Chapter 363: That White and Red Rose (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 363: That White and Red Rose (3)
"I can't say I understand."
"Nor can I say I don't."
In the end, that was all Calian said, his expression that of a child withered by the weight of sins he didn't commit.
As the one who had taken the dead child's place—a stranger, yet the only one left to answer for him—he faced a brother whose resentment ran as deep as Randel's or Lemain's. From that position, he answered that he could not understand, yet could not fail to understand either.
Then he asked, "What exactly do you want an apology for? From Brother Randel."
Why was it Franz? Why not the child who had died without his father ever knowing—the child who kept receiving Lafrania instead of Annerusia?
"Why you, Brother?"
Why did Franz, of all people, insist on getting an apology from Randel at this late stage? What kind of apology was he even trying to get? That was what Calian asked.
"Do you really need an answer?"
"Or do you just not want to give one?"
"Because I can't."
"I see."
Calian nodded, suppressing the questions that still lingered.
"Do your afternoon training with Kyrie. I can't spar today. With everything on my mind, I'm liable to get myself killed by your sword."
"But you're the one who taught me everything." This time, Franz blocked Calian's path as he turned to leave the training ground.
"And yet you can't even protect yourself."
"Have I ever taught you something I couldn't do myself?"
"You always think too far ahead when you fight, even though you tell me not to."
"It's because of you that I have so much to think about, Brother."
"You told me to ask if I was curious, but you won't even do that yourself."
"I did ask. You're the one who said you couldn't answer."
"If you're really that curious, you can just ask again."
"I don't want to."
"Why?"
"Because I'm afraid the question I don't want to ask might slip out with it."
After that sharp retort, Calian fell silent, hiding his cold gaze.
Franz didn't have the mental space to wonder why Calian was being so curt, or what that unwanted question might be. He simply closed his eyes, then opened them. Without a word, he stepped aside, clearing Calian's path. Then, with heavy steps, he walked away. He offered no parting words, only pressing his lips into a thin line as he went.
Calian was no different. He didn't say goodbye as Franz passed, his gaze fixed on the spot where his brother had been standing just moments before. No, he couldn't.
Are you insisting on an apology because you feel you lost your younger brother forever, all because of Randel?
He was afraid Franz would ask.
He was afraid he himself would ask.
And so Franz walked away, burying an answer he could not give, leaving behind Calian, who had swallowed a question he could not ask. With an expressionless face, he entered the fourth-floor bathroom of Chermil Palace and washed himself for a long time. Afterward, he refused the salad and milk Relic had prepared and immediately got ready to go out again.
"It's raining and a bit chilly, so I've prepared a slightly thicker jacket than yesterday's," Relic said.
Franz gave a half-hearted nod.
He buttoned his dark gray shirt all the way to the neck, then put on black trousers and a vest. As Franz tightened a black tie embroidered with silver thread, Relic held something out to him, adding that the new accessories he’d ordered had arrived yesterday.
Franz looked down at them, letting Relic's words drift past him.
"Since your clothes are dark today, I thought brighter accessories would suit you best."
Light purple.
Cufflinks and a shirt ornament made of diamonds with a faint violet hue. They caught his eye. He stared at them in silence.
Relic was about to ask if he didn't like them, if he should bring something else, or if he planned on going without any accessories today.
Whoosh!
Franz snatched the dark gray jacket from another attendant and shrugged it on. Startled, Relic handed the accessory box to someone else and hurried over.
"Your Highness, allow me."
"And Brother?"
"Pardon?" Relic blurted, caught off guard, before quickly grasping the question. "My apologies. Are you asking what Prince Randel is doing?"
"No. Is he there?"
"Ah, yes. He is on the fifth floor again today. I heard Prince Calian gifted him an enormous pair of pruning shears, but Den is very worried. He said the prince hasn't used them once or even stepped outside. He's concerned he might be unwell."
Unwell? Hardly.
Franz dismissed the attendant's needless worry and spoke again. "The door?"
"…Ah, yes. It's the same as before. He ordered that no one be let in."
Franz nodded. Then, glancing at Sinasta leaning nearby, his gaze returned to the accessories Relic had just put away.
"Stay here."
"You mean I should stay? Are you going somewhere alone?"
The pale face nodded once more.
He still can't go to the fifth floor, so is he going for a walk to clear his head? To the Wilhelm Pavilion, perhaps? Or maybe he's just hungry?
While Relic, completely oblivious to his master's intentions, was pondering various destinations…
Step.
