A Father-Son Fight Can Be Stopped (2)
"Your Majesty, that child was ours to begin with. He belonged to our house. So—"
"Don't make me laugh, Duke. That child is now, in name and in law, a Baron of this Empire. Not some babe swaddled beneath your skirts."
"...."
"He was the very one you cast out, was he not? What exactly are you hoping to patch over at this late hour?"
The frost that had gripped the room mere moments ago now felt like a lie — and no, that was not my imagination. One glance around was all it took to catch the faces of the surrounding nobles, every one of them still scrambling to work out what on earth was happening.
"...The old saying speaks of the joy of family bonds, does it not—"
"How eloquently the man who severed those very bonds with his own hands does speak."
"...."
"And right when the boy's strength came to light, of all moments."
"...."
"I never thought of you that way, but... you have an uglier side than I gave you credit for."
Crack—
The Duke's brow lifted, ever so slightly — and in the same breath, the smile at the corner of the Emperor's mouth deepened further still. As though a decade's worth of pent-up heartburn had dissolved from him all at once.
"...Your Majesty, be that as it may, a barony for a boy without so much as a proper family name to his credit is far too generous—"
"Well, he is no longer a Reinhardt, is he?"
"...."
"Ah — forgive me, I've cut you off. Go on. Do continue."
"...My son has his merits, I grant you, but he has yet to even come of age."
"...And?"
"Furthermore, he lacks even the most basic experience to be saddled with a noble's duties and responsibilities."
"...What is it you're getting at?"
"I ask that you permit House Reinhardt to take charge of his education."
At the Duke's abrupt declaration, I very nearly spat out exactly what I was thinking. Again.
Was the man out of his mind...?
"Ha. Are you saying this in your right mind?"
"By my calculations, some two years should prove more than sufficient."
Though the Emperor and I — and every noble around us besides — stared at him in open bewilderment, his expression remained utterly devoid of humor. As if he meant every last word of it.
"...What is your reason for all this, I wonder. Why are you so obsessed with that boy?"
"Say what anyone will, he is my son. My blood. And he was once a member of House Reinhardt."
It was a perfect... excuse. A gilded one, at that — all glitter on the surface.
It was true that I had any number of failings as a noble. Born a bastard, I was riddled with gaps in my knowledge, and far from embodying dignity and decorum, there were whole stretches of this country's own etiquette I had never properly mastered. In other words, as a noble I fell short of the scions of other houses in more ways than one — and for someone in that state, a title of nobility was a generosity far beyond deserving. Hence: the man who had once been bound to me as father and child would take it upon himself to educate me. Under the banner of House Reinhardt, no less.
...Yeah, the man was simply insane.
"Reinhardt. Aren't you being just a touch too shameless?"
"Whatever do you mean, Your Majesty?"
The Emperor pressed a hand to his forehead as though the whole affair ached behind his eyes, but the Duke's expression never so much as flickered; he asked, in all apparent innocence, what the problem could possibly be. Not to be outdone, the Emperor dug two fingers into the space between his brows and spoke.
"The whole Empire knows — down to the smallest child in the street — that you were the very one who threw that boy out."
"...."
"By what right, then, do you presume to dictate that boy's conduct, this way and that?"
It was sound reasoning, and it was fact. Ask which rumor burned hottest in the Empire at this moment, and the answer would be the one about the Duke and me. Granted, with both subjects of the gossip standing right there, no one whispered openly — but that was only what met the eye. At this very moment, the Duke's reputation might well be plummeting in real time.
And in the middle of all that, he meant to take me back into the family? However you sliced it, the setup was guaranteed to breed scandal — favorable or not. In other words, a gamble. A gamble with frighteningly good odds of failure.
'He can't possibly... not know that, can he?'
"...Your Majesty."
The moment the thought crossed my mind, the Duke opened his mouth. His face, twisted only moments before, was now perfectly composed.
"Is there any proof that those rumors are true?"
"...What did you say?"
The instant his brazen words rang through the hall, everyone — the Emperor and Jenison above all, and even the onlookers around them — turned to stare with expressions that said, oh, this has gone too far. Yet the man himself, bearing those stares head-on, gave no reaction whatsoever. Because no matter how you looked at it, he had nothing to feel guilty about.
