Chapter 18: This Is Too Blatant (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 18: This Is Too Blatant (1)
Around the time Calian was just starting his lunch, the atmosphere in the grand hall of Senyu Hall was unusually tense. Though it was the final day of the festival, the mood was even more tumultuous than on the first.
—On the second day of the festival, the great mage Alan Manasil entered the Mage Association and remained there all day.
—The mages of the association have suddenly begun to mobilize, but the reason remains unknown.
As these rumors spread, they were joined by an even more unbelievable piece of news.
—The first person Alan Manasil has taken as his disciple is none other than the Third Prince, Calian.
—We’ve received information that this matter has already been settled with King Lemain.
The confusion among the nobles, who were frantically trying to calculate the repercussions of this alliance, spread like an unstoppable wave.
However, there was one place this news had yet to reach.
The person who was supposed to receive it had not yet woken up, even though it was well past morning.
A commotion erupted outside his bedroom door. A moment later, the door burst open, and a voice called out urgently. It belonged to the senior attendant who always woke him.
"Your Highness! Please wake up! Your Highness!"
His attendant wasn't using a quiet voice, nor was he ringing a gentle bell. He stood outside the curtained bedchamber, shouting.
"Your Highness!"
Only after another desperate call did the prince’s eyelids flutter open, revealing light green eyes. Despite the unusual disturbance, he merely sat up slowly, as if bothered by some tedious chore.
He pressed a hand to his forehead, his expression laced with irritation.
"What... is the meaning of this?"
The attendant stood outside the curtains, his anxious, restless demeanor on full display. "Prince Franz, you must wake up...!"
Just then, another figure appeared behind the attendant, shoved him aside, and grabbed the curtain.
A strong fragrance flooded the room.
The scent of Renieri.
Franz grimaced and swung his legs out of bed.
"I am coming in."
She wasn't asking for permission. It was always like this. She was a woman who never asked, a woman who didn't know the meaning of consideration.
Pale white fingers parted the curtains. The hem of a mint-green dress and the tips of pale yellow shoes stepped into Franz's bedchamber. It was Silike.
Franz's attendant trailed behind her, visibly flustered and unsure of what to do. Although this wasn't the first time, he still couldn't seem to get used to it.
Franz waved a hand, dismissing him. The attendant bowed deeply and scurried out of the room in a panic.
Click.
As the door closed, Silike covered her face with a fan. Knowing she was frowning behind it, Franz avoided her gaze.
Silike slowly scanned the room. "The stench of alcohol is overwhelming."
Masked by the cloying scent of Renieri, the smell of liquor was barely noticeable.
Instead of pointing that out, Franz silently tapped the glass sitting on his bedside table. The gesture was clear: I drank, so of course it smells. It was also an act of complete defiance against King Lemain's prohibition on alcohol.
Silike's eyes grew sharp.
Regardless of her glare, her voice remained calm as it drifted from behind the fan. "You are only fifteen. You are not at an age to be shackled to alcohol. Besides, you have an engagement soon, yet you haven't even woken up."
For a moment, Franz felt as if he were hearing his father’s voice, always muffled by stacks of documents, overlapping with hers.
Franz had started drinking the moment he turned fifteen and completed his coming-of-age ceremony. Even so, constantly reeking of alcohol was not something that could be easily overlooked, especially since he had gone outside the palace in that state.
"What a disappointing display."
"I doubt you came here just to say that," Franz retorted, lifting the glass with the dregs of his drink.
It was hard to tell whether his half-lidded eyes were from sleepiness or lingering intoxication. The only thing certain was his complete lack of interest in a conversation.
"Why are you here?"
Silike's grip on her fan tightened—a small motion to suppress her anger—but Franz paid it no mind.
"If you continue to show this side of yourself, what will His Majesty think? No matter how hard this mother of yours tries..."
"I don't want to hear it." His voice was languid.
Silike's eye twitched. She cleared her throat and tried again. "You are becoming increasingly insolent. Surely you don't behave this way when speaking with His Majesty?"
Speaking with him? Me?
Franz’s eyes opened a fraction wider as he let out a sneer. "Just tell me why you came and leave."
With that, he stumbled to his feet, not bothering to straighten his disheveled clothes. His face was a mask of impatience, desperate to end the conversation.
"Calian has gained the backing of a mage. The nobles are already in an uproar because that mage, Alan Manasil, has taken him as his disciple."
A mage.
Franz, who had been heading toward the sofa, paused mid-stride. He looked down at the glass in his hand, watching the alcohol slosh inside.
But that was his only reaction.
"...So?"
Silike turned to face him. She knew Franz wasn't foolish enough to misunderstand the gravity of the situation or why she had rushed here. Instead of explaining further, she asked, "Are you going to keep disappointing me like this?"
"Stop trying so hard." Franz ignored her question, repeating the same words he had said countless times before.
Silike tried to speak again, but he cut her off.
"It's annoying."
He raised the hand holding the glass and pointed toward the door. Silike stood watching him for a long moment, but his hand remained raised, unwavering.
