Chapter 202: Because I Can't Lie (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 202: Because I Can't Lie (2)
It had become a habit.
If a habit could be easily discarded, why would it be called a habit in the first place? The word itself existed precisely because it was not something easily cast aside.
—Is something… wrong?
And so, Hina had also become a habit to him before he even realized it.
She would tap the door once or twice, a hesitant and barely audible sound, before following it with a series of knocks—knock, knock, knock—that grew progressively louder. While the initial quiet taps always varied in interval and frequency, the louder knocks that followed were always exactly three.
Instead of asking who it was or telling them to go away, responding to that unique, habitual knock with a call to enter had become Franz's own habit. It was like the way he held himself in an uncomfortable position so Lucy could lie more comfortably on his lap—he had simply developed the instinct to tell her to come in the moment he heard that hesitant sound.
"Come in."
When he gave his habitual reply to her habitual knock, Hina entered. She looked around the messy office and, as was her own habit, asked with concern if something was wrong.
In response, Franz explained in his own way that there was no other reason for him to be sitting in this office with a face full of irritation, staring at documents, if not because of Arsen.
"You should know."
Was there anyone in Valkan who didn't know about the relationship between Franz and Arsen? It was his way of telling her not to ask the obvious. Then, as he always did, he set aside his work and looked up at Hina, silently asking why she had come.
Seeing Franz prepare to receive a silent answer to his silent question, Hina smiled softly. She then began to gather his clothes, which were strewn across the sofa, and neatly fold them.
It was a kindness, though he couldn't tell if it was a lingering habit from her days as a maid or simply her looking after him the way she looked after Lucy. Watching her, Franz furrowed his brow.
"Leave it."
Relic would be here to clean up soon anyway. By now, he would have realized that Franz had slipped away from the banquet hall.
Despite his words, Hina merely smiled—her expression saying she would do as she pleased since her hands were too busy to reply—and continued tidying up. She untangled the tie he had carelessly thrown aside and rolled it up, placed his shirt pin on the table, and hung his vest and jacket on hangers. Then, after folding his cloak, which seemed larger than she was, she set it on one side of the sofa before turning her hands toward Franz.
—Why… are you… here?
Arguing with Arsen was a daily occurrence, but the discarded clothes were clearly formal attire. It was only natural for her to wonder why the 2nd Prince, who should have been at Calian's birthday banquet, was sitting here staring at paperwork.
At Hina's question, Franz fell silent for a moment.
In truth, wasn't that just how it worked?
If the person asking where it hurts is a healer, you tend to point out every sore spot without even thinking. He wouldn't have so readily revealed his pain to a mere acquaintance, but Hina was a healer.
And so, like anyone else, Franz found himself giving an earnest answer without a second thought.
"…A cold."
Of course, an earnest answer was not necessarily an honest one.
Unless he had been left standing in the Northern Great Desert for half an hour, a cold in the middle of summer—and for Franz, of all people—made no sense.
Fortunately, Hina didn't look at him as if he were talking nonsense. However, she didn't just let it slide either.
After a brief moment of thought, Hina's hands moved gently.
—Don't go… stay here… for a moment.
Franz didn't answer right away. He wondered if there was any point in telling her he had nowhere else to go today anyway.
He had no desire to go to Siegfried Hall, which was likely in an uproar over Demirea's tiara, and get dragged into the mess.
Nor did he want to return yet to Chermil, which was decorated entirely with red paper flowers without a single fresh Lafrania in sight—whether out of Lemain's consideration, Alan's meddling, or the request of a certain bastard spending his day in the guise of someone no longer of this world.
Even training with Kyrie, who would be at the training grounds with the knights by now, didn't particularly interest him today.
In the end, instead of explaining all of this, Franz simply nodded without a word and turned his eyes back to the documents. Hina, still wearing a smile, stepped out for a moment and then returned.
Cradling Lucy awkwardly in one arm, she held an ice cream in her other hand.
Seeing this, Franz spoke, dumbfounded.
