Chapter 40

Terrifyingly, she had not slapped him with an open palm. She had punched him. Staggering backward, he finally managed to speak. “…I believe the phrase say something generally refers to spoken words.” “Oh, pardon me. In my part of the world, we generally speak to dunderheads with our fists.” And what uncivilized part of the world is that? Adolphus wondered. “I’ve thought about many things since coming to this kingdom. As it turns out, I don’t have that admirable willingness to sacrifice myself for the sake of a bunch of total strangers. So you may call me a fool and berate me as inhuman, but I plan to live life as I please.” Aliénore had suddenly become very animated. Her amethyst eyes peered around excitedly. “After all, those were Cornelia’s last words.” “Cornelia…?” he echoed, wondering what the last queen of the empire had to do with anything. “Yes,” his wife said, smiling. “So if you have a compliant, tell it to Cornelia Faris.” That, it turned out, was a declaration of war from his bride from across the sea. Once she had dropped her front, Aliénore was quite cutting. “If you love to work so much, why don’t you marry the kingdom? I’ll grant you a divorce right away.” That was what she said, her smile as gentle as a flower, when he greeted her after two weeks away. Needless to say, her eyes were not smiling. Adolphus tried to smooth things over with a smile of his own. “I think the load would be a little heavy for me.” “Is that so? I think it would suit you very well.” “…Next time I won’t stay away so long.” “I don’t expect much from a dunderhead anyway. You know, if you don’t start taking some time off, you’ll be bald before long.” As she had promised, Aliénore was living life as she pleased. She spent the better part of the year in the Castiel domain, hardly ever venturing to the capital. She invariably turned down invitations to balls. “I don’t like foxes and wolves,” she told Adolphus. “Not unless I’m allowed to hunt them.” He raised no objection. Scoundrels who intended to use her bloodline for their own ends could be lurking anywhere. There was no harm in keeping her meetings with outsiders to a minimum. Plus, although she acted tough, her body was frail. It would be difficult for her to attend all the balls even if she’d wanted to. Fortunately, her life at their country manor seemed to suit her constitution relatively well. “Are you all right?” Still, she always fell ill when the seasons changed. One day, Adolphus returned home toward dawn and heard her coughing in the room next to his. He knocked softly on the door. “Come in,” she said hoarsely. He stepped into his wife’s room, which he normally did not enter at this time of night. Aliénore was sitting up in bed, reaching for the water pitcher. She poured herself a glass, drank it down, and whispered, “…I want some hot lemonade.” Is that all? he thought, and nodded. “I’ll have the maids make some.” “I would feel bad waking them at this hour.” The Republic of Soldita, Aliénore’s motherland, was a polytheistic country. The highest god, Anai, was said to preside over freedom and equality. Aliénore had grown up as a priestess at a shrine where rank had no place. Maybe that was why she was accustomed to standing before a crowd but resisted using other people. Adolphus sighed. The mansion had servants on duty at night, but he guessed it would do no good to tell her that. “…Wait here.” A few minutes later, he returned with two steaming cups. She gave him a questioning look. “You made it yourself?” She sounded dumbfounded. “Weren’t you the one who didn’t want to ask the maids?” he replied, exasperated. Aliénore’s eyes widened. She timidly reached out her hand. After blowing on the hot liquid several times, she took a sip. “…It’s sour.” That was her first comment. It was followed by grumbling about the fact that seeds were floating around, the pulp wasn’t properly strained out, and the honey wasn’t melted. Adolphus grew sullen and considered giving her a piece of his mind, but then he noticed how oddly happy she looked while she was complaining, and he swallowed his words. Before he knew it, her cup was empty. After that, every time she got sick, she pestered him for lemonade. The seasons passed, and a fateful day arrived. Hard at work on state business in the capital, Adolphus was able to return to the domain only a few times a year. On that particular day, he was returning for the first time in six months. After completing an unavoidable inspection of the domain, he went to see his wife. They chatted aimlessly. That was