The First Fracture
“Otherwise, the steward might find himself on that scale as well.”
Kayan fell silent at General Berhardt’s words.
In truth, he could have offered excuses. He could have pleaded his circumstances. Yet any words he might speak would be rendered meaningless before the marshal’s unyielding logic.
Kayan slowly straightened his posture and replied.
“……I will keep it in mind.”
That single sentence was the only answer he could give.
General Berhardt gave a brief nod.
“Very well. You may go.”
Kayan rose from his seat. He bowed deeply to the marshal before leaving the reception room.
Step by step, he moved slowly, his feet heavier than usual.
“Safe travels, my lord.”
The guards opened the palace gates. Kayan offered them a brief salute, then made his way toward his own residence.
By the time he arrived, it was already late evening.
The halls were quiet. Most of the lamps had been extinguished.
Kayan handed his coat to a servant and headed for his study. Along the way stood his son’s room.
The door was slightly ajar. Kayan carefully shone his lamp through the gap.
He peered inside for a moment.
A boy lay on the bed. Half the blanket kicked aside, one arm draped over the pillow, sleeping as deeply as ever.
His name was Libert. He was twelve this year. During the attack, the boy had been only six.
That day, when the child failed to escape the assault, Perlin Claire had personally rescued him.
The memory clouded Kayan’s vision.
Even knowing that the woman he had served was shaking the foundations of the imperial family, he continued to set that truth aside. He simply could not turn his back on his savior.
“……”
Kayan watched his son through the doorway a moment longer, then turned and continued toward the study.
Beneath the lamplight, he sat for a long while without moving. A cup of tea rested on the table, untouched.
Instead, General Berhardt’s words echoed in his mind.
‘Do not weigh your personal debt against the future of the Empire.’
That single sentence slowly took root within him.
The marshal had not told him to deny the debt. He had simply said that repaying it from the position of Palace Steward was unacceptable. What Kayan owed the Empire must be repaid from his own station, not from the heart of the imperial household. If the two became entangled, both the throne and his house would ultimately collapse.
“Lady Claire……”
Kayan slowly lifted the cup and took a sip. The tea had gone cold. Yet the bitterness helped clear his thoughts.
Over the following days, the atmosphere within the palace began to shift, little by little.
There were always those quickest to sense such changes: the ladies of high society. That very afternoon, one of them requested an audience.
The Marchioness of Brendel.
One of the leading figures in the social circle, she had frequently attended Perlin Claire’s tea gatherings.
“I apologize for calling upon you so suddenly, General.”
The marchioness seated herself with perfect decorum.
“I felt it only proper to pay my respects, even once, to the man who serves the Empire so tirelessly.”
Respects.
That was the stated reason. Yet no lady would approach the Empire’s marshal merely to exchange pleasantries.
She did not waste time with lengthy preamble. After a few brief courtesies, she emphasized that House Brendel had always stood firmly by the imperial family. That was all.
Yet that single statement revealed her true purpose: she wished to reaffirm which side she stood on.
“I am well aware that your house has long upheld its duty to the throne.”
“Thank you for acknowledging it.”
Having received that single assurance, the marchioness took her leave with graceful courtesy.
She was not the only one. Over the past few days, two more such requests had arrived, all from nobles who had been close to Perlin in society.
One lady invited him to her child’s engagement ceremony; a count asked him to make a brief appearance at his family’s event.
At this point, the meaning was unmistakable.
‘So word has spread that Kayan has turned away from her.’
Chief Steward Kayan had been one of the pillars of Perlin’s power. His defection was a crack running through the entire structure.
Those with sharp instincts had sensed the shift faster than anyone.
On the surface, these were visits of courtesy, invitations to events, matters of protocol. Beneath them all lay the same question: could Perlin maintain her influence now that Kayan had abandoned her? That calculation had already begun within the social circles.
There was no need to reach out to them. They had come to him of their own accord. All he had to do was accept their hands with appropriate courtesy.
A single fracture was enough to bring down the sandcastle she had built.