"I said I have a cold."
Without a word, Hina set Lucy down, handed him the strawberry ice cream, and offered a lovely smile.
Franz let out a soft chuckle.
The color of the ice cream was a perfect match for the pads of Lucy's paws.
* * *
"Ah, Sir Bern."
Arsen, clad in a pure white robe bearing the insignia of the Valkan Vice-Commander, trudged out of Wilhelm Hall and spoke as he spotted Kyrie emerging from the training grounds.
Kyrie, who was now permitted to carry his sword outside Chermil Palace, let go of the leather belt connected to his scabbard after adjusting its position. He bowed his head to Arsen and asked, "Where are you headed?"
Looking at Arsen's gloomy face, shadowed by deep dark circles, Kyrie wondered if the man was about to depart for some far-off place for good, but he kept his question simple.
"Care for a drink?" Arsen asked.
"No, I do not."
"Well, I do."
Undeterred by the swift rejection, Arsen smiled at Kyrie, who was looking at him with an expression that screamed so what?
"I've run out of places to go," Arsen continued. "So what else can I do? I have to drink."
Anyone listening would think he was a heavy drinker.
Kyrie, who had reluctantly learned of Arsen's pitiful alcohol tolerance the day he discovered Calian's secret, made a deeply reluctant face and tried to take a step back. His expression suggested he would rather go back inside and spar with the knights again, or perhaps run laps around the training grounds.
"Why would you have nowhere to go? You're a busy man."
"I was kicked out. By the Prince, our Vice-Commander." Arsen grumbled, "And the thing is, that's my office. He suddenly barged in, stripped off his formal wear, and told me to get out. I have no idea how that's even possible in this world. Seriously, what a personality."
Muttering to himself, Arsen gave Kyrie a rough explanation of what had happened.
Arsen had pretended to secretly join hands with Gray, and thanks to that, Gray was preparing to return to the capital. Meanwhile, Evan had brought out Lennon to prepare for Gray's entry.
However, Franz was completely unaware of all this.
"Our Prince must be stirring up quite a storm by now, and there's no way Marquis Brissen will just sit back and watch."
And Arsen also knew what Franz did not.
"But the Prince, our Vice-Commander, shouldn't get involved with Brissen. Yet, he seems worried in his own way. I get that he kicked me out because he wants to return Valkan—which our Prince handed over to him—back to our Prince on his own whim. But the problem is, I can't actually go there. And I can't exactly explain to him why I shouldn't go and take our Prince's side, can I? On top of that, if I linger around here and run into the Vice-Commander, he'll figure everything out. Why does he have to be so needlessly quick-witted?"
Because of his dealings with Margrave Gray, Arsen couldn't show his face in front of Brissen, nor could he explain to Franz why. If he tried to make up some excuse, Franz would undoubtedly see right through it, so he had simply complied and left.
For that reason, he had avoided the situation, but having nowhere else to go, he was once again asking Kyrie to be his drinking companion.
"I have nowhere to stand, and our Prince has nothing in his hands. The Prince, our Vice-Commander, has no one to openly look after him, and it seems he has no one to receive what might be a birthday congratulation or an apology. So, I'm saying the two of us underlings should gather and have a drink—whether it's a celebratory drink or a consoling one."
This absolute nuisance of a man, who could only handle a single glass, was rattling on with excuse after excuse just to have one drink. What else could Kyrie do?
He couldn't bring himself to refuse any further and nodded.
* * *
Occasionally, he recalled a dream.
It was a dream he'd had shortly after beginning this life—a life that no one who knew Calian could ever call a miracle or a stroke of luck.
The child he had met for the first and last time, from whom he had parted completely, yet whom he met every single day in the mirror.
To call what he was doing "retribution on his behalf" felt far too grandiose, and because he had no idea if he even had the right to claim such a thing, Calian decided to simply call his future actions a "temper tantrum."
Whether it took days, weeks, or months.
Whether it was his own tantrum or one on the child's behalf, he would not overthink it. He would simply throw a tantrum.
