Chapter 200: I'm Going to Raise a Dog (7)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 200: I'm Going to Raise a Dog (7)
A white teacup, lavishly adorned with gold leaf.
His gaze drifted to the crimson tea pooled within. Unable to smell its aroma or taste its flavor, Chase simply smiled softly, imagining a pair of eyes that shared the exact same hue.
The man sitting across from him spoke in a deeply raspy voice.
"Speak."
Unable to trust even his "only" son, the man hid his condition, claiming it was merely a lingering cold. But Chase knew exactly why that voice was so hoarse. He also knew why the man's coughing fits had grown more frequent. Of course, the man sitting before him insisted that, too, was just a cold.
"There appear to be no particular issues from the northwestern nobles' gathering…"
"Baron Nerund is not the type of man to attend a gathering without some ulterior motive."
Suspicion.
"Did you not already strip the baron of all his influence last month, Your Majesty? The only thing the baron requested from the other nobles at this gathering was food aid. The damage from the recent typhoon was severe…"
"Chase."
His habit of never letting others finish speaking remained unchanged. Since he had no intention of correcting it, that was only natural.
Pausing at the familiar summons, Chase replied quietly, "Yes, Your Majesty."
A violent fit of coughing echoed through the office.
The other northwestern nobles suffered from the typhoon as well. Would they really meet just to talk about food?
It had already been well over a month since he was trapped in this suffocating place once again. Although the tea, redder than the August sun, made the scorching heat feel even more oppressive, Chase's mind cooled to an icy chill.
"The other northwestern nobles suffered from the typhoon as well. Would they really meet just to talk about food?"
The king spoke the exact words Chase had just recalled.
Groundless suspicion. Words of doubt that would never end until everything was over.
What did I say back then? After a brief moment of reflection, Chase offered the exact same response he remembered giving in the past.
"I will look into it again, Your Majesty."
Now, the man before him would cough dryly without answering, merely waving his hand. After that, Chase would quietly rise, bow, and leave the office.
Just as Chase had envisioned, the king, wearing the same clothes and coughing in the same way, waved his hand. Chase stood, bowed in the exact manner he had pictured, and stepped out of the office.
Click.
The massive door—the same one Kyrie had entered with a bowed head in a time that was both distant future and distant past—closed with a soft click.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
He set aside all other thoughts as he counted his strides. Maintaining his usual serene expression and wearing his usual gentle smile, he took twenty steps, then thirty.
So as not to arouse suspicion.
To look exactly as I always do.
Focusing his entire being on his footsteps, he returned to his own office. Teilan followed him inside and went to close the door.
"Your Royal Highness."
"No."
Chase cut Teilan off almost instantly. Then, in an even softer whisper, he answered the question that hadn't even been asked.
"I never did that, Sir Castrin."
After leaving the King's office, he had never immediately held a private audience with anyone upon returning to the Crown Prince's office.
"So, please step outside."
Right now, Chase was reenacting his memories, down to the smallest detail.
Bern was not here, and Teilan was by his side. The current Chase knew how to wield a sword, and he had recently visited Kairis. Thus, not everything could be perfectly identical, and there were countless days he couldn't even remember. However, when it came to recurring events, he did everything in his power to act exactly the same.
This was to prevent Devlan's suspicious gaze from falling upon him, ensuring that the future Chase remembered would not deviate.
"Yes, Your Royal Highness."
Having been stopped like this several times already, Teilan gave a brief reply, bowed, and stepped outside. He likely wouldn't return until Chase called for him.
With the office door closed once more, Chase was finally left alone. He let out a long sigh. Exhausted from the sheer mental strain, he closed his eyes for a moment, the conversation he had just shared with Devlan replaying in his mind.
Today's events were completely identical to his memories.
—Did you not already strip the baron of all his influence last month?
This, too, was what the Chase of the past had said. The single truth this fact revealed made Chase grit his teeth.
There was no need… to send Bern.
He did not know who was currently acting as Devlan's sword. It was undoubtedly one of Devlan's royal guards, but there was no need to find out. That wasn't important.
Even without Bern, the people being pruned away were exactly the same as in the past. The people who vanished, the dates of their disappearances, and even the methods used and Devlan's reactions—everything was identical.
Which meant…
Even in the past, there had been no absolute need for Bern to step forward.