Franz finished buttoning his jacket and took a long stride—not toward the door, but toward the terrace.
"Your Highness! If you're going out for some air, I'll prepare some tea…"
If Yan had witnessed Calian doing this, he would have blocked the terrace first. Unfortunately, Relic was not yet on that level.
Step, step.
Thus, while Relic was innocently wondering what kind of tea would be best for an empty stomach on a chilly, post-rain morning…
Leap!
Franz placed a hand on the ornate railing and vaulted onto it. Sinasta, which had been leaning nearby, was already in his hand.
"Your Highness! The door to the third floor isn't locked, you can just take the stairs—"
Relic rushed to stop him, assuming he wouldn't take a sword to the third floor to pick a fight. Whatever Franz was planning, it was better to stop him from using the terrace as a staircase again.
Naturally, Franz didn't answer.
He left behind Relic and the other attendants, who were still wondering if walking to the stairs was really that much of a hassle to go down one floor.
"…Your Highness?"
Up to the fifth floor. Whoosh.
He went up.
* * *
Responsibility.
As a rule, a person had to take responsibility for their actions. Just as Calian had rushed straight to Chermil to clean up the mess after Pea, the bird he was so diligently raising, had broken someone's window.
"So, what you're saying is…"
The man who had just been informed that the security magic of Chermil Palace had activated—or rather, had nearly activated—let out a low sigh. He was the other person who ultimately had to bear the final responsibility for all of this.
"The Crown Prince has entered the First Prince's room?"
He was, after all, the true guardian of the "Pea" that had caused today's incident.
"To put it nicely, he entered. To put it bluntly, he broke in."
"…Thank you for the correction."
His third son, having returned from his travels, had been behaving himself. Taking his brother to meet his fiancée on his first day back and returning past midnight was something Lemain had permitted. And as for folding Gray in half at his first Noble Council meeting… wasn't that just a helpful lesson on how to properly bow to royalty? Such matters no longer fell under the definition of "incidents" in Lemain's dictionary.
In any case, he had been thinking his third son was finally all grown up, having matured without Lemain lifting a finger. Knowing Alan would scold him if he praised the boy openly, Lemain had kept quiet and focused on watching his eldest son. But in the meantime, his second son had gone and caused trouble. While Lemain was anxiously wondering if his eldest would draw the curtains today, or step into the garden tomorrow, or when he would finally show his face again, his second son had smashed a window just to see him.
"Randel's room is on the fifth floor."
"And His Royal Highness the Crown Prince's room is on the fourth."
"…Thank you for the explanation."
He had no idea how the boy had managed it, but he had gotten in. From his room on the fourth floor, he had gone up to the fifth-floor terrace.
Was this what it was like to have three children?
What was he to do when they took turns slipping out of his sight, one after another?
"By the way… is anyone hurt?"
"Their hearts have all been in tatters for a long time. As for physical injuries, I have heard of none."
Alan's words were sharp as ever.
Lemain knew Alan was only acting this way because this incident, too, stemmed from his own past mistakes. He merely nodded in silence. Alan watched him for a moment before speaking again.
"The two of them are currently in conversation. Prince Calian has gone to join them."
"I see."
After a moment of thought, Lemain summoned Raul, the chamberlain. He ordered him to ensure that nothing of what was happening in Chermil Palace ever leaked outside. Lemain knew all too well that if this became public, Franz would be stripped of his position as Crown Prince immediately, which would then pose a grave threat to his safety.
Scrape!
Having also ordered the knights of Chermil Palace not to act rashly, Lemain stood up. Alan's voice rang out at once.
"Are you planning to go to Chermil?"
"Now that I know the situation and have given the necessary orders, shouldn't I go and see for myself?"
"Please remain here."
In any other matter, Alan would not have stopped him. But this was related to the Calian of the past. With no telling what Franz might say, he could not let Lemain walk into that situation blindly.
Lemain, who had no way of knowing Alan's thoughts—and must never know them—slowly closed and opened his eyes. He spoke in a lower voice.
"It concerns my sons. Moreover, this is an issue that arose because of me. I must go and check on them. Do not stand in my way."
"Do not confuse care with interference. Just because they are your children does not grant Your Majesty the right to interfere in everything. Just because this happened because of you does not mean you can meddle. For today, at least, please just watch in silence."
"But, Marquis—"
"It shouldn't be difficult, should it? You have done it countless times before."
Once again, Alan's words cut like a blade.
