ended up getting dragged into the commotion and war ensued, the princess wouldn’t care. That was why there was no need for a detailed plan. She just needed multiple sparks to ignite the flames. Niké was working to make this a reality, subtly fueling animosity in the Rosta region as well as making trips to Farsas. He had carefully selected and made contact with disgruntled lords and nobles who’d been mistreated by the castle, skillfully sowing the seeds of rebellion by dangling enticing pieces of bait in front of them. Having been tasked with carrying out secret operations in multiple locations, it was no coincidence that Niké spotted Leuticia. Leuticia had shown up on the evening of the first uprising in the Rosta region. With their lord, Tigor, out of the picture, dissatisfaction among the people of Rosta had gradually increased. One evening, this brewing unrest erupted into a large-scale looting spree in the town where the former residents of Casola resided. The town of Caribala, which was frequented by merchants from Farsas, was attacked by weapon-wielding mobs, instantly turning the settlement into a battlefield. The people of Casola must have already sensed that a threat was coming, because all the residents either chose to fight back or flee the border town completely. Despite all the screams, shouts, and flowing blood, barely any soldiers rushed to the scene. They stayed silent, having been bought off by the people who loathed Casola. From the lookout tower on the outskirts of the town, the burning shops almost looked like bright, blooming flowers. Niké had been observing the situation from afar when he suddenly noticed that the fire in a shop about to burn to the ground had been extinguished. His expression shifted. “What?” He strained his eyes to see a woman standing in front of the shop. Her long, black hair was illuminated by the red flames, and the sight of her beautifully sculpted profile made Niké catch his breath. “The princess of Farsas!” That woman wasn’t supposed to be in a place like this. She was one of the continent’s best mages. Even if she’d been near the border, the fact that she was here, beyond the borders of her own country, meant that she must have gotten hold of some kind of intel. Leuticia was neutralizing the rioters as she continued to put out the flames. “This isn’t good… She’s combatting it too quickly.” It would cause problems if the conflict was quelled at this early stage. Ortea intended to escalate this chaos into war with Farsas. But—what if this was actually a great opportunity? It was rare for the Farsasian princess to be within Kisk’s borders, especially in the midst of a riot. Anything could happen in a situation like this. The royal siblings of Farsas had always been thorns in Kisk’s side. If assassinating the pair had been feasible, the country wouldn’t have had to resort to these measures. “All right…” Niké quickly finished his calculations and began to formulate a spell. He channeled enough force to penetrate Leuticia’s protective barrier in a single strike and aimed it at the woman standing on the road. He was far enough away that she wouldn’t notice him. Plus, he doubted he’d miss. Leuticia’s barrier was thin, presumably because she was focused on extinguishing the fires. Niké was well aware of his own strength and knew it was most effective when used in this way. “It’s time to say good-bye…Princess of Farsas.” With a flick of his fingers, the condensed power transformed into a small sphere, which Niké sent hurtling toward her. The silver ball traced an arc through the air, heading toward the woman’s head. When Niké saw the flawless trajectory it was following, he was convinced he was going to succeed. The sphere was supposed to pierce the woman’s temple. Yet just before it touched her black hair, it burst open. Leuticia turned her head and looked toward her shocked attacker. Despite the considerable distance between them, the beautiful woman seemed like she could see him perfectly well. Her relentless stare sent a shudder down Niké’s spine. He’d fallen into her trap. Leuticia had made her barrier look thinner on purpose to make him believe he could kill her. She’d provided him with an opportunity and waited eagerly for him to act on it. She knew the people who’d repeatedly attempted to attack her and her brother would strike again. Not all of the assassination attempts had been carried out by Niké himself; he’d also hired assassins through intermediaries. But right then, he’d been blinded by what he perceived as a perfect opportunity and had taken action himself. Having deflected Niké’s attack, Leuticia started muttering something under her breath. “This is bad…!” Niké knew he couldn’t win if Leuticia challenged him head-on, and he immediately began to put together a teleportation spell. But it was too late… The homing arrow that Leuticia created had already memorized Niké’s magical energy. The golden arrow floating in the center of the room trembled slightly, almost as if it were alive. Suddenly, its tip turned toward Niké, who’d fallen face down. Shizuku quickly shielded him with her body, gritting her teeth in anticipation of the pain. Yet the agony she expected never came. Instead, she heard the muffled voice of a man coming from beneath her. “You’re so heavy…you stupid woman…” “Shut up! Wait, you’re alive?!” “Don’t just assume…I’m dead… Anyway…listen to me… The arrow’s stopped, right…?” Shizuku lifted her head slightly. He was right; the arrow appeared to be spinning in place, as if it had lost track of its target. “Yeah…it has. But what are we supposed to do now?” “It’s tracking me… But it’s not as accurate now that it’s away from the caster… And it can’t see me because of you…” “Oh! It can’t see you because I’m clinging onto you?!” The arrow seemed to be made of magic and must have been programmed to track down and attack Niké. However, it had stopped functioning effectively now that it was so far away from Leuticia. With Shizuku shielding Niké from harm, the arrow had partially lost sight of its target and was unable to decide on its next move. “But what do we do? We can’t stay like this forever,” said Shizuku. “Five seconds. Then I’ll keep it distracted… During that time, you’ll have to break it,” replied Niké. “With my hands?” The arrow looked like it would give her an electric shock if she touched it. Shizuku stared at her hands. Either way, there was no time to hesitate. Niké was hurt. She nodded slightly. “Got it. Let’s go.” Shizuku tapped her fingers against the man’s body as she counted, then lunged at the golden arrow right on cue. It was a nerve-racking moment—but the arrow ended up slipping through her hands at a terrifying speed, hurtling toward Niké’s back. “Wait…!” I thought you were going to keep it distracted! Shizuku screamed internally as she flung herself across the bed. She reached for the arrow as it threatened to pierce Niké’s skin. I might not be quick enough. An indescribable chill seized hold of her heart. Still, Shizuku didn’t allow herself to freeze in fear. She bent forward, focused solely on the arrow’s path. In her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of a red bloodstain. For a moment, she prepared herself for Niké’s death. And yet the arrow, dripping with blood…stopped just before piercing his back. Shizuku’s fingers touched it where it trembled in the air. “Ow…!” A searing pain coursed through her. Her reflex was to pull her hand away, but she managed to overcome her instincts with sheer willpower and grabbed hold of the arrow, forcefully snapping it into two. The pain made her feel faint. I don’t think I can take it anymore, she thought to herself, but the next thing she knew, the magic arrow had dissolved like snow in her hands. Dazed by the lingering pain, Shizuku hurriedly brushed off the golden particles that clung to her fingers. “Gah, that hurt… That should do it, right, Niké?” There was no reply. All Shizuku could hear was a pained groan. It was only then that Shizuku finally realized she’d stepped on the back of the injured Niké’s head with all her weight. The woman’s well-shaped eyebrows shot up. Noticing this slight change in her expression, the young man sitting opposite her looked up. Using nothing but his gaze, he wordlessly asked what had happened. When Leuticia noticed he was looking at her, she let out a small sigh. “It’s been destroyed. I thought I’d be able to finish him off…but it seems he teleported several times, which made it hard to pin him down.” There was a hint of self-reproach in her voice. The young man neither comforted nor chastised her. He simply nodded silently and looked up at the ceiling. Leuticia rested an elbow on the table and propped up her chin with her hand. “Well, at least I have a pretty good idea who’s behind this now. And I found out something interesting, too.” “You did?” “Yes…about Vivia. It might not live up to your expectations, though,” she said, flashing an ambiguous smile. The young man didn’t reply. He just let out an irritated sigh and began spreading his papers on the table. The arrow had kept following him, no matter how many times he’d teleported. Niké had made peace with his own death fairly early on. After all, he was up against the Farsasian royal family. There was no way he’d be able to escape. He could try to defend himself, but their attacks would keep finding him until he died. Even if he managed to flee to a faraway location and the arrow became weaker, it would be impossible for a person to destroy it on their own. The golden arrow, an example of advanced tracking magic, would accelerate if a spell was cast. It was designed specifically for killing mages. The only possible way to destroy it was to ask a non-mage for help. But who was Niké supposed to turn to? The officers and mages who worked for the castle despised him for his unwavering loyalty to Ortea. Even Faneet, who served the same master, didn’t think much of Niké and his obedience to the princess. He didn’t have any allies. He was going to be killed, pitiful and alone. He’d known for a long time things would end that way. The moment he’d surrendered himself to Ortea and relinquished his dignity and free will to her, he’d forfeited his right to a dignified death. It had happened just four years earlier. Alongside the mage who was acting as his mentor, Niké had made a direct appeal to Ortea about her tyrannical behavior. It had come in opposition to the execution order that one of the mages had been given. Looking back at it now, though, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. If Niké had known the princess’s inclinations at the time, he probably would have said it couldn’t be helped. However, back then, the princess’s decision had seemed like an expression of arrogance that couldn’t be ignored. Niké had stood in front of the princess filled with righteous indignation—and watched his mentor’s eyes be gouged out. If Niké had been asked which part of the whole ordeal he found most frightening, his answer would have been simple: all of it. “You’ve displeased me, so give me your eyes,” the princess had said. Niké’s mentor had shown no signs of hesitation as he fell to his knees. Everything, from Faneet pinning Niké’s mentor down from behind to the fifteen-year-old girl thrusting her fingers into the middle-aged mage’s eyes, had been chillingly abnormal. None of them had lashed out or kicked up a fuss; they’d just carried out the task matter-of-factly, as if they were from an entirely different world. When Niké saw his master clutching at his now hollow eye sockets, his terror had reached its breaking point. The man had a stern, righteous, and honest nature, and when Ortea had asked him how he felt, he’d turned his bloodied face to the princess, smiled, and said, “Thank you.” It was incomprehensible. Fear took over Niké, rooting him to the spot. The indignation he’d felt upon entering the room had been smashed to smithereens within a matter of minutes, alongside his free will and his very understanding of the world around him. “You’re next,” the princess had told him—but having been overwhelmed by a perverse kind of intimidation, Niké had reversed his stance and begged for mercy. He’d groveled on his trembling hands and knees; even now, he could clearly remember the sensation of his forehead rubbing against the floor. His mentor calling out his name and the princess’s derisive laughter as well. Those were Niké’s memories of the loss he’d experienced at seventeen—a loss he’d never be able to recover from. That day, his life had changed completely. For the past four years, Niké had worked diligently for the princess, even though the mages he’d once called friends scorned him and called him a dog. With a mixture of fear and disgust underlying his facade of obedience, he’d silently turned his back on his mentor, who’d left the castle with no eyes, and on his fellow mage, who’d been executed as planned. Faced with his own impending death—something he’d always known was coming—the image of a certain woman came to mind. Unlike him, she hadn’t let herself accept defeat. If she’d been there on that day, in that moment, would she have been able to stick to her principles? He was annoyed that a small part of him wished they’d met sooner. “Oh, you’re alive,” said a foolish-sounding voice from right beside him. The brightness made Niké cover his eyes with his arms, but the girl wouldn’t let him. Not only did she pull his arms away, she even went as far as to pull his eyelids open. She brought the magic light closer as she peered into his right eye. “Hey. You are alive, aren’t you?” “That’s so bright! What are you trying to do?!” “I wasn’t sure if your pupils had dilated.” “Well, check some other way!” Niké instinctively yelled. He noticed the pain had disappeared from his body, and he stood up. His clothes were still bloodstained, but his wounds had already healed. The blood on his mage attire was dry, suggesting that a considerable amount of time had passed. Although the room was dark, Shizuku was awake and looked unperturbed. “I managed to catch a mage and got him to tend to your wounds. I thought about moving you to your room, but it seemed like too much of a bother.” “…So this is your room?” “You’re the one who came here. Cleaning your blood off the sheets was quite a challenge.” She placed a laundry basket at his feet. “Now that you’re awake, take those off. I’ll get rid of the stains,” Shizuku said, pointing at Niké’s clothes. There was a problem, though; mage attire was all in one piece, with the top and bottom parts joined together. Shizuku either didn’t know how mage uniforms worked, or she didn’t view him as a man, but either way, she was being overly meddlesome, and Niké clicked his tongue at her. “I’d rather go back to my own room than undress here,” he said. “Feel free. But if you don’t clean that blood properly, you’ll be stuck with it.” “It’s okay. I’ll just throw these clothes away.” The moment he stood up, Niké was overcome by dizziness. He must have lost too much blood. Still, he waved off Shizuku’s concerned look and reached out for the door, then stepped into the dark hallway. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked. “Of course. You should go to sleep, too,” Niké replied. “I’m not sleepy.” As he began to walk away, Shizuku offered him a magic candlestick. “Take this. It is the middle of the night.” Niké stared at the item in her hand. He could illuminate his own path. Candlesticks like that were for court ladies who couldn’t use magic. Still… “…I’ll give it back to you later,” he said. “Sure. Take care.” “Sorry about this.” Shizuku’s eyes widened, but Niké chose not to concern himself any further. He resumed striding in the direction of his own room. He thought of himself as a person who was prepared to die at any moment. The things he’d done were a testament to that, and he wasn’t going to change anytime soon. However, despite this, why was it that he couldn’t help but feel relieved that he hadn’t given up? No amount of pondering over it would give him an answer—and even if it did, that answer would only serve as a burden. Maybe it all boiled down to something simple…like the warmth of the light he was holding in his hands. After Niké left, Shizuku quickly tidied up her room. She glanced at the clock. It was still before dawn. At one point, she went to check how Seilené was doing, only to be told that the surgery was still ongoing and that she wasn’t allowed to enter the birthing room. So Shizuku decided to pay another visit later on. The cafeteria wasn’t open yet, so she made some tea and nibbled on some bread instead. The idea of a child being born made her strangely restless, even if it wasn’t her own. The fact that she’d been appointed the child’s educator only added to that sense of unease. After eating her simple breakfast, Shizuku opened one of her books. None of the information seemed to be registering, though, so instead she got dressed and headed back to the birthing room. The room was discreetly nestled deep within the castle. The surrounding corridors had been buzzing with anticipation when she’d visited two hours earlier, yet now they were eerily silent. Had Seilené finished giving birth? Tormented by a sense of foreboding, Shizuku’s steps naturally became more sluggish. Just then, a man called out to her from behind. “You’re awake already?” “Faneet. How’s Seilené? Did she have the baby?” “Yes. You should come with me. This way.” Shizuku changed directions, scurrying along behind the tall man. She was guided to one of the royal family’s rooms that had until now been unused. Shizuku glanced around the spacious area decorated in hues of pale blue and white. The furnishings were eye-catching, and the room itself had large windows, intricately carved stone pillars, and unvarnished wooden shelves adorned with delicate dolls. It didn’t really feel like a child’s bedroom, but it was undoubtedly more luxurious than the room Seilené had been in before. Shizuku, who’d had a middle-class upbringing, couldn’t help but let out a sigh of admiration. “This room is amazing, just like the rest of them. I’ve gotten used to it at this point, but it still surprises me at times.” “What’s amazing about it?” “People who spend all their time in royal palaces wouldn’t understand.” Whenever Shizuku and her sisters saw fancy hotel suites on TV, they would always say how they’d love to stay there for a night. Yet now that Shizuku had actually been inside royal bedrooms, she actually felt like she’d struggle to sleep comfortably there. Shizuku pointed at the door that led to the bedchamber itself. “That way?” “Yes. The baby’s asleep at the moment.” Upon seeing Faneet, the guards standing in front of the door bowed and stepped aside. Shizuku nodded in their direction as she slipped between them, then pushed the door open as quietly as possible. The first thing she saw was white gauze suspended from metal fittings on the ceiling, shielding the bed from view. Shizuku got Faneet’s permission to carefully push the fabric aside. She peeked through the curtain. When she spotted the sleeping infant lying in the center of the wide bed, her breath caught in her throat. The baby was even smaller than she’d expected, almost like an exquisitely crafted doll. The pure white skin appeared incredibly soft and delicate, and a pair of long eyelashes fluttered occasionally, as if in a dream. Shizuku gazed in awe at the baby’s beautiful, perfectly formed features. “Is it a boy or a girl?” “A boy.” “Oh, wow. He’s going to be a handsome young man.” Not wanting to wake him, Shizuku stepped back outside the canopy. Once her nervousness had dissipated, she realized she and Faneet were the only ones in the room besides the infant. “Where’s Seilené?” she asked. “She left the castle and went to another palace in the east. She’s going to rest there for a while,” Faneet explained. “Already? But she only gave birth a few hours ago.” “She used a teleportation ring. I chaperoned her, and she seemed to be doing fine. She asked me to pass along her regards.” “I see…” She might only have been working for Seilené for a month, but Shizuku still hadn’t expected them to be torn apart so suddenly. The fact that she hadn’t been able to say good-bye made her feel sad and disappointed. But right at that moment, something that Seilené had asked her came to mind. “You know, she was planning on giving one of her possessions to me. Did you hear anything about that?” “I don’t think so. Was it a precious stone or something similar?” “No, a book. Do you think it’s still around?” “I would expect so. They’re cleaning her room this morning, so you should ask one of the court ladies.” “Thanks.” Shizuku could ask a court lady for help, but without a title, the book would be hard to identify. It would probably be quicker for her to swing by the room and grab it on her way back. With that plan in mind, Shizuku went to leave the bedchamber. However, before she opened the door, she looked over her shoulder and glanced at Faneet, who was standing by the side of the bed. “The truth is…I had a sneaking suspicion that you were the father of Seilené’s baby,” she admitted. “That couldn’t be further from the truth. If it were my child, there’s no way the princess would concern herself with it.” “You might be right about that. Who is the father, then?” The question was somewhat of a joke. Shizuku was by no means expecting to receive an answer. Yet despite this, Faneet replied to her in a flat tone of voice. “Who knows? It’s probably the king of Farsas.” “…What?” The king of Farsas was somebody that Shizuku knew all too well. Faneet’s incendiary answer wasn’t comical enough to be a joke, and it left Shizuku speechless. But no matter how hard she stared into Faneet’s eyes, he wouldn’t expand on it. So with a heavy feeling in her chest—apprehension, perhaps—Shizuku eventually left the room. On her way back, Shizuku headed to the room that Seilené had been using before giving birth. She used her extra key to enter the empty chambers, then took the navy-blue book from the bookcase. The room looked exactly the same as it had three days earlier, yet Shizuku felt a slight flicker of unease in the corner of her mind. That discomfort, however, refused to take on a tangible form, and Shizuku was too drained from everything she’d been through to identify it. Clutching the book, she put the ownerless room behind her. A week had passed since the child had secretly been born inside the castle, and in one corner of Kisk’s castle city, a street diner was crowded with travelers, mercenaries, and people from all sorts of other walks of life. Among the crowd were more burly men than usual, a consequence of ongoing riots in the Rosta region. The inside of the diner seemed perpetually dark and dingy, likely because the windows were so small. In the corner of the room, a man grumbled to his companion as he cut up a slab of meat. “It’s no use. There are no decent jobs here. Maybe there’s something in Rosta.” “You were the one who said we should come to Kisk, right? You said that Farsas doesn’t employ mercenaries…” “Yeah, but the castle isn’t doing anything, and the nobles are just running around in circles. Kisk’s intentions are even harder to discern than I had thought. At this rate, a messy conflict could break out at any moment.” “I couldn’t care less,” Lydia replied indifferently, picking up a piece of meat with her fingers. Although her skills were on par with the best royal mages, people often avoided employing magic-wielding mercenaries in wars. Their lack of experience in group combat made them difficult to manage. Lydia hated the idea of being bossed around by people she didn’t like—which was precisely why she’d refused to work for a castle. She’d never go out of her way to take on work related to war. Nobles in Kisk had sensed unrest and were recruiting for their own private armies. Lydia, however, had immediately dismissed these opportunities, saying, “I don’t like standing around and waiting for something to happen.” Taking a sip of her fruit wine, she took a piece of the meat Tarkis was cutting and moved it onto her own plate, as if it was an entirely normal thing to do. “How about we head north? Apparently, demonic spirits have started showing up in the western part of Medial, the Great Nation in the north. I heard they’re recruiting mercenaries in droves to form hunting parties, so even alone, there’d be no shortage of work.” “Demon hunting, huh?” Tarkis replied. “Not exactly my forte.” “I like it—it’s quick and easy. If you don’t want to, I’ll just go by myself.” “Traveling’s a hassle without you around. Maybe I’ll join you after all…” Having been unable to settle on a plan, the pair put a pin in their conversation and focused on their meal. A short while later, however, a man came over to their table. The hood of his robe was pulled down over his eyes to conceal his face, and it was clear from his demeanor that he worked for the upper classes. He began to speak, purposely stifling his voice. “I’m looking for a skilled mercenary capable of infiltrating a building unassisted.” “Do you want a mage or a swordsman? What’s the objective here?” “Assassination. It doesn’t matter what kind of mercenary you are, as long as you have the skills.” “Assassination’s out of our wheelhouse,” Tarkis replied curtly, waving his hand dismissively. “Go and find someone who specializes in that kind of thing.” The man in the robe, however, refused to retreat. He kept persisting, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Our target frequently employs assassins themself. If we use a skilled professional, our plan might get uncovered, so we’d prefer to employ someone from outside the usual circles.” “Assassins aren’t that loose-lipped, you know.” Something sounded off about all this. The act of trying to employ an assassin was obviously suspicious in and of itself, but given the client’s apparent status and the current circumstances in Kisk, it felt especially worrying. No matter how many times Tarkis tried to turn the man down, he persisted. Reluctantly, Tarkis told him about a small tavern frequented by mercenaries. While ordinary folk seldom visited it, a number of his acquaintances regularly did; although you could find many skilled individuals there, most of them were volatile characters. Much like the woman beside him, they’d refuse to take on a task that didn’t appeal to them, no matter how large the reward was. After Tarkis had told him how to find the tavern, the man expressed his gratitude and left three silver coins on the table. This was enough to cover their meal, and they’d even have a little left over. Once the man had departed, Lydia raised her voice in dismay. “Argh, what a shady character. Do these people just assume we can’t see right through them?” “Who knows? Maybe none of us really knows ourself,” Tarkis concluded vaguely. Then he called over the server and ordered some more meat. Lydia, who’d taken most of Tarkis’s original meal for herself, subtly stuck out her tongue and ordered another drink for herself. Tryphina, the queen involved in the foundation of Kisk, had married the princes of two different kingdoms and given birth to five children. Born from the mingling of these three royal bloodlines, the nation quickly rose to prominence, overpowering neighboring countries and cementing itself as a major power. However, the early days of Kisk weren’t all sunshine and rainbows. Queen Tryphina, the country’s first ruler, passed away in an accident at the age of thirty-three. That was just one of several incidents that had been kept secret. Very few people were familiar with these tragedies—all of which were the product of twisted emotions. “I don’t care for children. Why else do you think you’re here?” Ortea predictably responded. “I knew you would say that,” replied Shizuku frankly, tipping the teapot in her hand. As far as Shizuku knew, Ortea’s room was the most chaotic in the entire castle. It should have been spacious, yet it was crammed with strange furniture and other knick-knacks that suited the princess’s tastes. Among these trinkets, Shizuku had found something that resembled a small teapot. She’d discarded the wilted flowers it contained, washed it out and then prepared some tea in it while she gave the princess her latest update. “He’s a very well-behaved baby. I doubt he’d cause you any trouble,” she offered. “How many times do I have to give you the same answer? Quit nagging me,” retorted Ortea. “I thought some extra information might make you change your mind.” Since the birth of the child, Shizuku’s already busy schedule had become even more hectic. She spent about ten hours a day with the infant, during which she took intermittent breaks. That said, the child’s wet nurse, who attended to the baby day and night, must have had it even tougher. “Would you like to meet him?” Shizuku had asked while she was updating the princess on the baby, who was almost two weeks old now. Ortea had dismissed this suggestion, however, and Shizuku served her some red-hued tea. The princess silently accepted the drink and took a sip. “Don’t make me repeat myself. I am not going to meet him. Not until he can greet me properly anyway.” “That will take at least three years. Feel free to let me know if you ever change your mind.” The fiery side to the princess that Shizuku had caught a glimpse of some time ago hadn’t resurfaced. Instead, she’d reverted to her impenetrable, frosty attitude. Ortea’s resolute, haughty demeanor suggested that she wanted to prevent Shizuku from delving beneath her facade. Shizuku sensed this and refrained from prying too intrusively, well aware that the very act of uncovering a secret could hurt somebody. Instead, Shizuku refused to let Ortea’s disdain upset her and faced it head-on. This was a different approach from that of her two male colleagues, and it had the potential to both please and annoy the princess. A certain sense of superiority that she was “difficult to kill” was required to employ this tactic. Shizuku didn’t hesitate to make use of the advantage this gave her. Without her, there’d be no one else who could share their honest opinions with the princess. That meant nobody would be able to question Ortea’s true intentions, either. “Princess, there’s something I want to ask you,” she began. Shizuku wasn’t bothered about unearthing the princess’s deepest thoughts, and right now, there was something that she was desperate to ascertain. When Ortea noticed Shizuku narrowing her dark eyes at her, the princess stopped sipping her tea and raised her face. “What is it?” “Whose child is Vied?” Shizuku asked. This question had been nagging at Shizuku for the whole two weeks he’d been alive. Why was Ortea making sure that this infant, who didn’t seem to have any power, was so well taken care of? The child was being treated with an excessive amount of care. Shizuku knew that the castle had agreed to take care of Seilené and her baby, but there had to be more to it than that. The only likely explanation lay in the identity of the father, who’d given the boy his name. Ortea looked bored, and the corners of her mouth curled upward. “He’s Seilené’s, obviously. You must know that.” “I’m asking about his father, obviously. Seilené isn’t from Kisk, right? Whose wife is she?” Seilené hadn’t said so explicitly, but she was most likely from Rozsark. The fact that she knew about Lyshien suggested that she’d been a member of the royal court—which begged the question, who was the father of her child? Steam drifted from Ortea’s teacup as she gracefully placed it back on the table. She uncrossed her slender legs, then repositioned them. “What are you going to do with that information? Don’t you think Seilené herself is the only one who truly knows the answer to that?” “But you must know who the father is. You wouldn’t have taken them under your wing otherwise. Is Vied’s father really the king of Farsas?” The two women locked eyes. The ensuing silence made Shizuku nervous. If Ortea said yes, that would place Vied clearly at the center of the conflict between the two nations. Had Faneet been joking, or not? If Lars was Vied’s father, that would explain why Ortea had taken Seilené in. As things stood, Lars and Leuticia were the only direct descendants of the Farsasian royal line. If something happened to them and Ortea showed up with Lars’s child in her arms…the crown of Farsas could fall straight into her hands. As the child’s educator, Shizuku couldn’t bring herself to turn a blind eye to that possibility. Shizuku’s steadfast demeanor evoked an icy sneer from Ortea. “Good question. Still, even if he were the father, it wouldn’t mean a thing unless he owned up to it, would it?” “If this wasn’t the Farsasian royal family we were talking about, I’d be inclined to agree with you,” Shizuku said, staring at her master. In this world, there was no such thing as paternity tests. It was impossible to prove that someone was the father of a child, even using magic. If both parents were mages, similarities could sometimes be observed in the child’s powers, but if not, family resemblance was all there was to go by. However, the royal family of Farsas was an exception to that rule. “Farsas is home to the royal sword Akashia and the royal family’s mystical spirits… Only direct descendants of the throne can inherit them.” “So you’re saying that even if—hypothetically speaking—the king were to deny he was the father of a child, the royal sword could prove that they were related to him?” Everyone knew that Leuticia, the only other direct descendant of the royal family, hadn’t been pregnant, so in that case, they’d have to assume that the newborn royal’s father was Lars. Before questioning Ortea, Shizuku had caught Niké and dragged some information out of him. He’d admitted that “the royal sword deems only the legitimate spouses of previous kings or persons within five degrees of kinship to be direct descendants of the throne.” His reaction had been incredibly awkward and hesitant, so Niké must have known Vied’s true identity as well. Still, if Shizuku pressed him for any more information, it could literally cost him his head, which left her with no choice but to get confirmation from Ortea. The Bewitching Princess gracefully feigned ignorance. “You make a good point, but you’re still within the realm of fantasy. Even if Vied is directly related to the Farsasian royal family, it won’t mean a thing if that man takes a legitimate wife and fathers a successor.” “You’re sure about that? Aren’t you trying to instigate a war with Farsas?” The atmosphere in the room grew even tenser. Shizuku picked up on this but continued nonetheless. “You’ve summoned Tigor to your castle, only to continuously ignore his pleas for help. Meanwhile, terrible riots are breaking out near the border of Farsas, and some citizens are even taking refuge in the country.” “‘Refuge.’ That’s amusing. Until just a few decades ago, those people were citizens of the state of Casola…under Farsas’s dominion.” “Those who’ve fled have turned to their compatriots in Farsas for help, and their animosity toward Kisk is being amplified with each passing day.” Ortea covered her mouth with her fan and returned Shizuku’s gaze. Her eyes, beautifully outlined by makeup, were the only part of her face that Shizuku could see. They looked like the eyes of a cat, shining in the darkness of the night. Concealing both herself and her true intentions, Ortea directed her amused gaze down toward her prey. Supremely arrogant, she wore malice as if it were an accessory, which only added to Shizuku’s discomfort. Since her master was refusing to reply, Shizuku shared her own conclusion. “Your aim…is to kill the king of Farsas in the midst of a war, isn’t it?” If Akashia could prove that the baby was a direct descendant of the royal family, then there was no need for the father to be alive. In fact, the man currently on the throne was nothing but an obstacle. Ortea had Vied in her possession, so from her perspective there wasn’t a single reason to keep Lars alive. All she needed to do was to lure him to his death. If someone other than Ortea had gotten hold of the baby of the king of Farsas, Shizuku was sure they would have been more cautious and come up with a foolproof plan. First, they would have made their mark on the baby from a young age, taking on the role of his guardian. Then they’d openly claim that Vied was Lars’s eldest child and the heir to the throne, and from there, enter into negotiations with Farsas. That would have been a much more reliable strategy. Naturally, it would be an issue if Lars or Leuticia had a child while the baby was being raised. Still, that didn’t change the fact that forcibly starting a war to kill the two of them was reckless. Even if Ortea succeeded in having them assassinated during the conflict, people wouldn’t look too kindly at an heir who was in the care of an enemy nation. Farsas was supposed to be the most powerful nation on the continent. Any normal person would have searched for a more prudent plan with a better likelihood of success. Ortea, however, was always impatient. She wasn’t going to wait. She couldn’t endure the years it would take for the child to grow up. Once Seilené had gotten close to her due date, the princess had even asked, “Can’t we cut the baby out?” Shizuku doubted that Ortea would wait until Vied became aware of the world around him. Interfering with Farsas was not something she was doing for any official purpose, but as a source of amusement. All she wanted was to trigger immediate change and chaos. “What an interesting thing to say.” Ortea stared Shizuku square in the face. Her cat-like eyes looked different depending on what angle you looked at them from and the way the light hit them, revealing a myriad of emotions that seemed to surface from within. Sometimes, her gaze was like that of a child. At others, it was that of an old woman. It appeared callous in a way, yet innocent at the same time. Ortea pushed away any effort to understand her, yet she also seemed to hate feeling isolated. She concealed her wounds while rejoicing in others’ pain. While she was a competent administrator and ruthless ruler, her thoughts remained undecided but disorganized. Shizuku wondered whether Ortea realized how unstable her mental state truly was. The princess reminded Shizuku of distorted glasswork, and suddenly Ortea began to cackle. “Didn’t that man tell you, Shizuku? Farsas deeply cherishes the direct royal bloodline.” “I don’t know anything about that. Is it because of Akashia?” “Yes. Both Akashia and the spirits are relics from the past that were bestowed upon Farsas. They cling onto them, desperate to preserve their bloodline.” “…” Shizuku, for one, didn’t see it that way. From her point of view, Lars and Leuticia seemed rather easygoing. Farsas must have looked different from Kisk’s perspective, although their viewpoint stemmed from prejudices shaped by the times and their environment. “You want to know something? I’m bored. I’ll spend all my life tied down by this castle, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Even if I went on a trip to try to lift my mood, I wouldn’t be able to stay away for long—there are too many incompetent people here. I’d have no choice but to return to this room, like a bird in a cage.” The windows were closed, and a stale scent lingered in the air. A sense of gloom was piling up in that room, devoid of a single ray of light. “Who wouldn’t want a little entertainment if they were in my shoes? With just a little effort, I can make something interesting happen. It’s not very often you get to see Farsas flustered. It’ll be quite the show.” Her master almost looked content, and a lump formed in Shizuku’s throat. How could Ortea be at peace with who she was? Was she aware of the contradictions in what she was saying, but choosing to ignore them? The way in which she deceived herself echoed that of a certain queen—the lonely woman who’d been around at the founding of this country. Was Ortea like this because of the wounds she harbored? Festering wounds leaked incessantly and scorched a person’s soul. They made small distortions in your character and slowly made them bigger and bigger. You could feel like you’d come so far, only to turn around and see the twisted path in your wake, just like the eerily labyrinthine corridors of the castle. But you couldn’t continue down that warped path forever. Shizuku gave voice to the haze that had settled in her chest. “You’re not stuck in any birdcage, Princess. You can leave whenever you wish.” “What would everyone do without me? The country would be in disarray within days.” “It’s your mischief that will lead Kisk to ruin. If you lose, the country will fall.” Ortea might have been Kisk’s medicine, but she was also its poison. Without a doubt, some things worked better with Ortea around. However, that didn’t mean she could get away with treating the country like her own personal property and run it into the ground. If she hated being bound to the castle, she could leave. Someone would continue to govern the country, even after she was gone. Shizuku was the only person who would tell her this. She knew she’d end up in Ortea’s bad books for doing so, and just as she’d predicted, the princess gave her an icy glare. “Are you suggesting I’m harming this country?” Ortea asked. “At this rate, I have no choice but to say yes. Please consider another course of action.” “What would you know? You’re just an ignorant girl.” “If that’s the issue, then ask other people for their opinions. Most seem to believe that if full-scale war were to break out, Kisk would likely suffer defeat…” A sinister smile appeared on Ortea’s face—undeniably dark, yet joyful at the same time. It was as if she were a flower bud, flourishing in the face of her nation’s demise. The childlike delight in her eyes made Shizuku shudder. That was probably just the kind of person she was. Ortea’s mindset was inconsistent. She was likely torn between her assumption that she couldn’t leave the castle and her desire to do exactly that. Despite wanting to believe she was indispensable to her nation, she found that same country a burden. She was restless, unable to find peace. That was why she’d become lonely and cruel. Although she claimed she wanted to witness something entertaining, Ortea would never actually be satisfied by anything she saw. At that moment, Shizuku caught a glimpse of the void within the princess—a woman so different from her, despite being the same age. Ortea erupted with laughter and suddenly threw the fan she was holding. It grazed Shizuku’s face and landed behind her. Though it didn’t seem targeted at anyone in particular, a sadistic look crossed the princess’s face, and she sneered. “It wouldn’t be so bad if this country did fall into ruin. Why should I care? All nations perish eventually.” “A country is not your personal plaything. It would be better to let go of it than destroy it.” “Don’t get too big for your boots, Shizuku. If you prattle on too much, I might consider cutting off your ears as a punishment. Don’t worry—you can just hide what’s left of them with your hair.” Ortea snorted with laughter. The princess’s casual manner of speaking made Shizuku feel even more terrified, and the tension she’d experienced in their first encounter came rushing back. It seemed unwise to press her any further. She knew Ortea wouldn’t hesitate to cut off her ears. If Shizuku backed down now, however, nothing was going to improve for either of them. Their abnormal day-to-day lives would continue to play out, just the same as before. Although neither one of them had yet reached their twentieth birthday, their lives would be destined to remain the same. Would someone tell them what they were missing? Or would they continue living their lives, oblivious to the truth? If that happened, it would just be painful. “…I don’t enjoy pain,” Shizuku admitted. “If you were to hurt me, I’d find myself begging for your forgiveness.” Ortea’s threat horrified Shizuku, but at the same time, she felt a sense of calm wash over her. At that moment, she wasn’t angry—just empty. “But that wouldn’t mean I agreed with what you were saying. It would just show I’d succumbed to the pain.” If she couldn’t get through to Ortea, then there was nothing else to do about it. However, Shizuku wasn’t prepared to give up trying to communicate. She was determined to express how she felt. Even if the only response she received was a blade against her skin, she was now prepared to resign herself to her fate. Shizuku had suffered the pain of not knowing who she truly was, too. They were one and the same. Shizuku didn’t want to leave Ortea behind, stuck in the same place. She wanted to try to reach out to her. She didn’t care if it was a mistake or if it was a presumptuous thing to do. Shizuku’s response caused the other woman to furrow her slender eyebrows. Ortea began to speak, her voice tinged with annoyance. “You’re such a smart-ass. A submission is a submission, no matter how you try to twist it.” “That’s not true. You can’t change that way.” “I changed.” “No, you haven’t. You can’t change if you don’t want to.” Shizuku picked up the dagger that was lying on the table and stood right in front of the princess. She knelt on the rug and offered her its handle. “Here.” Shizuku was offering someone else a weapon so they could hurt her. Ortea stared at the dagger, her eyes wide. Which of them was really afraid of death? As she closed her eyes and waited for the blade, Shizuku’s face appeared profoundly sorrowful, perhaps due to the shadow that Ortea was casting over it. “You…” Ortea caught her breath—but only for a few seconds. She quickly came back to her senses and gripped the handle of her dagger, pulling it from its sheath. Then she swung the exposed blade straight down toward Shizuku’s left ear. The dull knife grazed Shizuku’s ear and cut into her shoulder. “Aaagh!” The shock made Shizuku feel like fire was coming from her eyes, and she fell into a heap on the ground, clutching her shoulder. Tears streamed down her face from the pain. “Let that sink in, you fool,” said Ortea, her voice uncharacteristically monotonous. As Shizuku huddled over, writhing, the princess tossed the blade onto her back. It made a dull thud, and the well-worn, ornamental dagger tumbled onto the rug. Shizuku bit her lip to stifle a sob, overwhelmed by the agony the blunt blade had inflicted. It hurt so badly she wanted to pass out. Still, she knew that wouldn’t happen, so Shizuku mustered all her strength to lift herself up and fixed her gaze on her master. Ortea, however, simply kept her eyes averted. Realizing the princess wasn’t going to look at her, Shizuku bowed deeply. She left the room, her trembling legs close to collapse as she dragged them across the floor. Left alone, Ortea didn’t lift her head. She didn’t look at Shizuku as she walked away. Instead, the princess just stared intently at the dagger that had fallen to the floor. After a little while, she started hugging her knees like a child. “What goes on inside that head of yours? Are you a masochist?” “Not at all. I hate pain. In fact, I hate anything grotesque.” Shizuku rubbed her shoulder, having had her injuries healed by magic. She still felt a trace of that sharp pain, even though the physical soreness had vanished. Niké was looking at her as if she were some sort of incomprehensible creature. He’d found Shizuku crouching in the corner of the corridor and almost ended up kicking her, not noticing her at first. “Think about others for once. If you throw one of your nonsensical tantrums, it’s going to leave the princess in a bad mood.” “Oh, whoops. You’re not on your way to give her your report, are you?” “Figure that one out for yourself.” “Sorry.” Shizuku had apologized, but the damage was already done. The man looked extremely annoyed, and she bowed to him, then rose to her feet. “I’m sort of…depressed by how powerless I feel,” Shizuku confessed. “Don’t confront the princess head-on,” Niké replied. “It won’t get you anywhere. In fact, I’m the one who’ll get the worst of it.” “Please accept my sincere apologies.” Shizuku apologized again to Niké, who seemed more worn out than angry, then left. She walked down the corridor by herself, her head slumped dejectedly. For a second, she’d felt as though she’d gotten through to Ortea. She’d caught a glimpse of the forgotten child within Ortea’s gaze, and at that moment, Shizuku had wondered if the princess was aware of what she was missing. Perhaps it simply bothered her so much that she refused to speak about it. So Shizuku had hoped that she might be able to reach her. That something could change. She’d found out the painful way just how naive that was. Still, Shizuku probably would have aired her views at some point anyway. If this was the extent of her punishment, she considered herself lucky. A man Shizuku had once encountered on her travels had suggested that she possessed something so innate that she didn’t even realize she had it. Now she felt like she understood what he’d meant. Perhaps the things Shizuku took for granted had always been out of reach for Ortea. Shizuku saw not just herself in the princess, but also a hurt child. “…I shouldn’t get too big for my boots, huh?” She knew Ortea was right about that, but it still hurt to hear. Shizuku headed toward Vied’s nursery and spotted Faneet standing in front of the door. Seeing her strained smile, he looked puzzled. “Is something wrong? You look like you’ve been crying.” “Oh…” Now that he mentioned it, she hadn’t washed her face. It was mostly the pain that had made her cry, but she still felt sad. “I complained to the princess, and she got mad at me,” Shizuku explained simply. Faneet frowned. “She won’t listen to anything you tell her, but I do understand why you’d want to say your piece.” “Well, yeah. Even I think I was too straightforward.” “You need to be careful. One day, she might not stop at injuring you.” “I’ll bear that in mind… What was the princess like as a child?” The version of Ortea that Shizuku had met seemed unbalanced. It was as if she’d skipped the childhood phase entirely—either that, or she was still trapped in it. What had she actually been like as a child? Shizuku’s probing question was met with momentary silence from the man who’d served the princess for years, but he replied almost immediately. “She was very intelligent, even as a young girl. A little stubborn, but that’s normal for a princess.” “I can imagine.” Shizuku chuckled softly, picturing a young Ortea issuing commands with regal authority. In a child, such haughtiness must have seemed endearing. Faneet’s gaze was unusually gentle. “The princess…is kind of similar to Queen Tryphina, isn’t she?” Shizuku asked, sensing a certain helplessness in his eyes. “Tryphina? The first queen? I’ve never heard anyone make that comparison before.” “They’re different in many ways but similar in others. Like how she hates the country but can’t bring herself to leave it.” “You think she hates the country?” “Huh?” The pair exchanged confused glances. It was said that Tryphina was a loving and gentle queen, adored by all—a stark contrast to Ortea, who was feared even by foreign nations. People would probably claim that they had nothing in common. Shizuku ran her fingers through her bangs, then pressed her hand to her head. “Wait… But Tryphina… Her younger brother… Huh?” Shizuku vaguely knew the “truth” about the queen, who’d allegedly died young but led a happy life. That knowledge had entered her mind without her realizing it, and until that moment, she hadn’t realized that it differed completely from the widely known version of the story. She couldn’t even remember where she’d learned it. When Shizuku realized this, she found herself at a loss for words. Faneet seemed to interpret Shizuku’s change in expression as a reaction to her own off-the-mark comment. He forced a smile, his gaze lacking in emotion. “Yeah. Believe it or not, the princess used to be a very kind-hearted person.” “She was?” Shizuku exclaimed loudly before hastily biting her tongue. Faneet was probably just trying to smooth things over after Shizuku’s blunt remark, yet she’d responded