Chapter 365: That White and Red Rose (5)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 365: That White and Red Rose (5)
"Wait, wait. Let me explain."
"Yes, I messed up. I admit it. But you know I’m not the type to make excuses or invent lies. Besides, I can’t even lie."
"Ah, right. That was the problem."
"True, it is a problem. There's a limit to how flawless a person can be, but being this honest on top of it all is a serious issue. Right?"
"No, no. Don't do that. Don't draw your sword. I haven't finished explaining yet. Put it away for a second. This is the royal palace, not the training ground. Just give me thirty seconds. I'll explain."
"It's true I got caught again. Yes, but… it’s not like I just got caught this time. I was technically caught a long time ago, but both the one who was caught and the one who found out didn't realize it and just let it slide. He knew I had changed but seemed to ignore it. Honestly, think about it. Who would think that the person inside had changed when the outside is exactly the same? Only someone like Prince Franz—who has as much worldly prejudice as a grain of sand from the Great Desert lodged in a turtle's gut, which is to say none at all because he knows nothing—would immediately jump to a conclusion like that. Anyone else wouldn't even dream of it at first."
"Anyway, to sum it up, I was caught a long time ago. Forget my promise to you; it seems I was found out not even three days after I opened my eyes here, before I even met you."
"Isn't that amazing?"
"No, I'm not bragging…"
"It's just the truth…"
"But what if… What if Prince Randel tells me, 'You're a fake, so I can't give you the throne!' and kicks me out? I'll have nowhere to go. If I don't want to end up in the Tower, I'll really have to run away to Siegfried. If it were just me, I wouldn't care about going to the Tower, but I have our sunshine Hina, and a pea and Raven to look after, and an elderly father to support… No, it's true. Just because he might live for hundreds of more years doesn't mean he isn't elderly. He's just living his life as an old man."
"Anyway, you promised to marry me if I gave up my title as prince. Did you forget? Was that a lie? Is our relationship only worth that much?"
"Wait, wait. I told you, this is the royal palace."
"You said you'd kill me if I got caught again, but you didn't say you'd kill me if I proposed. Why are you saying such scary things?"
"Strictly speaking, this isn't getting caught again. The secret I was already caught with the moment I opened my eyes just happened to resurface because of that fifth-floor window shattering. So, can't you count it as not breaking our promise? No? Please?"
"Hmm? Demirea."
"Ha."
Demirea, who had been staring for a long time into his round, red eyes—which looked just like Lucy's when presented with dried chicken breast—let out a deep sigh.
"Be careful. At this rate, you won't have to be careful anymore. You can just live comfortably once everyone knows."
"No, I'm being really careful. Even in Secritia, I only let the person who already knew and the person who's no longer with us find out… Ah. That's not it. The sword, the sword. Demirea. Put the sword away."
"What about the sword?"
"You don't have to worry about Secritia. One is my mother, and the other was my former father, but as you know, my father…"
"…Ha."
Another deep, deep sigh escaped her.
Whether she was ultimately persuaded by Calian's words, his uncharacteristically whiny tone, or a fleeting wonder about the true age of the soul inside him, only Demirea knew. The one thing that was certain was that she had definitely not fallen for that face.
"So. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, well. I'm fine. Prince Randel isn't the type to actually kick me out. And even if he suddenly got greedy for the throne, I have no intention of giving up my place and meekly going to the Tower. Just like I said…"
"I'm asking if that is okay," Demirea cut in, her voice thick with frustration.
"The fact that you've decided to continue treating each other as strangers. You and Prince Randel."
"Ah. That…" Calian replied with a foolish grin. "I guess it's not okay."
"…No wonder you looked like you'd aged ten years the entire time we were sparring."
Demirea, who had asked if he had been caught somewhere else—though she wondered if there was even anything left to be caught—shook her head.
"Whether it's Prince Randel or anyone else, even if they consider you a fake, you don't need to let it get to you. What does it even mean to be real or fake? You're just as alive and breathing as anyone."
"What's this? Are you trying to comfort me?"
"Yes."
"How unexpected. To hear such things from my fiancée."
"I'm just worried that if you keep letting it get to you, you might actually end up staying at the Duke's mansion forever."