And that blade stopped Lemain in his tracks.
* * *
He had held back the words he couldn't say to Calian.
He had held back the pointless words that had threatened to spill out at Relic—why on earth did you choose accessories of that color today, why did you have to show me a color that reminds me of someone else who is just as forgotten?
He had gone up. And he had asked.
Drip.
How long do you plan to live in hiding like this?
He had asked.
There was no answer from beyond the window.
Drip, drip.
Three times.
He had held back all three times.
"…It's been a while."
The night Evan died.
Randel wasn't surprised, even though the same sound he'd heard that night—the sound of a knight disguised as an escort smashing Franz's window before leaping out—now echoed in his own room.
He didn't even ask why Franz, who had brought a sword, had used his bare arm to shatter the glass instead of swinging the blade. He briefly considered asking if Franz acted this way because he took after his mother, unable to see an inch in front of his face, but decided against it. There was no longer any need for such words.
"Are you aware that it has been a while?"
"A season has passed."
He could hear the knights outside the door growing restless. They would burst in if Randel made another loud noise, but for now, they held back. They didn't know Franz was holding a sword, and even if they entered, they would have no choice but to leave if the Crown Prince ordered them to. They were royal knights, Randel was a prince, but Franz was the Crown Prince.
Expecting nothing from them, Randel's deep blue eyes drifted to the tips of Franz's fingers. Red blood dripped from the edge of his dark gray jacket sleeve, which was soaked black.
Drip, drip.
Red blood, from a long wound stretching from his pinky finger to his elbow, stained the light brown carpet in dots.
"Do you need treatment?" Randel asked calmly, staring at the bloodstains that surely contained a little of his own blood.
"I do not," Franz replied flatly, not even glancing at his wound.
"That's fortunate."
"Yes, it is."
"Do you require a formal greeting?"
"If you offer one, I will accept it."
"If you accept, then I'll be reacquainting myself with the spire."
"Will you?"
"Yes."
"I see."
An answer indicating he would rather leave the palace than show the Crown Prince respect. It was exactly the reaction Franz had expected, so he merely nodded. He hadn't come here for respect, nor to drive his quiet brother out of the palace.
"If you need neither treatment nor greetings, then go back down. This is hardly the situation to offer you tea."
"I came to hear what you have to say."
"I doubt you'll like anything I have to say to you."
"I'm sick of hearing that I'm like my mother. Say something else."
"Is there anything else left to say?"
"There is."
"And even if there were, why would I willingly say it to you?"
"I won't leave until you do."
His younger brother had barged in before Randel could even finish a cup of black tea and turn the first page of his book. When he had spoken, his brother had not answered. In response, the boy had smashed the window, climbed inside, and was now demanding another word, claiming he needed neither greetings nor tea.
Randel listened to the ticking of the clock for a moment, then nodded.
"What must I do for you to leave?"
"An apology. Say you're sorry."
"Why should I apologize to you?"
"Not to me. To your younger brother, Brother."
He already knew Franz wasn't talking about himself. Franz would never call himself Randel's younger brother.
"At this late hour, is there anything I should feel sorry for that child about?"
"There is."
"Even if there is, what reason do I have to say it to you, instead of to our youngest—"
"Can you stop delaying? Stop hiding, stop covering things up, stop turning away? Can't you just look, Brother?"
"At what?"
"The truth."
"What truth are you talking about?"
"You know. You're hiding like this because you know, aren't you?"
Blood flowed from the deep gash.
Franz raised Sinasta with that same hand and threw it at Randel's feet. The heavy, dull thud of the sword hitting the floor echoed through the quiet room.
Then, Franz raised his hand, pointing to a box that was clearly a gift from one person.
"That child taught me the sword, and he gave you the blade to prune the rose branches."
Drip.
"Was he that kind of child? Was he, really? Do you truly not remember? Was the child you turned away from really the type to give you that, to give me this? Is it because you believe he was that you can't use it, can't throw it away, and can only hide in here? Are you holding your breath like this because you truly don't know what was ultimately broken?"
Red drops fell, one by one.
From Franz's hand to Randel's feet.
The roses look just like Annerusia, Brother.
Drip.
So when I see red roses, I think of Annerusia. With every bloom, I wonder what words I should send, and to whom. That's why I like your garden, Brother.
"Those roses you bloomed after your brother was gone… are they truly… roses?"
Drip.
Drip, drip.
"…Were they really roses?"
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
The sound that would never flow backward, no matter what, continued on in the silence.