all. Nothing about the day was unusual. But that night, something happened. He had lit his bedside lamp and was reading a report from the capital when he heard a knock on the door. He looked up. Without waiting for his answer, Aliénore walked in and stood before him, smiling as if to say, I’m not doing anything wrong. Adolphus set down his report and sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead. “…Aliénore. That is not how a lady behaves.” “Oh, but it is. After all, we are man and wife.” Her shameless attitude reminded him of that other conversation they’d once had. “You said our relationship was that of mere acquaintances, I believe. And sure enough, that’s what was written in the dictionary.” “You ought to burn that garbage this instant,” she said with a shrug. “Since you’re so stubborn, I decided to take matters into my own hands.” Adolphus groaned. “…Do you know what you’re saying?” “I told you, didn’t I? You may call me a fool and berate me as inhuman, but I plan to live life as I please.” If he remembered correctly, those were Cornelia Faris’s last words. When he asked if that was the case, Aliénore nodded indifferently. “Yes. And this is what she told her daughter,” she said in a singsong voice, climbing slowly onto his bed. “ ‘If you fall in love with someone, do not hesitate to bear that person’s child. If the gods do not forgive you, I will bear the punishment in your stead.’ That was the decision of my revered ancestress. Let me ask you, Adolphus. Are you familiar with the family motto taught to those of us who carry on the starry crown?” “Why would I be?” His cross glare had no effect on Aliénore. To the contrary, she seemed to find it amusing, because her lips formed an utterly bewitching smile. “If you have a complaint, tell it to Cornelia Faris.” What a pain. Adolphus gripped his head. He wanted to get up and leave the room. But first he had to make something clear. “…If we did have a child…” He grabbed Aliénore’s shoulders to stop her from edging any closer to him. His heart quickened at the touch of her body, softer and more slender than he had expected. “…wouldn’t you pity that child for being at the mercy of fate?” Her face was so close, he could almost feel her breath. Her jewel-like eyes narrowed. “As for that,” she said, without a trace of hesitation in her voice, “I’ve never once in my life pitied myself.” Adolphus was taken aback by her flat statement. She giggled, clearly pleased with herself. “After all, I know I came into this world wanted and loved.” She looked into his eyes. Adolphus was at his wit’s end. “…This is very hard to say,” he said. He didn’t know when she had fallen in love with him, but unfortunately, he could not return the sentiment. “Aliénore. I’m sorry. I don’t love you.” Her response to this important announcement was laughter. Then she took his hand and twined her fingers around his. “Then withdraw your hand from mine, Adolphus Castiel.” Her glittering eyes took in his troubled face. He felt frozen by her sudden challenge. “You see? You can’t,” she said victoriously. In fact, it would have been quite easy to shake off her hand—or it should have been. He knew he ought to do it. For his kingdom, and for the child that would be born. But. But Aliénore was smiling so happily at him. Adolphus could not bring himself to take his hand away from hers, no matter how hard he tried. Now she’d done it. Connie grimaced. Her palm stung. This was the first time she had ever slapped someone, and she hadn’t realized it hurt the person doing the slapping as well as the one being slapped. Adolphus was blinking in shock. His cheek was slightly pink. She felt sorry for him even though she’d done it herself. She glanced at His Excellency. He was peering up at the ceiling, one hand on his forehead. She wanted to disappear. Just as she was thinking she would much rather have been punched in return, an innocent voice said, “Oh, pardon me. My mother told me that it’s proper to speak to dunderheads with one’s fist.” What sort of uncivilized place has manners like that? “Um, my friend said that’s the custom in her mother’s hometown.” “…Custom?” “Yes. She said it’s what they do to dunderheads—not to imply that you’re a dunderhead, Duke! It’s just a figure of speech, or…!” The duke’s eyes widened briefly, and a second later he burst out laughing. “I’m lucky to get off with a slap!” he said. “What…?” “It hurt more the last time,” he added nostalgically. He didn’t seem to have anything else to say on the matter. Connie was sighing in relief, thinking she had somehow gotten