Life in the detached palace remained tranquil. Perlin had grown accustomed to that quiet routine; for years, it had never once been disturbed.
Yet that morning, for the first time, she sensed something subtly amiss.
The aroma of the tea was different from usual.
Perlin held the cup to her lips for a moment before setting it down. She tried to dismiss it as nothing.
But it was not only the tea that had changed.
The maid attending her outside the door was unfamiliar. It was not the face she had seen yesterday.
“I will be serving you from today onward. Please treat me well.”
The reply was crisp, almost too clean. That very neatness grated on Perlin’s nerves.
“……”
She ignored the irritation and opened the schedule kept in the detached palace. One afternoon appointment had been left blank, marked only with the brief note: “Postponed due to Palace Affairs.”
Normally, a letter of apology would have accompanied such a change. Today, only the result appeared on the schedule.
Perlin tapped her fingertip against the characters.
Something felt off, though she could not yet name what it was.
“……I must be oversensitive.”
The next day, the small irregularities continued.
The level of service in the detached palace had decreased by one degree. The thickness of the reports had thinned. Fewer noble daughters came and went.
Each incident was minor. Taken individually, they meant nothing. Yet she could no longer pretend not to notice that they all pointed in the same direction.
‘Something is wrong……’
Perlin stood by the window of the detached palace, gazing outside.
As a candidate for crown princess and a rising new noble, her influence within the capital had been considerable. A single word from her could set dozens of people in motion.
Yet over the past few days, that influence seemed to have diminished.
‘Why?’
No answer came to mind.
Around that time, a short letter arrived at the detached palace.
It bore the seal of Maria, daughter of House Risel.
Perlin paused with the envelope in her hand.
Under normal circumstances, there would be no reason for Maria to send a letter at this hour. Their relationship had been one of direct visits and conversation, not written correspondence.
With an uneasy feeling, Perlin opened the envelope.
‘I have not been feeling well lately, so I fear I will be unable to visit the detached palace for some time. Once I have recovered, I will come to pay my respects again.’
The wording contained no discourtesy. Yet compared to Maria’s usual tone, it was excessively formal.
Instead of the private jests she would normally include, Maria had sent only a single, brief line.
Perlin slowly folded the paper and returned it to the envelope.
What on earth was happening?
Over the past year, Maria had been the friend Perlin kept closest. She had also served as an informant, bringing gossip from the social circles.
Now that same Maria had stepped back with nothing more than a claim of poor health.
The stated reason was written in that single line, yet Perlin suspected it was not the whole truth.
Maria was not the only one.
One lady who regularly attended Perlin’s tea gatherings sent word that she would be absent due to family matters. A daughter of a prestigious house who had sent regular greetings failed to do so this month. At a minor palace event, a young noblewoman who usually sat near Perlin chose a different seat.
Each incident was small. Yet all of them flowed in the same direction.
Perlin’s mind slowly grew cold.
Was it truly coincidence that everyone had chosen this moment to step away from her?
She had done nothing wrong. Her actions over the past few days had been no different from usual. Yet the currents surrounding her had changed.
That was what unsettled her most.
“Surely not.”
A single possibility surfaced in Perlin’s mind.
The man who had shown her open hostility.
“Arsens Berhardt.”
The moment she spoke the name aloud, every clue fell into place.
He had done something.
It was beyond anything she had imagined.
Arsens Berhardt had spent nearly his entire life on the battlefield. Even when he suppressed the north, he had relied on military force rather than political maneuvering.
A man who knew nothing of politics. A man who sought to settle everything with a single sword. That was how she had seen General Berhardt.
Therefore, she had never once considered that he might employ political means. She had assumed he would pressure her through the same military or martial methods as before.
Because of that assumption, every scheme Perlin had woven within the capital rested on a single premise:
General Berhardt operated outside the political arena. Therefore, no matter how she moved within it, he would never become a variable.
That had been the foundation allowing Perlin Claire to treat General Berhardt as an enemy.
But now that premise had collapsed.
In that instant, every board she had prepared lost its meaning.