To My Beloved Daughter, Celine
I had smashed my fist into Botis's armor. My ruined hand was treated at once.
Because of that, Yuno and I ended up looking oddly companionable with matching splints.
The severity of the wounds, however, could not have been more different.
Yuno had a simple fracture in her left arm—the one she used less often. On top of that, several days had already passed since her second fracture was treated. It was a light injury that would knit cleanly in about a month.
The problem was me.
"Tsk tsk... Just how hard did you strike that armor bare-handed to leave the bones in this state?"
The physician clicked his tongue, gripping my right hand and breaking into a cold sweat.
My dominant hand. The right one.
Drunk on adrenaline when I caved in Botis's chestplate, I had driven that fist down again and again. The finger bones and the back of the hand were pulverized.
In the end, thin splints were fixed to every joint of every finger, and thick bandages wound from the back of the hand all the way up the forearm until the whole thing looked like a giant white radish yanked straight from the ground.
"This will take at least three months of careful observation. Push it and you may never use the right hand again. Absolute rest. Do you understand?"
"...Yes. I'll be careful."
The physician withdrew, leaving only the two of us—bandaged Lassen and Yuno—in the room.
Yuno glanced back and forth between the neat little splint on her left arm and the ridiculous white club of bandages on my right, then let out a deflating little laugh.
"Haa... What a ridiculous sight we make."
"How so?"
"A man who walked away unscathed from enemy spears and swords ends up shattering every bone in his hand punching someone else's armor inside a capital mansion. Tell me that isn't the most absurd farce you've ever heard."
"Farce? Still—this arm, or a few smashed finger bones, bought Lady Celine a chance to step into the sunlight again. And as the price of getting closer to her, I'd say it was cheap."
I shrugged and tossed out the flippant remark. Yuno exhaled a deep, thoroughly exasperated sigh.
"Truly empty words. Even before you wrecked that arm, Lady Celine already felt deep gratitude toward you and had begun to open her heart. You never needed to put on that spectacle."
The assassin's attack. Botis's bullying. Facing the same threats and spitting the same hostility at the same enemy had, without either of us quite noticing, planted the first seeds of camaraderie between us.
It was far too dry and blood-stained a bond to wear the sweet label of "husband and wife," yet it had grown into something solid enough for us to watch each other's backs and mock this miserable situation together—the bond of reluctant allies, at least.
"Is this really all right...?"
For a man who had just caused a major incident, the mansion the next day was astonishingly quiet.
Prince Michael must have cleaned up the aftermath with ruthless thoroughness.
The affair of me hurling the captain of the royal guard into the garden dirt could easily have ballooned into lèse-majesté or outright treason. Yet Michael, who obeyed law and regulation with iron rigidity, had first listed every single military regulation Botis had violated and carted the man off under arrest. My private assault had been quietly shoved into the background.
Lady Erpe's meticulously kept ledger of Botis's outrages had no doubt served as the decisive evidence.
With the rotten tooth named Botis finally extracted, the Kalista mansion's security was handed over that very morning to the First Knight Order under the direct command of First Prince Michael.
And that was when I learned what a true field-manual knight order looked like.
"On the hour. Second squad, outer perimeter relief."
"Third squad, corridor patrol—all clear."
Gone were the royal guards of Botis's day, sprawled about the mansion gossiping and devouring fruit. Michael's First Knight Order, even with half the manpower, had woven a seamless net of vigilance.
Footfalls kept perfect cadence. Not a single private word was exchanged while on duty. Where Botis's men had plundered the mansion's fine ingredients and wine as if raiding their own larder, Michael's knights brought every meal from their own barracks and accepted not so much as a cup of water from the household.
Michael did not brush aside Lady Erpe's quiet remark that Celine feared the sight of armor. He ordered every man patrolling the interior to shed the bulky, noisy plate and perform their duties in uniform alone—consideration for a child's eye level.
Nor did he stop there.
He met privately with Lady Erpe, mapped the family's private hours and routes of movement, and arranged the patrols accordingly.
"While Her Ladyship and the young miss remain in their private chambers, I will keep the patrols clear of those corridors. I will also prepare a zone map that allows external signs of intrusion to be checked without opening doors, so that even when another order eventually takes over, the household's daily life will not be disturbed. A full handover ledger will be left."
Lady Erpe was deeply moved by the prince's clean, impeccable courtesy and bowed repeatedly. Behind that courtesy, of course, the net of surveillance had grown hundreds of times denser and sharper than in Botis's day—yet the open rudeness and private harassment had vanished completely.