away with it, when Adolphus turned to her again. “And what is your friend after?” “After?” “I can’t imagine a slap is all she wants.” Neither can I. Connie smiled to cover up her inability to answer, but the duke seemed to misinterpret her silence. “Go ahead, ask for anything,” he said with a smile. “Shall I give you my head?” “N-n-n-no!” Connie said, shaking her head vehemently at this frightening suggestion. “I see. If you should need it in the future, don’t hesitate to ask,” he joked, but his magenta eyes revealed no trace of happiness. The moment she noticed this, Connie blurted out, “…Do you want to die?” He stared at her, seemingly caught off guard by her words. Then he smiled bitterly, as if something had fallen into place. “I think you may be right,” he said. His smile was terribly sad. “I believe I do.” Connie was momentarily speechless, and she chose her next words deliberately. “…Um, you see, this friend of mine is very busy, because she wants revenge on so many people. She can’t let herself get caught up with just one of them. So…,” she went on, lowering her eyebrows in consternation. “Don’t you think it would be all right to stop blaming yourself?” “…That has nothing to do with you.” “I know. But these aren’t my words.” She was speaking for someone who, right now, was snorting and looking the other way. But Adolphus was not swayed. “It doesn’t matter whose words they are. I must bear my punishment.” The light had gone out of his magenta eyes. They were as dark as a bottomless swamp. “Otherwise, wouldn’t you pity the child whose life was stolen through no fault of her own?” “But…” The duke was surprisingly stubborn. Connie’s words wouldn’t be enough to reach him. If she didn’t do something, she might very well end up leaving with his head in her hands. As she imagined that bloody scene, her eyes teared up. H-help me! “I swear! You’re hopeless!” Scarlett, who had been silently watching the scene unfold, sighed dramatically and planted her hand on her hip. “I suppose it must be done. Connie!” she said loudly. “Yes…!” Connie answered, clinging to this lone straw. The next moment, something took a running leap into her body. “As for that…,” the girl said quietly after a brief silence. Adolphus glanced at her and frowned. How strange. Her voice was brimming with confidence, and her posture was bold. She looked entirely different than she had a moment ago. The timid, restless little animal was gone, replaced by the self-possessed smile of a carnivore waiting to devour its prey. He felt a powerful wave of déjà vu. Although he had met Constance Grail for the first time today, for some reason, Adolphus felt that he knew her smile very well. She fixed her gaze on him, that familiar smile still on her lips. “I’ve never once in my life pitied myself.” Adolphus gaped at her. “Yes, I’ve been angry, and I’ve been sad,” she went on. “But I have an awkward, stubborn father, and I can’t do anything about that.” Who was this girl? No—he knew. She was Constance Grail. She had hazelnut hair, pale green eyes, and an ordinary face. That much was certain. But… “I don’t feel pitiful. After all, I came into this world wanted and loved.” There was no way Adolphus could mistake that smile, overflowing as it was with certainty that the person wearing it was the very center of the world. “If nothing else, I know my father loved me.” Adolphus gulped. “I have a lot more I want to say, but yes, I suppose I have only one choice…” She paused, then whispered her next words like they were a very important secret. “I’ll tell the rest to Cornelia Faris.” Adolphus felt dizzy. “I see,” he mumbled, almost too softly to hear. So that’s how it was. “You know what I mean, don’t you, Father?” she asked. He did. He did know. He nodded, somewhere between tears and laughter. The Scarlett Castiel with pale green eyes and hazelnut hair gave a dazzling smile. “After all, that’s what Mother used to say.” After she said good-bye to the duke, Connie took a stroll in the gardens around the mansion while she waited for her carriage. Randolph had already left, citing some urgent business. “I remember this path,” she said. It was among the banks of blazing scarlet salvia where she had met Maximilian’s daughter, little Lettie, not long ago. “You said white hydrangeas used to grow here, didn’t you?” “Yes.” Scarlett nodded. “The butler, Mr. Claude, told me that these flowers are called scarlet sage in Soldita. He said Duke Castiel chose them himself.” Connie didn’t know what the duke had been thinking as he talked to Scarlett through her