hysterically. What if Vied had heard her in his bedroom? Shizuku held her breath as she listened out for any crying, then apologized to Faneet. “Sorry. I was just surprised to hear that.” “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” “Still, it’s hard to believe she used to be kind…” Is that really true? the look in Shizuku’s eyes seemed to say. The expression on Faneet’s face almost looked like a smile, and he casually waved his hand as he turned around. It must have been time for him to attend to another job. Shizuku was left alone with her unanswered questions. Who knew the real truth? Or did the truth vary completely, depending on who you asked? All of these thoughts seemed to lead to dead ends, so Shizuku put them to the back of her mind and opened the bedroom door. “Hello. It’s me, Shizuku,” she said, making her way to Vied’s bedside. The boy was lying in his large crib. He was barely able to move by himself, but he had his eyes open and was gazing blankly up at the ceiling. Shizuku greeted Vied, then sat down beside him. She took out a picture book that was kept inside the room and began to read aloud slowly. It was impossible to discern Vied’s gender from his face alone. He bore a vague resemblance to Seilené, but it was hard to tell if he looked like Lars. As the baby flailed his hands around, Shizuku offered him her finger and let him grab hold of it. The soft feeling reassured her. Vied had only just been born, yet both of his parents were absent. What kind of life would he lead? Maybe a checkered future awaited him. Maybe he’d even fight against one of his parents. However, all Shizuku could do right now was pray that these were nothing more than possibilities. Keeping her increasingly mixed feelings under wraps, she stroked Vied’s hair. The fairy tale she was reading ended on a happy note—just as they always did—and she let its magic drift down upon his bed. The preparations were complete. Everyone in the room knew it. Their gazes were fixed on the king, who passed the documents back to a magistrate. These documents detailed the behaviors of the nobles, who’d been conducting themselves in an alarming manner of late. Their actions had nothing to do with the riots in the neighboring country; in fact, they were unsophisticated and childish—something that reflected the capabilities of the nobles themselves. With an air of annoyance, Lars ordered for the implementation of blanket surveillance measures. After looking around at his assembled vassals, a fearless smile appeared on his face. “Well, we’ve been receiving plea after plea from Casola. Given the recent incursions across the border, I think it’s time to act before the chaos escalates any further.” His sister, standing by his side, suspected the chaos was intentionally being escalated. Yet she remained silent, respecting the solemn atmosphere of the assembly, and cast her blue eyes down toward the floor. “We know who’s been planting the seeds of this unrest. It’s time we gave the woman in question a strict punishment,” Lars said casually. “Her childish games have gone too far.” His words made a few of his men apprehensive. If the situation were to deteriorate further and full-scale war erupted between two of the Great Nations, it would be the first battle of such a scale in centuries. While Farsas was intent on winning, they couldn’t shake the feeling that they were on the verge of a turning point in history. Despite his vassals’ anxious expressions, the king didn’t seem nervous in the slightest. He turned toward the map of the continent on the wall behind him, his gaze settling on a specific point. “It’s regrettable that we’re having to clean up the mess left by the disgraced king, but they were the ones who dug this all back up. Let’s make sure to emerge victorious in Rosta as well.” This was virtually a command, and everyone present bowed in response. For many years, the blade of the royal sword had only been leveled against the members of its own royal family—but now the day when it would be turned toward its hostile neighbor country drew closer. A faint pink light softly illuminated the corners of the large space. Although he couldn’t see the owner of the room, Faneet could sense that she was there. Standing by the entrance, he called out to her for what felt like the hundredth time. “Princess.” There was no reply. He glanced at the incense burning right next to him. “Princess Ortea,” he called out again, his tone unchanged—but this sound of her name seemed to cause a ripple in the silence. An ivory-colored hand reached out into the light. With a movement of her slender fingers, the brightness of the light intensified. Her expression, illuminated by the lamp, didn’t look annoyed. In fact, she looked rather melancholic. “What is it?” the princess asked. “It seems you’re not in the best of spirits,” said Faneet. “I’m perfectly fine.” “If that’s true, then I’m glad to hear it.” “Where’s Shizuku?” She’d asked the question without a moment’s delay, and a small smile crept across Faneet’s lips. He could tell that something had transpired between them. After all, Shizuku did occasionally admonish Ortea, which caused her mood to sour. Some of what Shizuku said was naive and narrow-minded, while other things were shrewd and grounded in reality. Ortea took pleasure in hearing them all. However, whenever her sadistic tendency to view people as toys was criticized, her mood immediately took a turn for the worse. Shizuku not only verbalized what everyone else thought but was too scared to express, she also delivered these critiques mercilessly, perhaps due to her young age and uncompromising nature. “She’s with Vied. Shall I call for her?” asked Faneet, responding to his master’s inquiry in a muted tone of voice. “There’s no need for that,” replied Ortea. “Are you sure?” Ortea went quiet once again. The ensuing silence was laden with questions she longed to ask but resisted voicing. Faneet couldn’t work out what Ortea saw in Shizuku. Despite being the same age, their social standings and backgrounds couldn’t be more different. Considering how little they had in common, it was inevitable that they knocked heads from time to time. Perhaps it was wise to drag Shizuku away from the princess before their inescapable differences led to an unfortunate end. This idea had been on Faneet’s mind for some time, but Vied’s birth had delayed any opportunity he had to voice it. And so here he was. A breeze snuck in through a small gap in the window, weaving between the ornaments and washing away the incense that lingered in the air. Gradually, the atmosphere in the room began to change. As if they were slowly awakening from a dream, the faint scent of rain began to filter into the air. Noticing this, Faneet walked over to the window, then silently closed and locked it. “Shizuku seemed the same as always. She did mention she’d incurred your displeasure, however.” Faneet had said it as a casual remark, but Ortea seemed slightly shaken by it. Her hand, illuminated by the light, clenched into a fist. “…That girl needs to think before she speaks.” “She compared you to Queen Tryphina,” said Faneet. “Tryphina?” The princess sounded skeptical, but her suspicion was soon replaced by laughter. It echoed around the silent room like a cracked bell. “Tryphina…? I see. How apt.” “Princess?” Had being compared to a queen she bore no resemblance to hurt the princess’s feelings? Faneet had mentioned it in a light-hearted manner, expecting her to simply laugh it off, but the cackling that followed seemed tinged with self-derision. Before long, Ortea fell silent again. It was as if a light had gone out. Countless moments, each one indistinguishable from the last, melded together. By the time Faneet returned to his senses, it felt as if an eternity had gone by—but just then, there was a subtle shift in the stagnant stillness. In the dim light, the princess’s eyes seemed to have dark circles under them. “Faneet…would it matter if I left this castle?” she asked. There was no light reflected in her eyes. She just sat there in darkness, her gaze focused on the man in front of her. What was going through her mind? What was she asking him? That was something nobody knew. Or, at least, Faneet never did. He directed his calm gaze toward his master. “This castle is where you belong. Don’t concern yourself with such questions.” That was his answer. The rain had begun that morning and was growing more intense by the hour. Shizuku had left Vied’s room and was leaning against the gallery railing looking down at the courtyard. She took some sewing equipment out of the tote bag she’d started carrying around lately and began sewing a toy for the baby. She knew that infants were more attracted to colorful objects because their vision was still developing, so she’d decided to make something Vied could grasp onto. When Shizuku had asked Yura for a needle and thread, she’d been offered a magic implement. She had no idea how to use a magical tool to sew, however, so Shizuku had opted for a completely ordinary needle and thread, which she’d been using to stitch together a red, gourd-shaped pouch. Once it was more or less done, she embroidered eyes and a nose onto it and stuffed it with cotton. “Oh, it’s pretty cute.” And with that, her rather adorable-looking toy was done. Satisfied, Shizuku started putting away her sewing equipment, which she’d placed on top of the railing. Yet at that very moment, a hand reached out from behind her and casually picked up the red doll. “What’s this supposed to be? A netai?” “Your Majesty.” Shizuku was so startled by the sudden voice that she almost dropped her bag into the courtyard. The person who’d approached her, however, was intently examining the toy she’d made. She straightened her posture and bowed like any good subject would. “It’s a toy that even a baby can grasp hold of… I thought it’d look cuter with eyes.” “Interesting.” Beelhurse responded with a gentle smile and handed it back to her. Then he leaned against the railing beside Shizuku. “How’s Ortea been lately?” It wasn’t the first time he’d asked that question. The king had stopped Shizuku several times to ask how his sister was doing. As always, Shizuku heavily sugarcoated the truth—but as she was speaking, she suddenly realized it was a good opportunity to learn more about Ortea. She waited for a juncture in their conversation, then cautiously posed the king a question. “If you don’t mind, may I ask what the princess was like in the past?” “Hmm? You do ask some interesting questions, don’t you?” replied the king. “Please forgive me if I’m crossing a line…” “It’s fine.” Beelhurse and Ortea had different mothers. The queen who’d given birth to Beelhurse had died of illness when he was twelve years old, after which Ortea’s mother was welcomed as the new queen. By the time Ortea had been born, Beelhurse was already sixteen. Thanks to their large age gap, Shizuku suspected he remembered her childhood vividly. After a moment of contemplation, the king’s expression softened, his warm gaze brimming with nostalgia. “She was a sweet little girl. Bright, confident, a little self-indulgent…” That was how Shizuku imagined Ortea to be like as a child. She nodded and allowed the king to speak. “At times, she struggled to be honest with her feelings. I think her pride was to blame for that. Still, she was a kind person deep down. She had a habit of awkwardly apologizing after a tantrum.” Shizuku wondered whether Ortea had only acted like that because Beelhurse was her brother. She recalled how Leuticia was the one person Lars had a soft spot for. Shizuku narrowed her eyes as she unearthed old memories, but it seemed that Beelhurse assumed she was merely skeptical about his claims. He shrugged lightly, then let out a sigh. “I know… Let me tell you a little fairy tale.” “A fairy tale?” “Yeah. Think of it as a make-believe story. Once upon a time, there was a little princess. Having been raised as royalty, she’d been given everything she could have ever dreamed of. Blessed with good looks and intelligence, everybody adored her.” Where was this story going? Shizuku found herself becoming slightly nervous and clasped her hands together as she stared at Beelhurse. “She was happy. She’d lived a sheltered life, oblivious to the hardships of the world. But one day, all that changed. Within the borders of her nation was a town populated by people who’d fled from another country decades earlier. Not everyone felt favorably toward the town—and a certain faction, willing to do anything to get its way, abducted her. They demanded the castle set the town ablaze and refused to give her back until they did.” Shizuku covered her mouth in shock. When she glanced at the king, he smiled, and she could see a sad look in his eyes. Shizuku suspected she knew which town he was talking about, but she wasn’t sure whether or not to mention it. After all, it was supposed to be a made-up story. So she held back her question and urged the king to continue. “So…what happened next?” “Well, the king and queen didn’t hesitate to make up their minds. They declared that ‘royalty must always be ready to sacrifice themselves for the sake of their people,” and refused the demand that held their daughter’s life in balance. Soon after, the kidnappers were attacked by the army and the princess was fortunately rescued…but her captors had already told her how her parents responded. After that, her personality changed, and she stopped talking to her parents. It was such a pity.” Shizuku felt a shock run through her like a silent thunderbolt. Naturally, Beelhurse knew whose story this was. Shizuku thought she did as well. Although she’d been young, as a member of the royal family, the princess had been expected to die. Had she seen her parents’ intentions as a form of betrayal? Or had she begun to despise the role she’d been born into? The answers to those questions were likely within reach. After all, her footprints were everywhere. Hearing this story of the child who hadn’t been protected made Shizuku bite her lip. The side profile of her master, still haunted by the darkness of her childhood, came to mind. “Is that the end of the story?” she asked. “It is. Oh, come to think of it, you were asking about Ortea.” From side-on, the king bore little resemblance to his half-sister. He wasn’t suffering from the same childhood loss. The king closed his eyes and smiled. “Yeah. She was such a kind child. Yet she seemed to loathe her mother and father. She never reconciled with them, even though I repeatedly encouraged her to do so. After her parents’ passing, Ortea became even more out of control. Her motto became, ‘If royalty must sacrifice themselves for the many, then sometimes the few must sacrifice themselves for royalty.’” “I…heard the princess say the royals and the citizens leech off one another.” “To her, that’s probably the way it looks. That’s one side to this nation, but everything has its limits; if her whims cause more harm than good, then I doubt the people will remain silent.” The king sounded extremely calm, but his words instilled Shizuku with a sense of urgency. He might have been warning her about the changes that were currently unfolding. If his so-called “fairy tale” was about Ortea, she probably harbored a grudge against Rosta and Casola. She might even resent the castle and Kisk as a whole. Still, if she tried to trample over everyone she resented, people would respond against her in kind. So what was Shizuku supposed to do? Was she meant to abandon her master or share the same fate? Would she betray her, obey her, or could she change her? Before she knew it, Shizuku was being forced to make yet another choice. If she were to open this door, where would it lead next? Shizuku had gone quiet, and the king offered her a bittersweet smile. His expression looked somewhat forlorn, which matched the relentless rain pouring outside. The months and years that he’d never get back were buried just beneath his skin. “I know I’ve said this before, but I’d like you to stick by Ortea’s side. No matter what anyone else might say, she’s my beloved sister. I’ve always wanted her to have a friend around her own age.” “…Okay.” Shizuku’s body felt weirdly heavy inside, almost definitely from mental exhaustion. She pondered this as she watched the king walk away. There was only so much she could do. She didn’t know whether her limited capabilities carried any significance. If only he was here with her… The anxiety she’d been suppressing suddenly came rushing back. She wanted to call out his name, but she stifled the urge and looked up at the rain-soaked castle instead. Thin clouds continued to drift by, obscuring the moonlight. Beneath the faint light, a small horse-drawn cart traveled down the road, heading toward the border. That was where their relatives were supposed to meet them. The driver handled the reins, not saying a word. He’d been born into a merchant family in Caribala thirty-eight years ago, about twenty years after the town was established in Kisk. His grandparents had fled their former homeland and opened up a shop abroad, and on one occasion he’d asked them a rather innocuous question. “Why don’t you go back to your hometown?” The answer he received was a simple one. His grandfather, who’d escaped from a city that had been devastated during the war, responded with a feeble smile. “Because Farsas is scary.” Ironically, that was