Now that Bern was gone, someone else must have stained their hands with blood in his place, but at least that someone wasn't a boy of only fourteen, not even fully grown.
Why on earth?
He wanted to run back to that office with the massive door this instant and demand answers. Even though the current Devlan didn't even know who Bern was, Chase still wanted to ask.
Why?
Why did you use your own son as nothing more than a blade?
He suppressed the urge to ask the question, which felt like it would tear from his throat like coughed-up blood. He endured, pressing down the sensation of his very fingertips and toes being severed. Since returning to this palace, he had not let his guard down for a single moment, enduring every passing minute and second. And as he endured, he searched his memories, ensuring not a single detail deviated by a hair's breadth.
Knock, knock.
Leaning back on the sofa, swallowing the words he could never speak, Chase quietly opened his eyes.
"Your Royal Highness, it's me. I'm coming in."
A voice addressing him directly, bypassing any attendants. A casual tone used regardless of who was present, as long as it wasn't Devlan.
Chase did not tell her to stop. In truth, he didn't even have time to refuse. Following the voice that sounded more like an announcement than a request, the door creaked open, and a mane of long, curly hair came into view.
"Arianne."
Naturally, it was Arianne.
"What are you doing?"
I'm searching my mind, putting a puzzle together.
Checking if anything is out of place, connecting the pieces so not a single one is lost.
Clap!
Chase's train of thought was cut short as Arianne clapped her hands loudly right in front of his face. She bent down to meet his gaze, then raised her hand and pressed her warm palm against his cool forehead. After holding his gaze for a moment, Arianne spoke.
"Don't do that."
It was as if she had read his mind, as if she knew exactly why he was pushing himself to this extent.
"Don't move like a painted figure. Just act as you normally would. It's fine."
It was not fine.
"Everything must unfold exactly the same way, Arianne. At least until this winter," Chase replied quietly. "Only then will the healer arrive on the exact same day and 'disappear' without any complications."
Only then would he inherit the crown in a quiet, peaceful, and utterly natural manner. Without any issues, perfectly naturally. And in doing so, it would not affect any other nation, ensuring that Calian's plan to move early next year would not go awry.
"I know the laws of Secritia better than you do. I will make sure no one, absolutely no one, can break them."
She would ensure that the bloodline of traitors would never again set foot on Secritian soil. No matter what Devlan promised or with whom he traded, and regardless of what schemes he used to summon Tensil's healer—none of it would matter.
She would make sure that Devlan, standing alone atop a mountain of graves, could never violate that single law.
"So, you can breathe, Chase."
Cutting off his thoughts once more, Arianne offered a bright smile.
* * *
A black silk dress held a hidden crimson sheen. Designed to reveal subtle flashes of red with every movement under the bright magic lamps of Siegfried Hall, it had been specially commissioned from Satin, the royal tailor. Knowing full well how much the wearer despised gaudy decorations, Satin had embroidered the unique black silk with black thread of a different texture.
There was no need for a corset, nor a whalebone petticoat to puff out the skirt. The black dress, draping from her collarbone to her toes, was already flawless.
"A gift."
Calian walked over to Demirea and handed her a wrapped box. He was dressed in a black formal suit over a crimson shirt, draped in a vibrant red cloak embroidered with the exact same black pattern as Demirea's dress.
Calian's attire, in a color that perfectly contrasted with Demirea's, was fastened with a diamond cloak clasp. Though the ensemble harmonized beautifully, it was excessively lavish—yet for today, the one day of the year, it was not the least bit excessive.
Today. August 16th.
The birthday of Calian Rain Kairis, the Third Prince of Kairis.
Thus, today of all days, Calian had to be more splendid than anyone else.
"Should I not be the one giving you a gift?"
"It's fine. It's not a day where I'd feel particularly happy receiving gifts anyway," Calian replied casually to Demirea, who spoke with a faint smile. He gestured with his eyes toward the box in his hand, prompting her to take it.
Before heading to the Prince's birthday banquet, Demirea accepted the gift—an offering to his fiancée meant to display their unwavering alliance—and unwrapped it without haste.
Then, she instantly frowned.
It wasn't because it was too gaudy. While she disliked dressing up, she didn't have an aversion to jewelry. Since she had to stand beside Calian on his birthday, wearing a single piece of jewelry fitting for the occasion was hardly a chore.
The problem lay in what the jewelry was made of and what kind of piece it was.