A little tiring, sure—but a hundred times better than that garbage Botis.
I watched the knights' retreating backs cross the garden and let out a quiet breath of relief.
Evening fell after Michael's system had settled into the mansion as if it had always belonged there. Then a most welcome piece of news arrived at Kalista Mansion.
A letter from Grand Duke Sabre, still serving as temporary military governor in the former lands of Europia.
Until now, Sabre's correspondence had been official memorials meant to check the Valerian royal house, or administrative and political instructions for Lady Erpe. Today's letter was different.
It was a private letter from a father to his only daughter, Celine.
"Lady Celine has asked us to come to the study so we may read the letter together," Yuno reported, appearing at my door.
When we opened the study door, Celine, seated in her chair, greeted us with a bright face.
"Teacher Yuno! Sir Lassen! Welcome!"
The peach-blossom flush had returned to her cheeks; she seemed to have overcome a great deal of her trauma.
The reason she had invited us was plain. Yuno must have been desperate for news of her little brother Keres left behind in Europia, and I, for my part, wanted word of the subordinates I had abandoned on the battlefield—especially whether Viyenson, stuck with the scut work, was managing the Karsten territory properly.
"I'm so looking forward to Father's letter."
Celine toyed shyly with the empty envelope on the table and smiled.
"What I love most is breaking the red wax seal Father always uses! The little tok when it snaps—there's nothing better."
Even that small, endearing scrap of information carried warmth.
Lady Erpe entered with a gentle smile, carrying a tray of fine parchment, a quill, the red sealing wax Celine loved, and the family seal.
"They'll bring the letter any moment. Our Celine has been waiting just to snap that wax, haven't you?"
The four of us settled close together in the study, sipping warm tea and waiting. Then—
Knock, knock.
The tightly closed door opened.
"Pardon the intrusion."
It was Michael, the man in charge of security. In one hand he held a letter stamped with Grand Duke Sabre's personal seal.
"A letter. I brought it myself for the young miss."
"Ah! Father's letter!"
Celine sprang up beaming—only for her expression to freeze the instant she took the letter, then crumple into disappointment.
"Oh... the wax... it's already broken..."
She would never feel the satisfying snap she had been waiting for. The red wax that had sealed the letter shut had already been torn open without mercy and lay in shattered fragments.
"Ah."
Michael saw her crestfallen face and explained in the same stiff, official tone as always.
"My apologies, young miss. All correspondence arriving from the former lands of Europia must, by military regulation, be examined for possible codes or enemy intelligence. I completed the inspection myself before bringing it, which is why the seal is broken."
Ah... that tone-deaf field-manual bastard...
I sighed deep inside. A child's modest little joy had been crushed without hesitation before the altar of security protocol.
Celine smacked her lips in regret, but being a clever, good-hearted child, she quickly smoothed her face and unfolded the letter with a flourish.
"It's still Father's letter, so it's all right! I'll read it out loud for everyone!"
Her clear voice filled the study.
To my beloved daughter, Celine.
It's Dad. In the letter I sent your mother last time I filled the pages with requests for supplies and administrative matters needed for the territory's recovery, and never once managed a single warm greeting for the person who matters most—my own daughter. I'm truly sorry.
I keep wondering whether you are sleeping warmly beside your mother, whether you've caught a cold. I miss you so very much, my girl.
"Dad..."
At that single tender line, tears finally welled in Celine's eyes. She clutched the letter and sniffled hard.
I had seen Sabre often enough as a superior officer; this private, affectionate father pressing such warmth into every stroke of the pen felt strange and almost miraculous.
Beside me, Yuno leaned slightly closer and whispered low against my ear.
"Whenever Lady Celine takes history lessons from me... she never stops talking about her father."
Her gaze stayed fixed on the girl wiping her tears and reading on.
"How deeply she has been loved, how warm the hours were when he clumsily carved wooden dolls just for her. She chatters about it without pause."
Yuno gently caught my sleeve.
"Perhaps... the greatest hope I have right now is the proud little testimony Lady Celine keeps offering. If a father can love his own blood that deeply... then my brother Keres, too, might be held and protected as nothing more than a pitiful child once the label of 'enemy princess' is stripped away."
As if answering that quiet desperation, the next passage of the letter finally delivered the news Yuno had been waiting for.
...Here with me is a small, pretty little girl about your age. She is a princess of Europia. I keep her close and look after her myself, yet whether she is still frightened of me or whether the wounds of war run too deep... she has not spoken a single word aloud to this day.
