Chapter 43
Chapter 43
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Everyone Wears a Mask (1)
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Yeniche Trakieri was always careful with her words and actions.
Having resolved to throw herself into the Power Struggle as a woman, she couldn't afford a single flaw.
Thracia's conservative, rigid nobles would judge her twice as harshly as they did her brothers.
Fortunately, her natural grace and royal upbringing had allowed her to maintain her reputation as a prudent and thoughtful princess up to now.
But at this moment, even her reputation was in jeopardy.
"No news yet?"
Throwing a tantrum like this was something her usual self would never do.
The maids paled at her uncharacteristically irritable tone, the one famous for its maturity and elegance beyond her years, and glanced around nervously.
"What on earth is Dariya doing? Why hasn't there been any word?"
Regardless, she paced the room relentlessly.
"Your Highness."
At that moment, the door opened, and Lady Dariya, the noblewoman, appeared.
"What happened?"
"From what the guard outside said, His Majesty has merely taken his seat and given no special instructions."
Dariya calmly relayed the situation in the hall, skipping formal greetings in response to the princess's abrupt question.
"Even from outside, only the master of ceremonies' voice could be heard, so I doubt there's anything for Your Highness to worry about."
"Is that so? Just a standard awards ceremony, then."
Only then did Yeniche Trakieri's expression soften.
"The moment he leaves the hall, tell him I'm looking for him."
She let out a sigh of relief and issued the order to Lady Dariya once more.
Dariya left and returned shortly after.
"Why did you come alone?"
"Well..."
Yeniche Trakieri's heart sank at Dariya's trailing off.
Had one of her brothers already made a move?
No.
"After the banquet ended and he left the hall, His Majesty called him back in, so I couldn't dare relay Your Highness's message."
It wasn't her brothers who had summoned him—it was her father.
"His Majesty? Did he call him alone, or were others summoned as well?"
"I heard it was just him."
The princess's face stiffened.
She couldn't tell if her father had called him in for some major role or because of his past.
Either way, her instincts screamed that it was bad.
She was in the midst of nurturing him into a mighty tree, and now it felt like the sapling might snap before it even bore fruit.
"This won't do. I need to go there myself. Lead the way."
But Dariya didn't budge at her command.
"Why are you being so stubborn today of all days?"
Already in a foul mood, the princess finally scolded her.
"His Majesty summoned him to the Glass Garden..."
But at those following words, she swallowed back the torrent of rebukes that had risen to her throat.
"...The Glass Garden?"
She stood frozen like a statue, and it was quite some time before she spoke.
"Yes. That's what I heard for certain."
"You may go."
Dariya curtsied slightly, lifting her skirt.
"The Glass Garden..."
A long sigh escaped the now-alone princess's lips.
No one in the palace was unaware of the Glass Garden's existence. Nor was anyone ignorant of the fact that only her father could enter it.
But she alone knew when her father visited it, in this vast palace.
"Having that dream again..."
It was from long ago, when she was still a child.
Her father had once told her stories from before he became king.
The Power Struggle was far more brutal back then, incomparable to now. He and his uncle mobilized thousands daily for battles.
Tensions were so sharp that civil war seemed imminent.
Even fully mobilizing forces for pitched battles suggested her father and uncle had feared as much.
His forces always held the advantage.
Her father's face as he recounted how they could have ended it half a year sooner without the black-armored cavalry flanking them was still vivid.
His hazy, dreamlike expression had seemed haunted by a nightmare.
It was unrecognizable from her usually cold, impassive father.
But considering the battle cost him countless cherished men and left him with indelible scars on his face and leg, it wasn't so strange.
She had seen that face on her father several times since.
Being perceptive, she easily realized he was having the same dream again.
She never let on.
She simply remembered that on such days, he visited the Glass Garden.
Today was just one such day.
The difference was that he had brought someone else into his sanctuary, one he never allowed anyone—not even family—to enter.
"Why him, of all people..."
She couldn't fathom her father's intentions.
Why bring a mere junior officer into a sanctuary he denied even his daughter?
Of course, she knew he was connected to her father's nightmares.
He was a key figure in the Silent Brotherhood, they said.
He had proposed various strategies during the Power Struggle, so he might have advised on that battle.
He could even have been there that day.
"This isn't good."
Yeniche Trakieri sighed.
The situation felt beyond her control.
The sense of powerlessness, rare for a noble princess, sank her mood endlessly.
She even considered shedding her princess's dignity and sneaking into the Glass Garden.
But she held back.
She still vividly remembered what happened to her brother who once sneaked in without their father's knowledge long ago.
It left a bitter taste, like having a treasured possession snatched away.
Bang!
Lost in thought, someone flung open the door without announcement.
"Y-Your Majesty? What brings you here..."
Realizing too late it was her father, she hurriedly tried to bow.
"Yen."
Her father spoke first.
"Stay away from him."
The blunt words were clear, and she instantly knew who "him" meant.
"Don't praise him excessively, and don't try to suppress him forcibly."
Unlike with her brothers, his usually warm tone toward her was unprecedentedly stern.
"Just watch."
Wherever he was, whatever he did.
"Watch from afar."
Feeling inexplicably aggrieved, she opened her mouth to speak, but...
"Just be grateful that he doesn't oppose Thracia."