"Don't worry. I might go down south for a visit, but I won't go there to live."
"Do you know that instead of telling me not to worry, it would be better to just say 'I understand'?"
Calian, who was gently stroking Demirea's black horse—a steed slightly larger than Raven—let out a soft chuckle.
"I know. I know that a person's soul changing isn't something that can be easily accepted. So, I'm not upset that Prince Randel can't accept the current me. I don't mind that. It's only natural. I don't even think of myself as a fake sitting in that child's place anymore."
"You've improved a bit. When I found out, you didn't seem to think that way. Then what's the problem?"
"It’s because I think I know why he can't accept it. It's bitter to see him recalling my past self only after realizing I've changed. Because so many things are already too late. That's why it weighs on my mind. Maybe it's because I know how it feels to be forgotten… maybe that's why. Every time this happens, the whole world tastes bitter. I'm still not used to it, Demirea."
Clack.
Raven, who had been standing slightly behind, nudged his way between Demirea's horse and Calian. It looked like a tantrum, telling him to stop stroking the other horse, so Calian laughed again and hugged Raven's neck tightly. Then, combing through Raven's mane with his fingers, he continued.
"Should I call it a relief that he's recalling what he forgot, even if it's now? Or is it pitiful that he's only recalling it now? It’s sweet, then bitter. Sour, then bitter. It's just like a grapefruit."
"Does everything turn into food for you?"
"Food is good, isn't it?"
Demirea let out a small chuckle and nodded. Then, lightly pulling the reins of her horse, which had taken a step back from Raven's intrusion, she spoke.
"I believe you have dinner with His Majesty this evening, is that correct?"
"Yeah. He was probably worried because of the trouble my brother caused yesterday. He suddenly said he'd come."
"That's good. Then please escort me for a bit."
Calian looked at Demirea. He had already come out with Raven to see her off.
"I was going to escort you to the Duke's mansion anyway."
"I plan to stop by Banensha before going. It's time for new armor, but the blacksmith you introduced me to said he isn't familiar with anything other than weapons."
Banensha, the blacksmiths' street, was quite far from the Kairis Royal Palace, located across the Senyu River. Since the sun was already beginning to set, a trip there would certainly make him miss his dinner with Lemain.
"You have a much better eye for armor than I do. I'll be wearing it for a long time, so I'd like you to look at it with me so I can get a proper set. If you help me, I won't say another word about you getting caught in Secritia."
Even if she wasn't as skilled as Calian, would Demirea of Siegfried truly lack the eye to inspect a piece of armor? Calian looked at her for a moment, and a small smile formed on his lips.
It was something the former 3rd Prince of Kairis, who had never handled weapons, could not do. Something the Sword Master of Secritia, who had nothing to do with the young head of Siegfried, could not do. It was something only the current Calian could do. A trivial matter, helping his fiancée pick out a suit of armor with a better eye than her own—a task only possible for a Sword Master and Prince of Kairis.
"…Alright."
Whether someone had forgotten him or not.
Whether his current self was accepted or not.
The old Calian and Bern had existed, and because he now contained them both, this simple task was a testament to their lives and an acknowledgment of the person he was now.
It was a request to temporarily forget the two who had been forgotten, to put aside the bitter taste felt among those for whom it was already too late, and to do what only the current Calian could. In truth, it was not a request but another form of comfort, offered by someone who understood exactly why his heart felt so bitter.
"This is why I like you, Demirea. I'm truly blessed with my fiancée."
"You state the obvious," she replied dryly, rejecting the hand Calian offered and mounting her horse with a light, fluid motion.
As Calian chuckled, mounted Raven, and moved to ride beside her, he heard her voice again.
"I'll buy you some sugar candy on the way. To make you forget the bitter taste."
"Is it sweet?"
"Yes. Extremely sweet. It even smells like lavender."
"Okay. That's good."
Had she finished the book she bought last time?
When would the white roses along the path bloom?
Was she planning to wear chainmail again this time? How about stopping somewhere on the way back for a meat-filled dinner? By the way, Hina likes strawberries; did that candy shop happen to sell strawberry-flavored sugar candy?
The sound of their trivial conversation and the quiet clatter of hooves echoed softly through the evening.