exactly where he—the grandson of that same man—was now seeking refuge. He glanced back at his wife riding in the cart and at the cargo they’d managed to salvage from the warehouse. He felt like they had enough to restart their business in this new land. All they needed to do was cross the border, and their lives would be back to normal. At first, the riots in Caribala had involved arson and armed men rampaging through the streets; however, the situation was continually changing. While arson and murders had decreased, people and goods were disappearing from the city at an alarming rate. Of course, some had chosen to flee Caribala, but that definitely wasn’t the whole story. The man had left the city under the cover of night, worried that they might someday suffer the same fate if they stayed. Luckily, no one had pursued them. The sky was dark, and everything seemed to be melting into the shadows, as if collectively holding their breath. Planning on letting the horse rest once they’d crossed the border, he tugged on the reins—but just as he was about to breathe a sigh of relief, he heard the sound of hooves approaching. “Stop the cart!” a voice yelled angrily from behind him. The man tensed up. When he looked over his shoulder, he spotted five riders fiercely pursuing them. It seemed unlikely that they had peaceful intentions. He could sense their hostility all too keenly, and the man made up his mind and whipped the reins. He sped up the cart, aiming farther down the road. He just needed to make it to the border gate on the highway, where the Farsasian soldiers were stationed. Due to the rise in the number of people fleeing, soldiers had been deployed from a nearby fortress to man the gate at the border. Heading for the land his grandparents had fled sixty years ago, the man drove his cart as fast as it would go. The chase, however, was short-lived. Weighed down with cargo as it was, the cart couldn’t outpace the horses. As soon as the shadow of the gate came into view in the distance, two horsemen appeared on either side of the carriage. One of them, a thug with coarse features, brandished his sword at the man in the driver’s seat. “…I guess this is it.” He started to close his eyes, when all of a sudden, the thug wordlessly toppled off his horse, leaving the man stunned. Soon after, the thug on his other side was also thrown to the ground. Although he didn’t understand what had happened, the man wasn’t stupid enough to stop the cart. Instead, he continued his frantic rush to the gate. “You’re as skilled as ever, Azulia.” “Not really. I mean, I almost hit the horse. The horses have done nothing wrong.” The woman was sitting on top of the border gate. As she removed the magic implement that had allowed her to see in the dark, she added, “They’re super-cute, actually.” With her beloved bow in hand, she leaped down from the wall, her long blond hair shimmering in the wan moonlight. She would be twenty-two that year, but her stern features almost made her look like a young man. Azulia instructed her subordinate waiting nearby to fetch the bodies and the horses, then went back to the meeting room, the only room at the border gate. There, a magistrate and a mage, who were responsible for communicating with the fort, waited on standby. “How are your preparations going?” she asked. “Almost complete. The troops have been deployed. We should be able to make our move at dawn.” “Right. Where’s Leuticia?” “She’s gone back to the castle. Apparently, the king will take the lead instead.” “…What? How come?” Having served as Lars’s personal guard in the past, Azulia couldn’t help but let out a cry of astonishment, and the magistrate looked like he was about to sigh. Their victory was almost guaranteed, yet she felt like this stress was just as unavoidable. Azulia almost voiced the numerous thoughts spinning inside her mind, but in the end, she just shook her head. “I’ll sleep while I have the chance,” she declared—and with that, she went on her way. The wind had changed. Shizuku sensed it as the cool breeze blew in through the open window. It was late at night, and having finished work, she’d been reading under the light of her desk lamp. She put on an extra layer over her loungewear to keep herself warm. The rain that had persisted for several days had come to an abrupt stop, and the moon was now visible, veiled by thin clouds. Feeling cold, Shizuku closed the window and picked up her empty teapot. She decided to have one more cup before going to bed. The journey from her room to the kitchenette wasn’t a long one. Unlike in Farsas, people in Kisk had to boil water themselves, but with magical tools at their disposal, it didn’t take very long. Since she wouldn’t be gone for long, she didn’t bother changing her clothes before leaving her room. Shizuku walked through the complicated hallways, taking two turns to get where she was going. Once she reached the door to the kitchenette, she placed her hand on it—but just then, she felt another gust of wind. There was a hint of something else mixed with the cool air. The familiarity of it made her frown. Shizuku looked around, holding her breath, then heard something fall to the ground. It sounded as if someone had dropped a cloth bag, and though it wasn’t very loud, it still made her suspicious. “What was that? Ghosts…don’t exist here.” She probably should have just boiled the water and returned to her room, but if she had, her curiosity would have continued to gnaw at her. In the end, Shizuku filled a pot with water, set it on the magical heater, and went to investigate the source of the noise. It didn’t take long for her to find the cause. Right around the corner, halfway down the long corridor, was a man sitting slumped against the wall. Judging by the way he was dressed, it seemed he was a soldier who’d been on patrol. Shizuku hurried over to him and peered down into his face. “Are you okay…?” But the moment the question passed her lips, she realized how meaningless it was. She froze, her mouth agape. Protruding from the soldier’s chest was something that looked like a rod—the hilt of a dagger pierced deep into his flesh. The familiar, unmistakable stench of blood filled the air. The soldier’s chest gradually darkened as his blood seeped out. “…Is he dead?” Shizuku’s own words made her shudder. She jumped back from the corpse but immediately lost her balance and fell to the ground. However, in hindsight, this was a lucky break. As she tripped, a knife whizzed silently over her head. “Wha…?!” Shizuku realized she was in danger before the knife that had missed her even hit the ground. She had no combat skills to speak of, but she’d been in plenty of perilous situations before. The atmosphere had felt wrong, and there was a corpse lying on the floor. That told Shizuku all she really needed to know about what was going on. She leaped to her feet and dashed behind a pillar, hiding from her unseen foe. She wasn’t sure how to get out of the situation, especially since she was unarmed and dressed in nothing but loungewear. Shizuku held her breath, sensing her blood rapidly running cold. She prayed her assailant would leave. If they came any closer, it’d all be over for her. Shizuku assessed the distance to the hallway’s next corner, then waited for the right moment to run—but before she got the chance, her attacker unexpectedly thrust the point of their sword toward her. The weapon skimmed past her shocked face and stopped just in front of the wall behind her. “I have something I want to ask you,” the person said. They sounded cool and composed. It was clear that they were threatening her, which made Shizuku stiffen up. Tentatively, she lifted her gaze to see who was speaking to her. He must have recognized her, too. They exchanged looks and then weary exclamations of surprise. “Huh?” “What?” The boy’s features were so clear-cut that he looked like he was wearing a mask. They’d only met once before, but Shizuku could never have forgotten him. It had been just before Candela Castle was gripped by a forbidden curse. This boy, along with the sight of all those corpses and the sense of bewilderment Shizuku had felt, was seared into her memory. “You’re…” “You were one of Tarkis’s clients, weren’t you? What’re you doing in a place like this?” Keeping his sword steady, the boy stared at Shizuku, his eyes as clear as glass. Neither of them knew the other’s name, and they exchanged puzzled looks, but the boy seemed to take it in his stride. After checking to make sure they were alone, he asked her a question. “Hey, could you tell me which building the king is in? This castle’s more confusing than I thought it’d be.” “The king…? Why do you want to know that?” “I have a job to do. Do you know where it is?” Shizuku returned his gaze, holding back her answer. Beelhurse was in the third building to the northwest, but she had no intention of revealing the truth to this boy. He’d already killed a soldier on patrol; his “job” was likely of a dangerous nature. Shizuku noticed that his blade, still positioned next to her face, was smeared with blood. “I—I don’t know,” she said. “You’re lying. This isn’t something you should hide,” the boy replied. He quietly narrowed his eyes, his cold gaze hinting that he’d seen right through her. Growing more fearful by the second, Shizuku hurriedly changed the subject. “Uhh, what kind of job is it?” “It’s a secret. I can tell you if you answer my question, though.” “Is it…another forbidden curse?” “Nope.” Did the boy’s presence mean that Tarkis was nearby, too? Shizuku wanted to look around for help, but he’d probably kill her if she made any unnecessary movements. She drew in a shallow breath, aware of the sword touching her hair. “The king has tight security. I think you’ll be arrested if you get too close.” “I know, but I took the job anyway. So where is it? Tell me.” “I don’t think so…” Shizuku’s half-hearted denial seemed to slightly offend the boy. With one eyebrow raised, he rotated the wrist of his sword hand. “If you tell me, I’ll let you live. Tarkis wouldn’t be happy if I killed you.” “…It’s dangerous. You shouldn’t go there.” “I didn’t ask you for advice. You’re so annoying.” The hand he was holding his sword with moved, and Shizuku instinctively squeezed her eyes shut. It turned out, though, that he’d just lowered it because he was tired. He moved the blade away from her face without hurting her, then ran his free hand through his hair with an annoyed look. “We don’t have any time to waste here. Oh yeah, I remember now… You’re pretty naive. Let me put it this way, then: If we let the king live, this country will be destroyed. We need to act now before it’s too late… You got that?” “Huh?” It sounded like he was talking about Ortea, but he’d definitely said, “the king.” Shizuku’s eyes widened, and he looked down at her with irritation. The scent of blood wafted through the dark corridor. Unable to comprehend the situation, Shizuku broke the brief silence. “What do you mean…‘if we let the king live’?” “Didn’t you hear me? Are you deaf, or just stupid?” Are you sure you don’t mean the princess? Shizuku wanted to say, but she immediately clamped her mouth shut. She shook her head at the boy, who was observing her suspiciously. The boy—Kaito Dicis—tutted, suspecting that Shizuku hadn’t understood him. “If the king stays alive, it won’t be pretty. That’s why it’s my job is to eliminate him. Nobody else would do it, so I thought I’d give it a try.” “But the king hasn’t done anything wrong!” “Don’t raise your voice. I’ll kill you.” Kaito’s immediate warning made Shizuku bite her lip. She was still struggling to understand, though. Why would anyone try to assassinate Beelhurse? Ortea was the root cause of this turmoil—if anyone was going to be killed, she was the obvious choice. Shizuku wasn’t sure that she’d want to do the honors, but objectively speaking, the princess was the more blameworthy of the two royal siblings. Or was the king the one who was truly guilty? As the ruler of the nation, he was the one who’d allowed her to behave this way. As Shizuku stood there in confusion, the boy pointed a dagger at the tip of her nose. “Like I said, we have no time to waste. Hurry up and spill the beans.” “But if I tell you, you’ll go and assassinate him, won’t you?” “That’s my job. Last time we met, you said that sacrificing a few to save many was a pointless hypothetical to discuss, but how do you feel about it now? It’s not hypothetical anymore. Allowing the king to live will lead this country to ruin, and lots of people are going to die as a result.” “No, wait. We don’t know that for sure. Maybe it’s a groundless allegation…” Shizuku waved her hands in front of her face. She was being pressured to tell him, yet she couldn’t offer any kind of answer until she organized her own thoughts. The boy in front of her, however, had a dismayed look, as if to say that worrying about these things was meaningless. “Listen,” Kaito continued. “In situations like this, nothing’s categorically right or wrong. It all comes down to advantages and disadvantages, and the relationship between the hostile parties. I’m only simplifying it and talking about the number of casualties because I know you’re an idiot. Farsas is about to invade Rosta.” “Oh…” So it had finally come to that. Shizuku had been cut off from outside information, and she stood there motionless as the news sank in. Although Kisk and Farsas were both powerful countries, Shizuku didn’t know how they compared in terms of military might. Still, Ortea had originally set her plan in motion with the intention of sacrificing Rosta. Would the princess be satisfied when she heard about Farsas’s invasion? And how would this war beginning in Rosta play out? Shizuku shuddered. It was beyond the scope of her imagination. “Would the king’s death…really mean anything?” “It’d throw the castle into chaos for a while. If Kisk’s authority weakens during that time, Rosta will surrender to Farsas. They might also capture that town on the border—Caribala, right? But that was never really Rosta anyway, so who cares?” The boy’s client on the opposing side was claiming that this was the least chaotic solution. The castle didn’t care about Rosta. That meant that someone else was planning to spurn the castle in order to protect the region. “…Is your client Tigor?” Shizuku let out a deep sigh. Although it wasn’t directed at anybody in particular, she felt a kind of sadness similar to disappointment settle into her chest. There’d been no sign of Tigor inside the castle since Beelhurse had decided to sort things out and speak to Tigor himself. Had the capable lord chosen to turn his back on the king to protect his people? Kaito frowned. “I can’t tell you that—not because I’m not allowed, but because I don’t actually know who my client is. The person who came to me was just a messenger.” “Stop this.” “Huh?” “Stop what you’re doing. This is no way to solve a problem as big as this one. Just give me some time. I’ll do some negotiating…” During their long journey to Farsas, Erik had told Shizuku several stories about the so-called Dark Age. It was an era that had spanned hundreds of years and engulfed the entire continent in war and betrayal, during which assassination was viewed as a tactic that only caused further turmoil. That was distant history, so why strive to resurrect such methods now? Shizuku felt an overwhelming desire to bury her face in her hands. At the end of the day, people’s personal troubles never really melded together in harmony. Instead, they just spread like a virus. The boy didn’t look at the dagger he was pointing at Shizuku’s nose, but straight at her. It felt like he was staring at an inanimate object, as though she wasn’t there at all. “What would you be able to do?” he said. “If your negotiations don’t lead us anywhere, can you kill the king in my place?” “No. But—” “Everything you’re saying is meaningless, then. Nothing’s going to change.” “But you enjoy killing people.” Her voice—not authoritative enough to be called dismissive—glided over the blade between them. The boy snorted. “So what? It’s the action itself that matters. Do you think it’s excusable to kill someone as long as you’re torn up over it? Isn’t that more infuriating? I kill because it amuses me. I take jobs because they pay me. You can say what you want about how I carry out my work, but you have no right to criticize my preferences.” “I’m not criticizing them,” Shizuku replied. “I just don’t want to help you.” Shizuku didn’t want to be criticized, either. She hated the fact that he took pleasure in other people’s deaths. Nothing could change the way she felt about that. Regardless of whether it was Ortea or this boy she was dealing with, Shizuku had no desire to condone such twisted forms of enjoyment. The outcomes of their actions and whether they were part of some sort of bigger picture were irrelevant. People who reveled in the deaths of others had no qualms offering them up for the slaughter. Shizuku didn’t want to debate the morality of that; she simply detested the way they dismissed people, cutting them down before even considering their potential. Kaito sighed, retracting the dagger slightly. He was poised to attack Shizuku. “Are you outright admitting that you don’t want to cooperate? You really are dumb, aren’t you? Just looking at you annoys me.” Shizuku shifted her gaze. The kitchenette was right around the corner. By