The following words shocked her so much she forgot what she was about to say.
"Remember my words well."
With that, her father left.
Yeniche Trakieri stared blankly at the spot he'd vanished from, then snapped to.
"Be grateful he's not an enemy..."
The man she thought she had fully grasped, like an object in her palm.
A mere pawn on her chessboard, bendable to her will.
"What on earth is his true identity?"
Fear gripped her anew.
How could she have imagined?
The man she thought she controlled was the protagonist of her father's endless nightmares.
Not even dreams could conjure such a thing.
"Yannick!"
No sooner had I left the palace than a familiar voice called out.
Natasha stood in an open square with a clear view of the palace.
"Why didn't you head back to the inn? Why wait here..."
I shut my mouth mid-question at her unexpected welcome.
I could guess what she was doing there, in plain sight of the palace.
I knew, but somehow it felt better not to ask.
"Let's go to the inn first."
Natasha grabbed my coat hem as if she'd been waiting.
She looked like a girl afraid of getting lost in the bustling capital, making passersby chuckle.
"How'd the talk go?"
Ignoring them, Natasha only had eyes for me.
"The talk..."
I pondered her question.
Had it gone well?
"I don't know."
Well or not?
"Really, I have no idea."
Even I thought my answer sounded foolish.
But Natasha didn't seem to mind.
"Yannick, Yannick. I'm hungry."
She just clung to my hem and whined as always.
"Alright. Let's eat."
I treated her as usual.
We grabbed a quick meal nearby and returned to my room.
"Not tonight."
"If not tonight, then some other night is okay?"
"...?"
I sent her away as she tried to follow me in like it was natural and lay on the bed.
The inn, managed by the royals, had an incredibly soft bed. Everything was luxurious.
But I had no mind to enjoy it.
'The final scream left by the silence.'
The passionate voice echoed in my head like an auditory hallucination.
"The last hermit."
The emotions packed into those few words were so intense and complex.
The overflowing waves of passion threatened to sweep me away.
Or perhaps those words had rippled through my own heart.
I thought I'd forgotten it all, but maybe not entirely.
"I had nightmares constantly."
I listened silently for now.
"That slash that split my helmet is still vivid. The moment I fell and crawled under my horse's hooves feels like yesterday."
He didn't seem to expect a reply from me.
"Whenever that day resurfaced unconsciously—the day I clung to the enemy's mercy on the brink of victory—I couldn't focus on work all day."
He rambled on with a face neither smiling nor crying.
"Every time my ankle throbbed like it would snap, I tore you apart a thousand, ten thousand times in my mind."
Whether Igor Trakieri gazed at me or the ghost of his past, I couldn't tell.
"Whenever the long scar across my face ached, I longed to behead you over and over."
His impassioned expression gradually calmed.
"Yet now, face-to-face, I just want to ask."
His trembling voice steadied.
"The unfortunate accidents that befell the nobles who followed Dmitry—were they all your doing?"
Igor Trakieri, King of Thracia, asked me.
"Was it you who reduced Dmitry to that state?"
I remained silent.
"That scum would never take honorable responsibility. He'd scheme to survive ugly and plot for the future. That's the nature of those who inherit Trakieri blood."
Igor denied it.
"Let me rephrase. Why did you help me?"
He kept firing questions.
"Why didn't you kill me that day?"
As if spewing everything bottled up for a decade.
"You could have taken my head right there if you wanted, yet why did you turn away at the last moment?"
But I had no answers for any of it.
"Your Majesty, it seems you've misjudged the man. I have no idea what you're talking about."
I denied all his questions.
"I'm not that person."
In that brief pause, Igor’s face shifted endlessly.
"Then who are you, standing before me now?"
When he questioned me again, he wore a truly kingly expression.
"For the kingdom's future, the Thracia Foreign Legion that perished: commander and sole survivor of the 16 Jesters."
I stood at attention like a soldier, heels together, back straight.
"Stationed in northern Killigrad, Independent Cavalry Battalion commander. Major Yannick."
For Thracia.
I snapped a salute to my heart.
Clink.
The medals dangling on my chest chimed lowly.
"Is that so? It seems, as you say, I misjudged you."
Igor Trakieri gazed at the medals filling my chest and spoke.
"I must just have a very common face."
"I don't quite agree with that."
That was it.
"You may withdraw."
I saluted once more.
"Ah, and this has nothing to do with you."
As I turned to leave the garden, his flat voice detained me.
"The last abbot of the Hermit Convent, processed as missing, will be officially recorded as deceased today."
I knew he was certain of my past, and he knew I was lying.
Even so.
"I have no idea who that is, but my condolences."
"Continue serving faithfully as a soldier of Thracia."
"I will give my all."
We parted as if nothing had happened.
Farewell, Your Majesty. Let's never meet again.
I'd sorted that resolve in my heart just hours ago.
And yet here I was, back in the palace.
"Come, have a drink."
"Your Majesty."
Why was I doing this again?
"This is merely a monarch honoring and consoling a soldier who achieved great feats on the battlefield. Drink without burden."
"You've said 'just one drink' several times already."
Igor Trakieri raised his glass, ignoring me.
"To the last abbot of the Hermit Convent, now officially deceased."
This was outright blackmail.
"To my pitifully shattered left ankle."
"...To it."
I had no choice but to raise my glass.