body. But as she left, he had asked her to give his greetings to her friend. Connie smiled as she gazed at the teardrop-shaped petals fluttering in the wind. “They’re beautiful.” Scarlett did not answer. She looked silently out over the carpet of red flowers. Then she snorted. “Darkian is next. I’ll slap her until those middle-aged wrinkles flatten right out!” “Hey, wait a second, I’m the one who will have to do that…!” After his guests had left, Adolphus sat in a daze. Presently, a rich fragrance tickled his nose. “I thought your throat might be dry, sir,” Claude said. The tea in its porcelain cup was the color of the sunset on the western horizon. Just like it was that day, Adolphus thought, and looked up. Claude was smiling knowingly. Adolphus smiled back faintly and brought the cup to his lips. “…Delicious.” The warm liquid flowed down his throat. “As your butler, I am honored to see you pleased to the point of tears.” Adolphus smiled at Claude’s show of nonchalance. As he did, a tear fell into the sunset in his teacup, sending quiet ripples across the little sky. “I thought your throat might be dry.” Adolphus looked up at the sound of Claude’s voice. Still lost in the haze of his thoughts, he glanced around the room, unsure where he was. It appeared to be his study. He had no memory of when he had come or how long he had been there. Enough time must have passed for Claude to check on him. Scarlett’s execution had gone off smoothly. Adolphus had gone to his office in the palace as usual and done his work like he always did. He paid no attention to the public square, instead playing the foolish father ashamed of his daughter’s errors. This was a one-in-a-million opportunity for Adelbide, and it wouldn’t do for the enemy to suspect their plan. But if he could have, he would have dropped everything to run out to the square. His daughter was very like her mother, and he was certain she must have held her head up proudly until the very last moment. She was haughty and grand—but her indomitable spirit was blindingly brilliant. He was sure that his beautiful, fierce girl had stolen the heart of every person in that square. Scarlett’s remains were inside the urn on his knees. Her body had been left in the streets, battered so badly, he was forced to cremate it. In that moment, when her life was stolen from her so absurdly, Scarlett Castiel became a villain. But the truth was, she had committed no crime meriting death. Powerless, foolish Adolphus had not even been able to lay her to rest in the family grave. He traced the swell of the urn with his finger. “…I think jet would be best for the casket. It’s mined from the oceans in the Far East, and they say it’s formed from golden trees that sank to the bottom of the water. Sacred trees that will lead your soul to the promised land, they say.” “I will order some immediately,” Claude replied. He sounded the same as always, which allowed Adolphus to continue naturally. “…Oh, and don’t forget to order a blanket woven from the cocoons of moon silkworms. It won’t do for her to be cold. Remember how she was always catching colds when she was little? She got fevers so quickly, we couldn’t let her out of our sight.” “I do.” “And let’s have some beautiful carvings done on the coffin. Hire some carvers from Arrifat. I wonder what design would be best. She wouldn’t stand for anything but the finest. She always had to have her way.” “…Yes.” “I’m thinking of bringing her to the freesia fields in our domain. The place where she got covered in mud that time. Maximilian had to drag her home, remember? She looked so beautiful in that blue dress—” He could say no more. He crouched over the urn, hugging it to his body. If there had been any other way, he would have sacrificed anything to take it. He would have sold his soul to the devil if that was what it took. He would have given his own life a hundred times over. “I should have told her I loved her, even once…!” Instead of being so stupidly proud, he should have told her. He should have kissed her cheeks as many times as she asked him to. It would have been so easy. With no outlet, his thoughts turned to lamentations. Even if he ended his own life, his sinful soul would never reach the same place as Scarlett’s. Still, he longed to be with her again. If he could speak even one more word to her, that would be enough. He would do anything for that opportunity. He knew, of course, that his wish could never be fulfilled. But he was human, and humans can’t help hoping for miracles. It’s the only way they can go on living.