now, the water she’d left there would have boiled. It was the only form of resistance she could think of. “It’s honestly ridiculous. How can someone who cares so little about their own life tell me not to kill? Isn’t that a contradiction?” Shizuku didn’t catch the entirety of his cold remark. She crouched down, away from the tip of his sword, then launched herself off the floor and started running. She could hear him click his tongue behind her. She wouldn’t be able to dodge it if he threw a weapon at her back. The corner was right in front of her, yet it felt so far away. Right at that moment, however, Shizuku heard a shout coming from the direction of the abandoned corpse. “Who’s there?! What’s going on?!” It was the voice of a patrolling soldier. Shizuku turned her head to see Kaito standing in the shadow of a pillar, preparing to throw his dagger at the man who’d just shown up. “Watch out!” Shizuku yelled, prompting the man to immediately crouch down. The dagger flew over the top of his head. As Kaito whipped out another knife, Shizuku turned around and tackled him. The impact caused the boy to lose his footing, but he still managed to reach out and grab Shizuku’s hair. He pressed his knife against her exposed throat. “Honestly…” At that moment, Shizuku could see the anger in Kaito’s eyes; it was the first time he’d shown any strong emotion. The atmosphere surrounding him was closer to hostility than murderous intent, and it prickled her skin. “I hate you,” he said. Shizuku didn’t respond. She just closed her eyes, resigning herself to her fate. She’d been in the same position countless times before. It was far from the first time that she’d had to choose between bending to someone’s will or surrendering her own life. In most of those situations, she felt like she’d chosen the latter. Whether out of anger or sorrow, she’d prioritized her own morals. “How can someone who cares so little about their own life tell me not to kill?” The boy’s mocking words echoed deep inside her ears. As Shizuku waited for the end to arrive, she momentarily reflected on the short life she’d lived. She wondered whether her death would mean anything. Shizuku was frozen with fear—but the next thing she knew, someone had pulled her by the arm, almost making her fall over. When she opened her eyes, she saw that the boy was dragging her farther down the hallway. She could hear voices coming from behind them; the soldier from before must have called for backup. A look of panic appeared on Kaito’s face as he pulled her around a corner, but they could hear voices coming from that way, too. The alert must have reached others. “Damn…” Under siege from both directions, the boy didn’t hesitate to fling open a nearby door. The small room, which was usually used as a storeroom, had only one window. Shizuku figured Kaito was planning on using her as a hostage. Scowling, he attempted to pull Shizuku by the arm—but before he had the chance to drag her into the room, she slipped effortlessly out of his grip, leaving her jacket behind in the process. Shizuku leaped back to distance herself from him. For a moment, Kaito looked stunned, but then a sneer appeared on his face. “This is such a nuisance. I should have killed you sooner.” “…You should escape,” she told him. “Well, duh. I’ve wasted too much time. You’ll come to regret this, you know.” Kaito spun around and dove into the room, then pushed open the window and jumped out, almost as if he were a bird. Shizuku stood there, astonished, as she watched him disappear into the darkness. The soldiers soon ran up to her and grabbed her by the arm. “What’s the matter?! What happened?!” they said. “Oh, there was an intruder…” “Where’d he go?!” Shizuku glanced around at the frenzied soldiers, then pointed toward the open door. The men immediately stormed into the small room. Her ordeal with the boy already felt like ancient history. She slumped to the floor, her tense mental state refusing to return to normal. As she clutched onto her jacket, which someone had kindly picked up, a stony-faced soldier called out to her. “Did you see the insurgent’s face? What’d he look like?” It was a question she had to answer, but for some reason, Shizuku found herself unable to find the words. Her conversation with the boy—whose name she didn’t even know—came flooding back. What was she supposed to take to heart, and what could she disregard? Why did she stop people, or protect them, or refuse them? Shizuku looked up at the soldier, her big eyes open wide. This was no time to hesitate, yet her mind had gone blank. She cast her gaze downward, her face drained of blood, and replied in a hoarse voice. “I don’t know.” The spacious room was slightly chilly. It was enough to make Shizuku shiver in her nightclothes, but she couldn’t make it obvious that it bothered her. The cold seeped in through her knees, pressed against the stone floor, and spread throughout her body, but she tolerated it and kept her expression as neutral as possible. She bowed toward the king, who was presumably on the other side of the curtain. “The intruder killed seven people, and you were the only one left unharmed. Why is that?” “The insurgent…asked where he could find your room, Your Majesty. I just told him I didn’t know.” “Hmm? And you claim you don’t know what he looks like?” “…Yes.” Beelhurse sounded serious. Shizuku scolded her body for being so sleepy and cold that it was trying to topple over. She’d only met the intruder who’d fled once before, yet she’d found herself falsifying her testimony. Shizuku wasn’t entirely sure why. In retrospect, she might have been afraid of causing problems for Tarkis and Lydia, but she couldn’t say for certain. The soldiers, however, seemed to think Shizuku was acting questionably. Some began to suspect that she’d helped the insurgent, which was why she’d been taken straight to the king. King Beelhurse had remained inside his bedchamber and listened to the reports from his vassals before hearing what Shizuku had to say for herself. Her answers, however, had been uncharacteristically imprecise. The king let out a sigh at her peculiar behavior. “Shizuku, you said you went to check on a suspicious noise after putting some water on to boil.” “That’s right.” “But wasn’t there an extended period of time before the patrolling soldiers found and secured you? I hear that most of your water had evaporated by that point. If he was just asking you about my room, why would it take that long?” “He asked me the same thing over and over again…and we weren’t talking for that long.” In fact, her conversation with the boy had probably lasted no longer than five minutes. The king might be asking leading questions. Shizuku put her hazy mind into focus. “Did the insurgent say anything else?” “Nothing. He just asked where your room was.” “Are you sure you’re not lying, Shizuku? I don’t want to force the answers out of you.” King Beelhurse’s voice was gentle yet admonishing, making Shizuku frown. How much should she reveal? She wasn’t even sure what was safe to disclose. The assassination attempt could very well have been the work of Tigor. The boy claimed he didn’t know his client’s name, but if Shizuku told the king about the assassination plan, there was a high chance that Tigor would become the prime suspect. Shizuku wasn’t even sure that Tigor was the culprit, though. Was it really okay to tell Beelhurse the whole story? By no means for the first time, Shizuku was plagued by uncertainty…but then she suddenly remembered something. She’d told the boy who claimed he’d kill the king that she’d negotiate on his behalf. This might be her chance to do just that. Having made up her mind, Shizuku looked up and stared straight at the curtain obscuring her view of the king. “I’ve just remembered something, Your Majesty. The intruder said Farsas is about to invade Rosta.” “Farsas?” The nearby staff began to murmur restively to one another. Shizuku felt a wave of relief wash over her as she observed their reactions. If this news spurred Beelhurse to take action, the whole issue could be resolved. If the castle intervened to save Rosta, there would be no need to assassinate the king. The only remaining problem would be Ortea—but there was no reason why Shizuku couldn’t try and deal with the princess herself. Shizuku gazed intently at the curtain, awaiting the king’s response. A few moments later, Beelhurse ordered everyone but Shizuku and two men who seemed to be his closest aides to leave the room. One of these men, a middle-aged mage, had been staring at her for some time. Wearing nothing but her nightwear, Shizuku felt incredibly uncomfortable, so she kept her gaze focused straight ahead. The curtain was pulled back, revealing Beelhurse sitting at the back of his bedchamber. “Now then, Shizuku. Does this make it easier for you to talk? This time, I want you to be honest with me. Was it Tigor who arranged for me to be assassinated?” The king had gone straight to the heart of the matter. His question sent a shiver down Shizuku’s spine. She gulped, feeling flustered. The king flashed her an intimidating smile, his usual placidness still lurking in the background. “Please don’t betray me, Shizuku. Just tell the truth. Did Tigor ask you to bring the insurgent into the castle?” “No…! It’s not what you’re thinking! I really did just run into him by chance…” “Then why would he bring up Rosta? It doesn’t make any sense. You’ve seen Tigor inside the castle. Did you let someone suspicious in for him without knowing?” Things weren’t going the way Shizuku wanted them to. She felt the piercing gazes of the men around her, which sent a chill down her spine. If this continued, she might end up taking the blame for things she hadn’t even done. Within seconds, Shizuku reached a tough decision: She was going to place her trust in Beelhurse and, as far as she could, tell him exactly what she’d heard. “I swear, it wasn’t me who brought the insurgent in. He did share several other pieces of information with me, but I don’t know whether or not they’re true. That’s why I’m hesitant to direct my suspicion toward him…” “That’s okay. I know you’re a kind-hearted girl. Just tell me what he said.” Shizuku nodded, then began carefully selecting her words. She explained that the intruder had broken in with the aim of assassinating the king, who he said would negatively impact the nation. He’d also claimed that Farsas was planning to invade Rosta soon, and that if the king died, Rosta would surrender to Farsas in the midst of that chaos. She kept the fact that she’d encountered the intruder before to herself, knowing that it wouldn’t make any difference either way. After Shizuku concluded her explanation, Beelhurse nodded gravely, seeming satisfied with her account. “I see. That must have been a frightening ordeal.” “Not at all, Your Majesty.” “That’ll do for tonight. You can go and get some proper rest.” Shizuku bowed deeply in response to the king’s kind words. She straightened out her frozen knees and rose to her feet. While it was still unclear who’d hired the assassin, the situation seemed to be moving in the right direction. Pinning her faint hopes on the king, Shizuku turned to leave. As she headed toward the door, however, she overheard the mage speaking to the king in hushed tones. “Your Majesty. If things have gotten to this stage, maybe we should send Ortea to Farsas sooner than—” “Jired,” the king snapped in warning. But it was too late—Shizuku had already stopped in her tracks. Slowly, she turned back toward the king. “…Your Majesty?” What were they planning on doing with Ortea? Shizuku stared at the king, a vague feeling of distrust in her gut. The king smiled in his usual manner, but Shizuku spotted something odd behind his gaze. Why did the client who’d ordered the king’s assassination think that allowing the king to live would lead to the nation’s ruin? If their intention was solely to create chaos in the castle by killing the king, why would they bother to make such a claim? Under normal circumstances, it was Ortea who’d be accused of plotting to bring about the nation’s demise. If Tigor were the perpetrator, though, that made even less sense—the princess was the one that he’d wanted to speak to. Yet the culprit hadn’t pointed the finger at the princess prepared to sacrifice Rosta, but at her older brother as the person planning on bringing his own nation down. Was he being targeted because of the significance of his status, or was there more to it? “Your Majesty. What are you doing with the princess?” Shizuku asked. “What do you mean? What’s the matter, Shizuku?” “I heard what that man said about your plan. It has something to do with the princess and Farsas.” Beelhurse smiled. This time, however, his expression looked like a mask. The fact that he was smiling during a conversation like this was already peculiar enough. There was something strange about the atmosphere in the room. Alarm bells were ringing in the back of Shizuku’s mind; she might’ve been better off just pretending she hadn’t heard that and left. It wasn’t smart to dig any deeper into the matter. She might be putting herself in danger. That said, she got the feeling that if she had covered her ears and fled, she’d never have been able to reach Ortea. “Shizuku? That’s a scary look on your face.” “…Your Majesty, what are you planning to do with the princess?” “With Ortea? Well, that’s a good question.” The king motioned to his two aides with his chin, and at his signal, they headed for Shizuku. Instantly sensing that something bad was going to happen, she leaped back—but a short magical incantation made something coil itself around her legs. Shizuku found herself about to trip over, when the man who looked like a magistrate seized her by the arm. “What are you doing…?” “Silence, girl. Don’t make a scene.” The mage grabbed hold of her other arm, a faint smile on his face. Flanked by the two men, Shizuku was dragged back to the king. She was being treated like a criminal. Beelhurse looked down at her, narrowing his eyes. “You’re loyal to Ortea. I told you not to betray her, and you’ve done well by obeying my command.” “What’s going on, Your Majesty?” “This time, I want you not to betray me. That girl has nothing ahead of her.” “Huh?” Shizuku couldn’t sense any agitation in the king’s eyes, nor any sympathy. It had taken her long enough to realize, but that gaze told her everything she needed to know. The expression on Beelhurse’s face wasn’t that of a loving brother. It wasn’t the face of someone who’d lost their childhood, like Ortea, but the face of a man who’d lost himself. His gaze was that of a sadist contemplating which pawn to sacrifice next. Seeing that look on his face left Shizuku thunderstruck. “But the princess…” “I do care about her. She’s grown into the person I hoped she’d become: my precious little doll.” “What are you talking about? You’re the one who told me about her past!” What had happened to the love he’d once shown to Ortea? The love that had motivated him to try to ease the pain of her past and advise her to reconcile with her parents? Shizuku yelled at the king, her eyes as wide as they’d go, but he just cocked his head slightly in response. Beelhurse smiled as serenely as he had when he’d first shared the story. “Didn’t I tell you that story was make-believe? At the end of the day, it’s nothing more than a fairy tale. “The reality of the matter is simple: I orchestrated Ortea’s abduction, and I persuaded her parents to sacrifice her.” “…Huh?” What did he just say? Shizuku didn’t know whether to believe what she was hearing. Beelhurse was Ortea’s own brother, and he carried on speaking with a smile on his face. “I was the one who betrayed her, but I told her it was her parents’ decision. When she came back, I continued to instill distrust in her. That’s why she is the way she is.” Sometimes, all it took to distort someone’s mind were words. It must have been easy for Beelhurse, who was sixteen years Ortea’s senior, to plant thoughts in her head and shape her according to his whims. Shizuku’s lip trembled. She felt like a hole had burned open in her stomach. Ortea’s shadowy profile came to mind, and she felt a stab of pain. “What…did you do…?!” “Only what anyone in my shoes would have done. Our interests aligned, you could say; I wanted to do something about that girl, and Tigor wanted to quell the conflict within his region, so we arranged for the princess to be abducted. By executing the perpetrators at the castle, we could silence those who were dissatisfied with the state of Rosta. The people who believe Tigor to be a noble lord are foolish. All he’s done is make an example without dirtying his own hands.” Beelhurse leaned on the arm of his chair, resting his amused face in his palm. “Ortea’s recent recklessness must have compelled Tigor to tell her the truth, which was a pain. It was such a nuisance, in fact, that I had to lock him up, but he somehow managed to escape. If I’d known he was going to hire an assassin, I would have just disposed of him then and there.” Shizuku was dismayed. If Tigor had set a trap for Ortea in an effort to bring stability to his region, then that was unforgivable. Regardless of the goal he had in mind, it couldn’t be justified. But why had her brother gone along with the plan? Why hadn’t he protected his sister? Beelhurse noticed Shizuku’s unspoken question and smiled, but his expression didn’t look