"You have received an overly generous gift, Prince," Evan said, wearing a sneer that closely resembled someone else's—though comparing the two felt like a terrible insult to that other person.
He spoke during the brief commotion as servants cleared away the glass Calian had shattered.
"Yes. It is quite nice."
Looking at Evan, Calian gave a brief reply and closed his eyes for a moment. Then, he released a spell he had maintained like a habit more vital than breathing itself.
As the binding force—which had demanded greater mana as his aura grew—was released, a wave of relief washed over him. Calian took a deep breath and exhaled very slowly.
He was reminded of a day just two years ago—or rather, a day much further in the past. The day he had taken a deep breath and exhaled, as if taking the salty stench of the sea deep into his heart. Although the feeling of being cleansed wasn't quite as profound this time, he didn't mind the significantly lighter air.
After that deep breath, his back, which had already seemed impossibly straight, aligned itself with an even greater, more dignified posture.
Calian then quietly opened his eyes. With his head tilted ever so slightly—so subtly that others wouldn't notice—he looked at Evan and spoke.
"It seems you still cannot see it. Am I correct?"
Feeling as though Calian was somehow peering deep into his very being, Evan frowned in displeasure. "And what is it you claim I cannot see?"
I can see yours, but you cannot see mine.
Certain of this, Calian lowered his gaze slightly. Feeling even better than he had when he watched the red liquid scatter from the shattered champagne glass, he briefly pondered how he should cook and serve the bastard standing before him.
"Whether you see it or not, you would do well to look to your own future. Rash greed only invites disaster, Prince Calian."
And Evan, clearly determined to ruin his good mood, barked out the words.
"I am looking, as a matter of fact," Calian readily replied with a nod.
The red eyes beneath his long eyelashes were indeed looking into the future. It was just that they were looking not at his own future, but at a future where Evan's head was cleanly severed.
Utterly clueless as to what Calian was looking at, Evan was about to speak again, watching the prince stand before him with such a nonchalant response.
"I'm looking with great excitement," Calian spoke first, cutting Evan off as he opened his eyes.
Just how fast will your sword be? How heavy? How sharp and how fierce? What thoughts will it hold, and what memories of others will be etched upon it? When will the day come when you reveal all of that to me, leaving nothing behind? When will the day come when I can finally throw my tantrum?
"I am also thinking about when that day will be."
Hearing a tone that was even more insolent than the day they had met in the spring, Evan furrowed his brow. With a commoner-born royal concubine on the verge of becoming queen, the 3rd Prince standing before him was acting as if he had already ascended to the position of Crown Prince, and it grated on Evan's nerves.
"Do not attempt to defile the royal family with the blood of a lowly commoner, Prince."
The public did not know, but Evan did.
Calian currently held nothing in his hands.
That position was not something one could obtain merely by possessing legitimacy.
The surrounding atmosphere, which had been briefly noisy while the shattered glass was being cleared, quietly settled down. Although they couldn't hear what Evan and Calian were discussing, everyone voluntarily held their breath, desperate to catch a single word.
Before long, the glass shards scattered on the floor had been completely cleared away, and the red champagne had vanished. Looking at the perfectly clean floor, Evan pointed a finger toward it and spoke in a voice so low that no one but Calian could hear.
"Who is to say the day won't come when you are swept away just like that, leaving no trace behind?"
Calian did not look where Evan's hand was pointing.
"More importantly…"
Instead of matching the anger of Evan, who was making veiled threats out of sheer rage, Calian spoke with a relaxed expression.
His voice was not quiet.
Like ice cubes floating in pomegranate juice, a chilling coldness clung to his clear, almost transparently beautiful voice.
"When do you plan to show me proper respect?"
Because I intend to live a proper life even after my tantrum is over.
Don't think you can get away with just a warning this time. Prepare yourself properly and show me your anger. Only then can I strip everything away from you.
"Bow your head, Marquis."
His crimson lips curved into a wide, lingering smile.