In truth, because neither of them was particularly meticulous, they had completely forgotten to inform Lemain that they wouldn't be making it to dinner.
*
A message was delivered explaining why the prince couldn’t make it to dinner.
Someone living on the floor below—a person with absolutely no manners, so violent that his fists came before his words, making it uncomfortable to even write his name—had shattered a perfectly good window. This had caused a serious problem that completely ruined the prince’s appetite.
To be precise, the letter delivered read, "Due to a window lost for reasons too disastrous to put into writing, which failed to block the cold wind last night, my physical condition is not very good."
But in Lemain's eyes, it read exactly like the former.
Still, it was fine.
—It is a personal matter.
At least it was less disturbing than the message from Alan, who had briefly and clearly relayed the words Calian had barely managed to send through their shared communication device before leaving, having forgotten to deliver the news directly.
My word.
When all sorts of accidents happened, it felt like he had so many sons. But when he wanted to have a simple meal together, why did it feel so empty?
After subtracting one son for disastrous reasons and another for personal matters, only one remained.
"I am sorry. My arm is not free, so it will be difficult to have a meal."
His last son claimed that because he couldn't use his right arm, dining formally would be difficult, so he would just have a cup of tea and leave.
In truth, the wound on his second son's right arm had already healed by morning. The second son was a dual wielder. Furthermore, the third son, who had taught the second swordsmanship, had long ago drilled into him how to use both hands, saying, "Even if a person can't use one arm, they must still eat properly. Isn't that why we have two?" Thanks to this, he had been ambidextrous for a long time. And above all, he didn't even particularly like meat, which required using a fork and knife simultaneously. Therefore, saying he would only drink tea was just a considerate excuse he had made because he didn't want to show up. But since the residents of the floors above and below had beaten him to it and canceled, he felt forced to at least make a brief appearance.
The man, who had begun to take an interest in his sons but did not possess the right to pry deeply enough into their lives to judge truth from excuse, asked with a worried face.
"Are you badly hurt?"
"I am fine."
Lemain nodded, took a sip of the tea brewed with pine needles and honey, and set the cup down. He was about to give his answer regarding Franz's previous request for Serjein, the Crown Prince of Tensil, to visit, but Franz moved first.
Click.
What had been in Franz's hand was placed on the table.
A pendant with a small locket.
It was the necklace Lemain had given him.
"I am returning this to you."
At Franz's words, Lemain let out an imperceptible sigh. Because Franz had been wearing it around his neck, Lemain had harbored a tiny hope that perhaps they had grown a little closer.
"Very well. Do so."
"May I ask you a question?"
Lemain's hand, which had been moving toward the table, stopped.
Soon, he nodded.
"That necklace. Don't my brother and Calian have them as well?"
Lemain’s gaze shifted slowly: once to the necklace, once to the pendant hanging from it, once to the face of his second son, who had changed so much, and once more back to the necklace. Recalling the time he had them made, he spoke.
"Yes. The other two have them as well."
Franz paused for a moment before speaking again.
"I thought so. I am returning it because I thought it would be better for you to keep them together. I am not giving it back because I do not want it."
No answer came from Lemain.
Franz watched him for a while, then continued.
"When you sent it, and when I received it… I was not happy at all."
"…I see."
"I was not pleased in the slightest. I was not grateful. I did not think it a relief, nor was I surprised, nor did I find it fascinating."
"I see. Is that so?"
"I did not feel regret. I did not feel sad. And I did not feel angry."
"I see… So that was how it was."
"I did not know."
Franz's fingertip pointed at the pendant.
Then, he moved his finger to point at himself.
"How I should regard it. I did not know. Even after staring at it for a long time and agonizing over it, I could not find an answer. I could not know. Because I was never taught. I did not know. I could not find an answer."
"…You could not find an answer?"
"…I could not find an answer."
Lemain slowly, very slowly, nodded his head.
Franz's words continued.
"Your Majesty was wrong."
Familiar words.
Words he had come to take for granted.
Words he had heard so many times from Alan that a day without hearing them felt somewhat empty.
"You should not have done that. Your Majesty was wrong."
He heard those words from Franz.
"Father… you were wrong. To us."
He heard it for the first time.
From his son's mouth.