genuine. “I simply wanted to cut her off from her parents. At the time, the pair of them had come up with the plan of getting her engaged to the current king of Farsas. I, on the other hand, wasn’t a particularly gifted individual. I couldn’t afford to lose her if I was going to be king.” “Then you should have said something! Why hurt her with lies?!” “Because I was jealous of her,” he replied smoothly. What had really motivated his actions? Beelhurse stopped smiling and directed his somewhat vacant eyes toward Shizuku. Perhaps through her, he could see the shadow of his sister. His lips contorted slightly. “Unlike me—born to a mother married off for political reasons—she was born to a beloved queen. Ortea was beautiful and clever; her mere presence was enough to attract the attention of those around her. Whether she was being praised or scolded, everything was directed toward her. In comparison, I have nothing. I may be a royal in name…but I’m just a mediocre guy. That’s why I was always so envious of her.” He spoke in an impassive tone of voice, yet every word he spoke resonated deeply with Shizuku. She, too, had felt inferior to her siblings. She, too, had felt isolated, as if she was the only one who had nothing going for her. But Shizuku hadn’t gone off the rails. She’d chosen to distance herself from her sisters to forge her own identity because she loved them more than she envied them. She glared at Beelhurse, an unbearable thought stuck in her throat. “How can you say you have nothing? At the very least, you could have been a good king and a kind brother. You’re the one looking down on yourself—more than anyone else ever did.” He was the one who’d allowed himself to succumb to those dark temptations. His behavior had turned Ortea into the twisted woman she was, leading her to inflict her own depraved actions on other people—but she was acting of her own volition, too. Neither of them could stop themselves. Their emotions had become too big to handle, and they’d ended up using other people as an outlet. Shizuku’s accusation didn’t change Beelhurse’s expression. In fact, the smile returned to his face. “This is just how the Kisk royal family is. If it’s in Farsas’s nature to fight with your nearest and dearest, then ours is inclined toward deceit and manipulation.” “Is that because you’re descendants of Tryphina?” Shizuku asked. “…I’m surprised. I didn’t think she’d tell you that story. It seems she’s taken quite a liking to you.” Shizuku hadn’t actually learned it from Ortea, but she kept silent, reluctant to stray off topic. The king’s two closest aides wore puzzled expressions. The truth about the queen who’d unified the country and married the princes of two nations must have been concealed from everyone outside of the royal family. She hadn’t had children with either one of her husbands. Tryphina was the name of the first queen of Kisk. Filled with beauty and benevolence, she was also the princess of Kiaph, one of the three countries that had merged to form Kisk. As one of the conditions for this unification, Kiaph had agreed to offer Tryphina to the other two nations. Officially, she was a queen, but it was her beauty and obedience that were truly sought after. In the end, however, Tryphina followed her younger brother’s instructions and deceived the two men who wanted to take ownership of her. The five children she bore were all fathered by a male relative in the Kiaph royal family. Thanks to the sacrifices of this one woman, Kiaph succeeded in taking over the other two nations without a struggle. Tryphina had been a kind-hearted princess, and she was tormented by this scheme and suffered in silence throughout her brief life. Her love for Kiaph; her sense of duty to Kisk; her guilt toward her husbands; her frustration and trust toward her brother; her longing for freedom—all of these emotions played a part in destroying her spirit. After delivering her fifth child, Tryphina, burdened by all these secrets, took her own life. Her suicide note contained just one line: “It’s time for me to leave this place.” Shizuku felt like Ortea bore some resemblance to the tortured princess. They both had the same compulsive sense of duty to their country, while resenting it at the same time. The disdain they felt for their royal status was coupled with an irrepressible sense of pride. In Ortea’s case, however, half of those feelings had been brought on by Beelhurse. “She’s been very useful, just as I’d hoped,” Beelhurse said. “She hasn’t let compassion toward her people affect her governing of the nation, and she’s been extremely thorough. She may be a bit cruel…but that bad reputation is hers and hers alone. The worst you could say about me is that I’m incompetent.” “Incompetent? You mean cowardly,” Shizuku snapped back. “Do you think so? At the end of the day, isn’t her reputation the consequence of her own choices? It’s not as though I’ve failed to admonish her for her actions in the past,” Beelhurse retorted shamelessly, acting as if he was stating the obvious. He may have reprimanded her, but he’d obviously never actually tried to stop her. Instead, he’d taken advantage of her nature, maintaining the facade of the easily manipulated elder brother as he did. Shizuku frowned, so uncomfortable it made her feel dizzy. The mage, still holding her arm, took half a step forward. “Let me deal with this girl, Your Majesty,” he said. “You can’t. She’s a friend of Ortea’s and the tutor of that child. As long as the boy remains useful, we need to keep her around.” Shizuku realized that when he’d asked her to tell him how Ortea was, it hadn’t been out of concern for his sister—he’d just wanted to keep an eye on her. Shizuku had been tricked into passing on information about her. She hadn’t told him everything, but she’d still unwittingly become one of his pawns. But now that she knew the truth, she had no intention of cooperating with him any longer. With a rebellious look in her eyes, Shizuku stared intently at the king. “…Since we were on the topic of Tryphina,” the king said, “perhaps we should cast a spell in her name. Jired!” “Yes, Your Majesty!” “Give her a taste of Trasphy.” Upon hearing this order, the mage exuded a sinister joy. Shizuku, meanwhile, shuddered with disgust. The magistrate wrapped his arms around her to restrain her. Stepping in front of her, Jired looked down at Shizuku with a repulsive smile on his face. He reached out with his bony hand toward her stomach, covered only by her thin nightclothes. “Stop! Don’t touch me!” Her resistance was futile. The man’s palm touched the area right below her navel, and he began to chant a spell. “You’ll only have to endure it for a few moments, Shizuku. This spell is kind of like a pact. It’s usually used on women who serve the king. It imprints commands onto them, using their organs as the medium. ‘Do not commit adultery,’ for example. It usually lies dormant inside her abdomen—but should any command be broken, it causes the woman to die.” “What?!” “The commands for you shall be…‘Do not divulge anything you’ve learned in this room to anyone else,’ and ‘Answer my questions honestly from now on.’” “Wait…!” “I can’t imprint her with two commands, Your Majesty. Which do you choose?” “Just the one about not telling anybody anything, then.” “Understood.” Shizuku’s own intentions weren’t even considered during this brief exchange. She felt the urge to curse everything and everyone, but just as she opened her mouth to scream, the spell entered her body. “Arghhhhhhhhh!” Her insides burned. It squirmed through her, causing excruciating pain to her organs. As soon as she was let go, Shizuku collapsed to the floor, her body folded over in agony. Jired looked down at her with a smirk on his face as she screamed, clutching onto her stomach. “It appears this girl is still a virgin, Your Majesty,” he told the king. “Oh, is that so? I was under the impression that the king of Farsas had already had his way with her… Unlucky for her.” Shizuku couldn’t comprehend what the men were saying. The pain was too intense for her to think clearly. Down on her hands and knees, she curled herself into a ball and began to sob. “This spell is meant for the king’s women; it’s ill-suited to someone so chaste. The pain might ease once the spell adapts to your body, but you’ll still suffer waves of intense agony every now and then,” Beelhurse explained. As if to confirm he was telling the truth, the pain lessened slightly. This gave Shizuku a chance to think again, but it hadn’t vanished completely. The pain lingered, making her feel as though she was being stabbed with hot needles from the inside. Shizuku only managed to lift her upper body slightly before a sharp pain coursed through her, leaving her gasping in silence. She heard one of the king’s aides snicker at her. Her vision blurred as her eyes welled up with tears. She wanted to run away and leave everything behind—but that laughter had reminded her of how angry she was. She clenched her fists and looked up at King Beelhurse, who flashed her a faint smile. “So, Shizuku…what’s it going to be? Will you tell Ortea and die? Try to escape somewhere? Or if you can’t handle the pain, why don’t you let me have you?” The king extended a hand toward her, his voice marked by feigned kindness. Her answer was already set in stone. She didn’t even need to think about it. Shizuku pushed the agony she was experiencing to the back of her mind. With eyes wet from tears and lips smeared with blood, she smiled sweetly at the king. “I’d rather die.” Shizuku refused to submit. “Then you should leave,” the king commanded simply, sounding amused. Perhaps he thought there was little she could do. After all, she’d been muzzled by magic. His complacency was infuriating, but for the time being, Shizuku was powerless to do anything about it. Carrying her pain, humiliation, and anger with her, she left the king’s chamber and dragged her uncooperative body back to her own room. She was terrified of the pain—so much so that her fingertips would begin to tremble if she wasn’t careful. The anticipation of another wave was hard to bear. The thing that was squirming slowly around in her abdomen could lash out at any moment. All she wanted to do right now was curl up in bed. She might not be able to sleep, but she still wanted to relax and try to rest. Her wish, however, would not be granted. Footsteps were approaching from behind. Someone was running toward her, so fast that she couldn’t shake them off. It was Jired, the mage who’d cast the spell on her. Shizuku was leaning against the wall for support, and he stared at her, his gaze unreserved and his forehead sweaty. “You seem to be in a good deal of agony, miss,” he said. “What? Unless you’re here to beg forgiveness, I don’t want to hear it,” Shizuku snapped. “Want me to ease your pain?” Jired asked, completely ignoring her sharp retort. Shizuku scowled—not from pain, but in disgust at his overt lecherousness—and rejected him with a contemptuous look. “No… Don’t touch me.” “Hmph. You don’t always have to put up a strong front. You’ll struggle even going about your daily business like that.” Without waiting for her response, Jired grabbed Shizuku’s hand pressed against the wall. He pulled her forcefully by the arm, causing her to tumble into his clutches. The sensation of his breath against her ear instantly made her skin crawl. “Let go of me…!” “The pain will go away immediately if you comply.” Infuriated by his mocking words, Shizuku gritted her teeth, then kicked Jired as hard as she could in the shin. Caught off guard by her direct retaliation, Jired screamed and staggered over. Seeing him in this pitiful state brought Shizuku a certain amount of satisfaction, and she couldn’t help but smirk. “Why don’t you go take a good, hard look at yourself in the mirror, pervert!” “You stupid little girl!” Jired exclaimed. “What are you doing?” Red-faced with anger, the man had been attempting to grab hold of Shizuku when another voice called out, causing him to freeze. A young man was standing farther down the hallway, his figure obscured by the darkness. Light emanated from his fingertips as he looked up at the pair. He was someone they’d both met before. As Niké emerged from the shadows, he cast a cold glance toward Shizuku and Jired, who’d clearly been having some sort of scuffle. “An intruder broke in and this woman was taken away to give testimony, so the princess ordered me to come and see what was going on… It seems as though you’ve been getting up to mischief, Jired. Were you aware that she belongs to the princess?” Jired glared at the mage twenty years his junior, angered by the man’s calm remarks. “…You damn lapdog. Who do you think you are, talking down to me like that…?” “If you’d prefer I taught you a lesson with my skills rather than my words, then you only need to ask,” Niké said, not losing his composure. Jired’s mouth fell open in dismay, but then he shut it again. He glared at Shizuku instead. “Next time you cross me, you’re going to regret it,” he told her. With that clichéd parting shot, Jired turned on his heel. Shizuku watched him disappear, then sat down on the floor, clutching her stomach. “You saved me there… Thanks…” “What trouble did you cause now?” Niké asked. “I’m exhausted. The princess summoned me in the middle of the night.” “Sorry. But my stomach’s…killing me.” “Did you eat something you picked up off the floor?” Niké wasn’t at fault. He knew nothing about the situation, yet he’d come to her rescue. Shizuku had no reason to be angry with him. She knew that full well. But at that moment, she genuinely wanted to punch him. Apparently, Ortea had ordered Niké to check on the situation and bring Shizuku back with him. “Hurry up,” he said, pulling her by the arm. “I won’t make it all the way to her room,” Shizuku muttered, the words slipping out of her mouth. So Niké reluctantly created a transit gate right then and there leading to the princess’s chamber. Once Shizuku entered the room, she knelt before the princess, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed. She mustered all of her strength to stop the pain from showing on her face, then told Ortea about the intruder, just as she had told Beelhurse. “An assassination attempt… Is Tigor behind this? That’s another bold move on his part. At the very least, he should have set the assassin on me.” Ortea’s fearless attitude made Shizuku’s expression cloud over. She didn’t know a thing. If Tigor really was the true culprit, then there was no doubt Beelhurse was the one he’d wanted to kill. The king was Tigor’s one-time conspirator and the cause of everything that had happened. Perhaps Tigor couldn’t bring himself to send an assassin after Ortea. After all, it was his fault she’d turned out the way she had. “Either way, it seems like war’s finally here. I’ve got no complaints if they come to us; I’ll have to go and graciously welcome them.” “Princess.” “What is it, Shizuku?” Shizuku was bound by magic. She couldn’t afford to be careless with her words. However, if she was precise with what she said, she also had the power to change the situation. Frightened of the burning sensation writhing inside her body, she opened her mouth to suggest a truce with Farsas—but just before the words could slip out, an unbearable pain shot through her lower abdomen. “Gahhhhh…!” Ortea and Niké looked on in astonishment as Shizuku collapsed on the floor. The princess had been sitting languidly up until that point, but she stood up and peered down below her bed. “What’s wrong, Shizuku?” “P-Princess…” “Are you injured? Why didn’t you tell me?” Shizuku couldn’t tell Ortea why she was suffering. She looked up at the princess through a thin veil of tears. The woman’s beautiful face displayed a mixture of bemusement, annoyance, and concern. It was the first time Shizuku had seen the princess make such an expression, and she looked almost like a young girl. It might be impossible to say who was to blame anymore. Ortea was already a wrongdoer. She’d caused numerous tragedies that could never be undone. It was impossible to pretend they’d never happened, nor could things be put back to the way they once were. Yet despite this, Shizuku pitied her. She couldn’t help but think that life could have been different for her. Her country was incredibly twisted, maddening, and sad. No one had anything they could rely on—much like Shizuku herself, who’d ended up there alone. She felt awful. Her insides really hurt, but Ortea’s situation pained her more than anything…and Shizuku silently shed a tear. Her subordinate’s sudden change in demeanor brought a stern look to Ortea’s face. Niké, who’d encountered her bizarre behavior in the hallway, reacted similarly. The princess stepped down from the bed and examined Shizuku’s face. “Shizuku? What’s wrong? Stop crying and talk to me. Where are you injured?” “I’m not injured, Princess. It’s something else…” “You must be. Show me your stomach.” The princess extended her hand. Shizuku tried to stop her, but Niké appeared behind her and grabbed her by the shoulders to keep her from resisting. Ortea used the opportunity to peer down Shizuku’s collar at her skin. She went completely silent. The next thing Shizuku knew, the princess had grabbed hold of her ankle-length nightgown and yanked it up, exposing her pale stomach. An intricate blue pattern with a circle at its center was etched onto it, extending from just