If the wounds were only of the body I could summon a physician, but how does a blunt father like me mend the cracks in a child's heart? I have no idea. I considered telling Princess Yuno in the capital... yet I can already picture how heartbroken she would be to learn her little brother has lost his voice, and I cannot find the courage. Celine, speak with your mother and, without letting Princess Yuno notice, help me think of a way to open the child's heart.
"Ah..."
A stifled breath escaped Yuno's lips.
Celine felt deep sympathy for the enemy princess her own age and snuffled loudly. Yet despite every careful consideration Sabre had woven into the letter, Yuno finally lowered her head and let tears fall one after another.
The terror her ten-year-old brother must have felt watching their parents die before his eyes—and the sickness of the heart that had stolen his voice. Yuno swallowed her tears in silence, helpless to do anything for him.
With my splinted, half-ruined hand I clumsily patted her trembling shoulder.
At least if Sabre himself is watching over him, safety is secured. Exactly what you wanted. Losing his voice is heartbreaking, but time will heal it.
Through Sabre's letter, news mixed with tears and relief finally reached us. Lady Erpe gathered the atmosphere with a gentle voice.
"Now, everyone wipe your eyes. Your father will be waiting desperately for our reply, so let us write one at once."
"Yes, Mother!"
Celine blew her nose bravely, sat properly at the table, and took up the quill.
And then—
"...It's embarrassing..."
Prince Michael's surveillance continued even into the moment of writing the letter. Conscious of the prince's gaze, Celine could not put a single black mark on the parchment until the ink dried.
"...Your Highness."
Lady Erpe could bear it no longer and spoke carefully, looking uncomfortable.
"This is a private letter from a child to her father. Celine is quite shy, so would it be possible for you to avert your eyes for a little while, or wait outside while she writes?"
Any ordinary knight—anyone with even a shred of tact—would have answered, "Ah, yes, I'll wait outside the door," and stepped away.
Our field-manual prince of zero flexibility simply shook his head with finality.
"My apologies, my lady. Principle."
Michael's brow furrowed as he answered sternly.
"The destination of this letter is none other than the former territory of Europia—currently the most sensitive military stronghold on the front. Given the circumstances, even a letter from a young lady must be watched by my own two eyes from the moment of writing until the moment it is sealed before I can permit it to leave. Please understand."
Utterly pig-headed.
In the original story, that same rigid personality had been a quiet source of irritation. The proper flow would have been for heroine Yuno to scold him sharply—Are those regulations more important than a child's feelings?—and for Michael to grumble yet yield in a romantic little beat.
The situation now was different. Even Lady Erpe, mistress of the house, had been politely refused. Yuno, a prisoner of war and mere houseguest of a conquered nation, could never dare lecture a prince.
Celine's ears had turned bright red under the prince's unblinking stare; she only fidgeted with the quill and could not write a single character.
Aah, for real—this inflexible bastard. Ease up already.
I clicked my tongue inwardly and rose slowly from my seat.
My right hand was a bandage club anyway; I could not write. Hands clasped behind my back, I strode deliberately into the space between Celine's table and Michael, planting myself squarely in his line of sight.
"...?"
Question and displeasure rose together in Michael's eyes.
"What do you think you are doing, Lassen?"
His voice had gone cold and flat.
I shrugged with shameless ease.
"I can't write with this hand, so I figured I'd just stand here and enjoy the scenery of the study."
Michael despised me. Yet by temperament he never turned that loathing into petty quarrels or violence; he simply treated me as if I did not exist—like a transparent ghost.
Now that I was blatantly making a nuisance of myself right under his nose, two feelings began to collide inside him: the field-manual duty to shove me aside and continue surveillance according to principle, and the extreme revulsion that refused to let even one finger touch the body of that disgusting traitor.
"Step aside. I am on official duty."
"I'm admiring the view."
Whenever Michael tilted his head left to reclaim his sightline, I stepped left. Whenever he shifted right, I turned my bulk the same way.
"......."
Deep creases dug into Michael's brow. He looked ready to draw the sword at his hip at any second, yet I knew perfectly well he was not a man who resorted to groundless violence.
Thanks to the blind spot I had created, Celine finally let out a little giggle of relief and began scratching the quill across the parchment with cheerful energy.
Inside the study, the soft sound of a child writing filled the air—together with the childish yet fierce silent staring contest between the zero-flexibility prince and the traitor.