Proof? He already had Aria — the very person who had spread the rumors — in his grasp. And witnesses? His meticulous investigation had turned up no one, anywhere, who could testify to the truth of it. No — there never would be. No Academy cadet alive wanted to pick a quarrel with a ducal house. And should some brave fool among them resolve to step forward anyway, he need only arrange for them to vanish without a trace.
'...Consider the most troublesome obstacle cleared away.'
True, the other party in those rumors was still alive and well — but that, too, was only ever one individual's claim. The word of a single Academy cadet. Call him special if you liked; that was as far as it went. It carried nothing like the weight of a ducal house's head speaking.
'...However many times he replayed it, every path ended in his victory.'
"...Reinhardt. Now you've truly gone too—"
"Your Majesty."
To a Duke already certain of his victory, there was nothing left to kneel for. All that remained, as it always had, was to press forward.
"The one who spread those rumors was my own daughter."
"...I am aware."
"Do you truly believe that brilliant child would do anything to drag her own house through the mud?"
Aria Reinhardt. A girl whose talent rivaled that of the Renuiel Ducal House's eldest daughter, and who carried nothing but pride and devotion for her family. That was the Aria Reinhardt the world knew.
"Some time ago, that child came to me with a question."
"...About what?"
"How to grow the family's power. And how to find people worth trusting."
"...."
"So I told her: seek out those who would stand by our house without wavering, no matter what befell us."
A faint stir ran through the room. Everyone seemed to grasp what the Duke's words implied.
"...So what you are saying now is... your own daughter spread false rumors?"
"That is so."
A lie, red from root to tip. Nothing but a lie with not a shred of evidence behind it — and frankly, that hardly mattered. Not here, not in this room. The point of these words was to plant a seed in every head present: ...well, it could be true! Facts and truth could be manufactured later. Even if it had to be done through that dim-witted daughter of his.
'What mattered now was keeping the family's name from sinking any further.'
"...Absurd. Is there anyone who can prove this claim of yours?"
"I regret to say... my daughter is currently missing."
"...Is that so. Of all times, of all situations."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"...Hmm. Jenison. Your thoughts on the matter... Jenison?"
At the Emperor's puzzled reply, the Duke's head snapped up. The moment the Emperor had spoken Jenison's name, an immense, inexplicable dread had seized him, ruling him from crown to toe.
"...Where has Jenison gone?"
"Ah... Lord Jenison slipped out a short while ago with Lady Charlotte. We... we don't know where."
What was this crushing unease? The way it crept up his body, slow and crawling, was deeply repellent. Like a dark swamp at the dead of night.
"Lady Aria, please, have a little of this."
"...."
"If you refuse every last bite, your body truly will give out on you."
"...Leave."
"My lady...!"
"I said leave."
Just now, Aria's fifth meal had been turned away at her own request. All of them — every single one, without exception.
"Goodness... what do we do if something happens to her, carrying on like this?"
"And the Duke already looks furious enough as it is..."
"I peeked in earlier... she's gotten so thin, honestly...!"
Since she had been brought to this prison of a place, she had not let a single morsel of food touch her lips. Not the dishes she had once loved so dearly, not a sip of water, not a blade of grass. She refused even a single slice of meat — as though someone like her had no right to put such things in her mouth.
"Is the food not to her liking...? Chomp, chomp.... No, it tastes perfectly fine to me?"
"Hey, you crazy bitch?! Why are you eating that?!"
"Well... it's only going to be thrown out anyway..."
"But... do you really think she could starve herself to death at this rate?"
"Come to think of it... tomorrow makes three days she's gone without..."
The servants' worry was no small thing. She might be despised now, but her rank was that of a duke's daughter — the daughter of the house that guarded the entire northern frontier, no less. If a lady like that refused every meal they carried to her and starved to death, they would not only have to face the Duke's wrath; they would never work in the ducal house again. And branded as bearers of ill omen, they could forget about finding a place in any other household, too. All of it, despite having done nothing wrong whatsoever.
"Oh, please, my lady... even by tomorrow, please..."
"Please... anything at all, just eat something... please..."
"Maybe... before the Duke makes an example of us... we ought to just leave the house..."
"He is terrifying, that much is true... huh?"
"What? What is it?"
"No... didn't something just whoosh past a second ago?"
"What?"
"No... two things, pitch-black... or am I imagining it?"
"What is she on about... come on, let's grab the dishes and go."