below her chest to her lower abdomen. It was clearly a magic inscription, and the sight of it left the princess stunned. “…What’s that?” “Princess… I’m fine.” “I’m asking what it is!” the princess exclaimed. “Niké!” Niké had respectfully averted his eyes, but at Ortea’s shrill cry, he looked down at Shizuku’s body. She could sense his shock even without turning around. “Is that…Trasphy…?” said Niké. “Don’t be absurd,” snapped the princess. “Shizuku works for me…” Both Niké, a mage, and Ortea, a member of the royal family, would have known about the spell. Feebly shaking her head, Shizuku escaped from the pair and curled up on the floor, trying to steady her heavy breathing. She stayed that way for a while until the pain eventually faded. It felt as though she’d been trying to endure labor pains. Relieved that her agony had dissipated, Shizuku raised her face and met Ortea’s gaze. “Who did this to you?” the princess asked. “…My brother?” The spell could only be placed on a woman who served the king. Only one person in the entire country was authorized to allow its use. Ortea hadn’t needed to ask the question, and her face quickly turned red. Audibly grinding her teeth, she stood up. “Wait here a moment. I’m going to ask him what he was trying to achieve.” “You can’t…Princess.” As the princess attempted to stride past her, Shizuku grabbed the hem of her robe with as much strength as she could muster. She didn’t want to let Ortea see Beelhurse. The king had been willing to resort to this incredibly direct measure with Shizuku. Considering Jired’s ominous warning, there was a high likelihood that Beelhurse thought Ortea had exhausted her use. Who knew what would happen if she went to see him? If she was killed and her death was declared to be her own fault, nobody would argue with it. In fact, Shizuku was like a farewell letter from Beelhurse to Ortea. That was precisely why Shizuku didn’t want to let the princess go. She couldn’t keep clinging onto the hope that someday someone might reach out and heal Ortea’s hidden wounds, either. Shizuku needed to reach the princess now. It was something she’d wanted to do for some time now. Ortea’s gaze overflowed with rage as she looked down at Shizuku clutching onto her robe. “Let go, Shizuku,” she said, her intense emotions making her voice tremble. “I can’t. Pretend you didn’t see me…” “You’re mine! To harm you is as good as harming me! I can’t let him get away with this—even if he is my brother!” “No…I’m the one who had this spell placed on me, not you.” Her voice was feeble, but her words were clear and distinct. Ortea regained a degree of composure. The truth was, she didn’t even know what had led to the restraining spell being cast on Shizuku. If she was going to take a stand against her brother, she needed to get the full story first. Ortea pulled her robe out of Shizuku’s hand, then went back to her bed and sat down violently. She gazed down at Shizuku with a restless, angry look in her eyes. “What happened, then?” she asked. “I can’t tell you.” “Shizuku!” “He made it so I can’t tell you.” It was a roundabout way of putting things, but Ortea immediately realized that Shizuku’s statement was connected to the spell she’d been put under. She shifted her gaze to the nearby mage. “Does Trasphy cause that kind of mark to appear? Why is she in pain?” The man she’d asked seemed to know the reason. He looked at Shizuku, reluctant to share it, but he couldn’t risk upsetting the princess. With a bitter look on his face, he agreed to explain. “It’s probably because she’s chaste,” Niké explained. “The spell would usually adapt to her body and lie dormant, but instead it’s rebounded and risen to the surface, causing her pain.” “If she can’t tell me what happened, then…did he imprint it with a command that forces her to stay silent? Niké, can you break this spell?” “It’s impossible. There’s no way to undo it. Though the princess of Farsas might be able to find a solution.” “Will the pain continue until she loses her virginity?” “Yes, but only the pain and the mark will go away. She’ll still die if she breaks the command.” Shizuku listened to the pair discussing the situation as she organized her own thoughts. She thought about what she needed to do right now and her best course of action for what came next. Although she could come up with a few immediate possibilities, the fatigue and pain prevented her thoughts from extending any further. Shizuku shook her dazed head in an effort to remain conscious, but as she did, she heard her master issue a horrific command. “In that case, Niké—I give you my permission. Violate Shizuku.” “A-are you stupid?!” It was such an unexpected command that Shizuku hadn’t been able to stop herself from crying out. She’d completely forgotten that Ortea was her superior. Ortea being Ortea, she was probably just trying to help, but she’d taken the wrong approach entirely. When Shizuku turned around, she noticed that Niké was also at a loss for words. The look on his face was one she’d never seen before. “Can’t bring yourself to do it, coward?” said the princess. “I’ll call Faneet instead!” “Just wait a minute!” The absurdity of the situation angered Shizuku so much that she momentarily managed to forget the pain. She placed her hands on the floor and pushed herself up, then turned to face Ortea, who was starting to get angry. She didn’t like people objecting to her ideas. “What’s the problem?! Your pain’s so severe that you can’t function normally, right?! This is a small price to pay to get rid of it!” “I’m the one in pain here! Please respect my wishes!” “In times of crisis, you should let me decide what’s best for you!” Ortea raised her hand to strike Shizuku across the cheek, but Shizuku managed to grab hold of it. The pair pushed and shoved one another as Niké watched on for a little while, concealing his emotions, but eventually he realized that their childish fight was never going to end without his intervention. Ortea swung her arm up into the air, ready to yell at both Shizuku and Niké, but her shout was stifled when Shizuku collapsed back onto the floor. Ortea looked down at her suffering subordinate, a pained expression on her face. “…Just looking at you infuriates me. Why are you so stubborn?” “What do you mean?” Shizuku recalled the young assassin she’d encountered making a similar remark. She thought back to their exchange, which already felt like so long ago. She’d been bluntly reprimanded by two people in one night. That was probably why her stubbornness had turned up a notch. Feeling as though she’d had the energy sapped from her, Shizuku mulled over Ortea’s comment. “You’re always like this,” the princess continued. “Why can’t you just give up? You could pretend to give in, at least. If your stubbornness kills you, you’ll have nothing left to show for it.” What was the point of dying? What would happen if she threw away her life out of sheer stubbornness? Wouldn’t it be wiser to guarantee survival by obeying her enemies? She could always look for another path further down the line. Wasn’t it best to save her own life and pin her hopes on the opportunities to come? On occasion, Shizuku had been able to take that approach. It was something that happened from time to time. However, there were times when yielding was the last thing she wanted to do. “Princess.” Shizuku’s pain subsided. She breathed out and looked up at Ortea. Her beautiful face looked almost childlike, perhaps from the sorrow written across it. If they’d met in another time, in another world, could they have become friends? Shizuku gave her a bittersweet smile as she entertained that fantasy. Her expression prompted Ortea to raise her eyebrows. “What is it, Shizuku? Do you have an excuse for me?” “I do. It’s not always that I put my life on the line, Princess. I don’t want to die. But sometimes…it just happens. Sometimes, I feel that if I run away, there’ll be no going back.” “Are you dumb? There’s no coming back from death, either.” “That’s true. It’s just, there are times…when running away makes me feel as though I’ll lose something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.” Shizuku didn’t have a constant death wish. She wasn’t that fed up with the world. Occasionally, though, an unavoidable crossroads presented itself. If she were to concede in those sorts of situations, she felt like it would change who she was on the inside. At the end of the day, she was just a powerless human. She could flee and pin her hopes on the potential that the future held, but there was no guarantee that the chances she was holding out for would come her way. Even if she managed to seize those opportunities, it was uncertain whether she’d be able to recover what she’d already lost. And even if she did retrieve those missing things, they probably wouldn’t be the same as they were before. That was why she wouldn’t back down. The true essence of who a person was existed in their mind. She couldn’t let her dignity be stomped down that easily. “Compared to that kind of a situation, Princess, this is hardly anything. It’s just pain—it doesn’t mean I’m going to die.” Her face was pale, but Shizuku mustered a grin nonetheless. Ortea didn’t say a word. With that, a sigh left someone’s lips and drifted into the nighttime air. He knocked on the door, but no matter how many times he knocked, there was no response from inside. It was past midnight, which might have helped explain why nobody was answering, but in a situation like this, that shouldn’t be an issue. After thinking things over for a moment, the man configured his coordinates and used short-range teleportation to enter the room. Once there, he looked over at the bed in the corner. He could hear the faint sound of a woman sobbing. It didn’t seem as though she was going to rise from her bed. Either she hadn’t heard him, or she was asleep. He approached her, trying not to make a sound, but as he did, he started to hear murmurs in between her sobs. “Umi… Mio… It hurts…” Her black hair, peeking out from the blanket, was trembling. She must have been curled up in the fetal position. The sound of her crying made the man frown. He sat himself down on the bed and peered at her half-hidden face. Her youthful features contrasted with the somewhat tense, charmless expression she tended to wear. Now, though, her brows were furrowed in pain, and she looked helpless as she slept lightly. Sobs escaped her small, trembling lips. “Save me, Erik…” That man wasn’t around. Hearing her call his name instantly put Shizuku’s visitor in a bad mood. He stopped gazing intently at her and moved his face away, then pulled hard on her ear. “Wake up, stupid woman.” “…O-owww!” She must have been dozing off, drifting in and out of sleep. The woman sprang up, and as soon as she realized who was there, her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh… Niké? Why are you in my room?” She didn’t sound wary of the sudden intruder. She was simply asking a question. “Because you refused to get up,” he responded, clicking his tongue softly. “You mages are pretty crafty, huh? Locked-room mysteries would never work with people like you around,” Shizuku commented. “A locked-room mystery? Is that like when someone jams a door shut?” “If you mean with a dead body, then sure,” Shizuku replied. Niké looked as if he’d seen something he couldn’t comprehend. Shizuku had expected the pain to keep her awake, but apparently, she’d fallen into a brief slumber without realizing it. After being awoken by her colleague, she tied her loose hair back up and groggily shook her slightly feverish head. As bad as her stomach pains were, the fatigue she’d accumulated was even worse. Shizuku kept one hand on her abdomen as she stifled a yawn. “There aren’t many mages who can teleport. Only about twenty percent of those affiliated with the castle have that ability,” explained Niké. “The suspects could be narrowed down pretty quickly, then. Anyway, what do you need from me?” Ortea had sent Shizuku away, telling her that if she had anything more to say, she could leave it until the morning. It was already the early hours of the morning by that point, so the princess had either been sleepy or concerned about Shizuku’s own health. Either way, Shizuku was completely drained, so she’d returned to her room and gone to bed. That had been about four hours ago. Had Niké paid her a visit for any particular reason? Shizuku shook her head, dazed. “Does it hurt?” he asked. “It hurts. It really hurts, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever regretted being born as a woman this much before.” “If you were a man, he probably would have just killed you.” “That’s not funny, but you’re probably not wrong.” Both Niké and Ortea seemed to know that something had happened between Shizuku and the king, and that he was the cause of her plight. This was not how one should treat their sister’s subordinate. Shizuku struggled to connect the mediocre yet mild-mannered king that she’d first met to her current predicament. Despite this, both Niké and Ortea seemed to trust Shizuku over the king—a testament to the hard work she’d put in. Was it she allowed to feel happy about that? “Did you come here just to ask whether I was in pain?” Shizuku asked Niké. “No. I thought you might want to relieve it with me.” “Absolutely not,” she responded immediately. “…” Niké gave a grimace that almost made Shizuku burst out laughing. She held back, though, knowing it would anger him and come across as rude. After taking a few deep breaths to overcome the small waves of pain she was experiencing, Shizuku gave him a serious answer. “I know you mean well—though you do show it at the strangest of times—but you don’t need to trouble yourself over this. I’ll be fine.” “You’re being stupid,” said Niké. “You can’t even walk properly. Jired’s going to catch you in no time.” “Geh…” He made a good point. Niké had used his teleportation skills to transport Shizuku to her room after leaving Ortea’s chamber. She hadn’t been strong enough to make it back by herself. She felt bad about that; transporting her from one part of the castle to another was a waste of Niké’s magical power. However, it was apparently easier for him to use magic than to carry her. The unshakeable gaze of Jired came to mind, and Shizuku’s mood plummeted. “…Y-yeah, but it’s okay. If I gave in, I’d feel like I’d lost. And then I’d just be frustrated.” “That’s the issue here?” Niké asked. “Don’t you feel pain or fear?” “I do. I’ve let people push me around because I was scared of being hurt before.” “Then what’s the problem? Is there something wrong with me?” Niké sounded so offended that it took a moment for her to process his words. As soon as they sank in, however, Shizuku burst out laughing. She was still clutching onto her stomach, but this time, it was for a very different reason. Niké stared at her in dismay, the whites of his eyes showing. When she finally managed to rein in her laughter, she apologized to him. “Sorry,” she said. “I haven’t given it much thought, but it’s not you that’s the problem. It wouldn’t matter who it was. I just don’t want anyone to think that I surrendered to the pain. That’s how mad I am about this.” “…You really are an idiot.” “Shut up.” “Open your mouth.” Shizuku didn’t understand what was going on, but she opened her mouth anyway. Niké pushed something into the back of her throat, causing Shizuku to swallow as a reflex. “What the heck?” she exclaimed. “It’s a magic remedy.” Niké tossed her a small bottle filled with white pills, each about half the size of a marble. “These will dull the pain. The effects last for precisely three hours, but don’t take another dose just because it’s wearing off, or they’ll affect more than just your ability to feel pain. It’s not just abdominal pain it works on, either. You’d really have to be in agony to still feel it while taking these. Be careful you don’t injure yourself.” “Oh, thanks… Where’d you get these?” “I made them. Let me know when you’re running low.” With that, Niké stood up, seemingly intending to leave. Shizuku smiled wanly at him as he headed for the door. “Sorry for the bother,” she said. If he’d made the pills himself, then he’d done so in the four hours since they parted. She’d unwittingly inconvenienced him with her own stubbornness. Shizuku bowed her head in gratitude. “Don’t feel too indebted to me, or you’ll end up dragging me down, you stupid woman.” “Okay, I won’t. I’ll try not to anyway.” “Besides, I’m not a nice guy,” Niké said. Shizuku couldn’t tell what he’d meant by that, and whether it was just an offhand remark. Once she’d been left by herself, she stood up to check how she was feeling. “…I guess the pain’s gone?” Everything felt kind of hazy. Maybe the medicine was like a magical anesthetic. Shizuku’s abdominal pain hadn’t vanished completely, but the dull ache that remained was bearable. Shizuku did a few squats to check that she could move properly, then nodded to herself. “Good… Just you wait, you brute.” Assuming she was powerless because she’d been silenced was a big mistake. She wasn’t going to dance on his palm any longer. As much as he wanted to revel in the joy of manipulating people and sending them into madness, there had to be a limit to how far his influence reached. People who warped the wills of others for no real reason needed to be shown that they were crossing a line. Not all caged birds gave in and accepted defeat.