"…Your Highness. Are you declaring war using me right now?"
When Demirea asked, instantly grasping its significance, Calian nodded with an unconcerned expression.
"Yes."
At his unabashed reply, Demirea let out a dry chuckle, momentarily speechless. She then asked Calian in a low voice, "Just how far do you intend to use my name?"
Her tone was so disrespectful that even Yan, who stood beside Calian, knit his brows despite knowing the words came from his own sister. However, knowing full well he was the one exploiting her name again without her prior consent, Calian merely smiled faintly.
"If you wear that and come out with me, I'll spar with you for a week."
To use the prestigious name of Siegfried and offer a mere week of sparring in return. Of course, Demirea could learn countless things during that week, but even so, it seemed a bit stingy.
"A fortnight."
It had to be at least a fortnight. This was Demirea Siegfried, after all. She wasn't one to make a bad deal. She fully intended to thoroughly dissect Calian's swordsmanship in exchange for wearing a single piece of jewelry.
"Fine, a fortnight."
In the end, Calian nodded and accepted the deal.
Demirea, who had never made a losing trade, spoke with satisfaction. "Then I shall see you at the banquet hall, Your Highness."
"Wear it. Absolutely."
"Yes."
Knowing full well what that single piece of jewelry signified, yet placing greater value on a fortnight of sparring, Demirea made Calian burst into a pleasant laugh.
* * *
Siegfried Hall was as splendid as ever. A jewel in its own right, the hall was filled with the light of magic lamps and the sound of musicians.
It was the birthday of none other than Calian. Naturally, more nobles than ever before flocked to the hall. Eyes and ears wide open, the countless nobles waited to see what Calian would say and who he would be with, eagerly anticipating the entrance of the guest of honor.
"Announcing the entrance of the Third Prince, His Royal Highness Calian Rain Kairis!"
And so, before the vast gathering of nobles, Calian finally made his entrance.
Upon entering, Calian greeted the nobles with his usual pleasantries, then walked with leisurely strides to take his seat.
"You look uncomfortable."
He spoke to none other than the Second Prince, Franz.
"Not particularly."
Dressed impeccably in a black formal suit, a beige cloak, and matching accessories, Franz offered a curt reply.
Watching him, Calian continued in a relaxed tone, "I heard Brother Randel couldn't make it. I'm worried he might be quite ill."
Franz merely nodded without a word. He was well aware of whether Randel was truly too sick to attend or if his brother had decided to catch a "cold" today because of Calian's unspoken warning.
Franz knew this was an extension of the warning to Tensil, which had supported Randel's schemes, and a performance to show that his relationship with Franz remained unchanged.
After a few more trivial, performative exchanges, a voice announced:
"Announcing the entrance of the Young Duchess, Demirea Siegfried."
At those words, the nobles' gazes shifted to the entrance of Siegfried Hall. They looked back and forth between Calian, who had just been displaying his excellent rapport with Franz, and Demirea. A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Seeing Demirea, Franz curled one corner of his mouth. "It seems I've caught the cold as well."
Calian let out a soft chuckle at the low, languid voice. "Oh dear. Is that so?"
Soon, Franz—who had "caught a cold" from the absent Randel—stood up. Without another word, he strode out of the banquet hall.
He had spotted Demirea's accessory—a circular headpiece designed to drape slightly over her forehead. Adorned with rubies that anyone would associate with Calian and diamonds that immediately brought Siegfried to mind, it was incredibly thin and small, yet its shape unmistakably evoked a tiara.
A tiara. A small crown.
Even if it wasn't a real tiara, an accessory that so strongly resembled one was not something a prince's fiancée could wear.
At least, not unless… she was the fiancée of the Crown Prince.
In other words, Calian had just gifted Demirea an accessory fit for the Crown Prince's fiancée. It was entirely intentional, planned well in advance. It was not a proposal of marriage. It was to show everyone who stood beside the woman wearing an ornament meant for the Crown Prince's fiancée.
Understanding its meaning, Franz had realized it was time to play his part—the second brother, angered by the Third Prince's unannounced provocation, turning his back once more—and had left the banquet hall.
Calian rose from his seat and walked over to Demirea. Flashing a smile that would leave anyone breathless, he spoke.
"Welcome, my fiancée."
Preparing to raise a dog.
Revealing his ambition for the throne in the most blatant way possible, Calian’s finger traced a gentle arc through the air.