"...Do not be late for your duties today, or for the destiny that awaits you." Folding her fan, Silike gave Franz's face one last look. "I will make sure nothing stands in your way."
With that, she spun around and walked out.
The door slammed shut with a deafening bang. Franz finally lowered his arm.
He stared blankly at the glass in his hand for a moment, then grit his teeth and hurled it against the wall.
Crash!
Shattered glass sprayed across the room. A flying shard sliced the back of his hand, and blood began to trickle down.
The attendants and maids, who had been waiting anxiously outside, rushed in at the sound. Franz, his shoulders slumped, stared at the drops of blood falling from his fingertips.
"Get out," he said.
"Your Highness, your hand is bleeding! We must treat—"
"Get out! I said get out! Get the hell out!"
...Calian!
* * *
After finishing his meal, Calian changed into his formal princely attire.
Perhaps because the antidote was taking effect, breathing felt a little easier. Or perhaps it was because he hadn't drunk his morning tea, thanks to the rushed preparations following Alan's sudden visit.
While the maids combed his hair and made final adjustments, Yan stood beside him, explaining the last day's festival schedule.
"You will soon be heading to the equestrian performance. As it is outside the royal palace, the journey will take about an hour. After that, there is a ball starting at eight o'clock."
The princes attended equestrian performances on the King's birthday for the simple reason that King Lemain loved horses. Calian had no complaints; he rather enjoyed spending time with Raven.
"Is that the performance the Brissen Trading Company canceled?"
"Yes, that's correct. Viscount Brissen even visited personally because of it and had an evening banquet with the princes, did he not?"
Performances grand enough for the King were usually hosted by major trading companies. This was partly because no theatrical troupes were large enough, and partly because the trading companies owned most of the large performance venues.
"So, this performance is being hosted by the Polun Trading Company. It's the first time a performance has been held by a company other than Brissen."
"Polun?"
That sounds familiar. What was it?
Calian furrowed his brow. After a moment of thought, his eyes snapped open.
"Baron Polun."
Yan nodded and elaborated. "Yes. He is a young baron named Melfir Polun, and they say he is quite intelligent and resourceful. For whatever reason, it seems Brissen yielded the performance to him this time."
Calian let out a soft chuckle.
They had no choice but to yield it unless they wanted to be hanged.
His eyes gleamed as he recalled the circumstances he couldn't speak aloud. The reason he remembered Melfir Polun was due to an incident famous enough to have reached even Secritia.
An accident where royalty—specifically, the First Prince—was injured.
Just as the royal family was leaving after the performance, a temporary structure erected for the show collapsed. Randel, who happened to be on the stairs at that exact moment, was struck by the falling debris and sent tumbling to the floor below.
Although it wasn't life-threatening, he had broken his leg and had to recuperate in Tensil for about a month. Or so the story went.
So that was now. King Lemain attended so many equestrian performances that I never considered this particular one to be 'that' incident.
Having recalled that much, Calian tapped his knee.
It wasn't a simple accident.
Traces were found showing that the ropes securing the structure had been cut with something sharp. While that was far from enough evidence to prove Melfir had intended to harm Randel, the victim was the grandson of the King of Tensil. Consequently, Tensil was furious, and in the end, King Lemain sent Melfir to the gallows.
Upon hearing of the incident, he had discussed with Chase whether the punishment was too hasty, considering how sloppy the assassination attempt was for a royal target. Chase had seemed to figure something out but hadn't told Bern, leaving him to puzzle over it for some time. Thanks to that mental exercise, the memory was still fresh.
There is virtually zero chance that Polun was the actual culprit.
Unless he was a complete fool, he would never target royalty while leaving such obvious evidence at his own venue. If he was as intelligent and resourceful as Yan claimed, he would have used this performance as an opportunity, not as a stepping stone to the gallows.
Brissen is the most suspicious, as expected... But why target Randel? And why only injure him moderately? Or was their real target the Polun Trading Company?
Was Polun threatening enough to warrant a scheme that provoked both the royal family and Tensil?
Neither Bern nor the original Calian remembered much about the trading companies. Calian's brow furrowed deeper.
"Your Highness...?"
Yan's voice pulled Calian from his thoughts. He turned his head.
"Is there something troubling you?" Yan asked cautiously.
"Hm?"
It seemed Yan had grown anxious seeing Calian staring silently into the mirror with a frown. Calian smiled and shook his head. "No. I was just thinking about something."
Come to think of it, Yan always became anxious whenever Calian spent time in front of a mirror. Just how many had the former Calian broken for him to react like this?
Calian stood up and spoke in a calm voice. "You don't have to worry about the mirror anymore."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Realizing his thoughts had been read, Yan looked embarrassed. Pretending not to notice, Calian asked another question.
"Will Baron Polun be present to greet us at today's performance?"
"Usually, the host sits next to His Majesty during the performance. He will pay his respects before the show begins."
"I see."
Brissen's involvement was highly suspicious. Something about this stank to high heaven.
I'll have to keep him alive first and figure things out.
And so, he resolved to save Melfir Polun and uncover the truth.