That's an Order
Still, did I get a little scissor-happy?
But there was no taking it back now. Jenice had hastily thrust the scissors into my hand, and I seated Cassion in front of the mirror.
Cassion glared at his own reflection, his lower lip bitten tight.
"Jenice, come here and cut His Highness's hair for me, would you?"
The moment I called for her, Cassion seized my scissor-wielding hand in a firm grip.
"No."
I met the eyes of the stubborn boy in the mirror, and he shook his head at me through the glass.
"Not Jenice. You do it."
"I've never cut anyone's hair before, you know."
"I still want it to be you."
He had worked up all his courage just to agree to a haircut in the first place; I couldn't simply refuse his one condition.
"All right. But no complaining to me later if it comes out strange, Your Highness."
Having extracted that promise, I set the scissors against his soft hair. Snip—and black strands tumbled to the floor.
Merely cutting away the hair that curtained his eyes was enough to make Cassion's features come alive.
He was still gaunt and pale, hardly the picture of health, yet he radiated an air one would rarely find in an eleven-year-old boy.
Someday, that face is going to break a lot of hearts.
With the hair problem settled, everything else proceeded like a shot. Whether it was Rebert's medicine doing its work, Cassion never once let his posture slip through the entire round of preparations and proved remarkably cooperative.
"All done, Your Highness. Shall we head out now?"
Preparations complete, I held out my hand. Cassion took it. Whether the nervousness was his or mine, our once-languid pulses had begun to race.
The morning banquet was being held at Astro Hall. The Third Prince's Palace stood a fair distance away, so even the trip there took quite a while.
By then the banquet would already be underway, but we did not hurry. The more people in attendance, I had calculated, the less freely Julia would dare run amok.
Besides, the later we made our entrance, the likelier we were to command every eye in the room.
Dayson's birthday breakfast gathering was to be Cassion's first official appearance as a prince. I wanted as many people as possible fixated on him. Picturing the nobles and royals gaping in shock at the sight of him put me in high spirits.
But that delight was short-lived.
"My sincerest apologies. The lady may not enter. Only His Highness may pass."
The gatekeeper barred our way. Me, to be precise.
"And why exactly is that?"
When I pressed him, the man simply spat out the same reply on a loop, like a charmed puppet programmed with a single answer.
"Those without an invitation cannot be admitted."
It was a prince's birthday banquet, so naturally anyone outside the royal family required an invitation. That much I already knew.
But the invitation that had been sent to our house was not one I could use.
So Count Kolkos went straight to Julia and received it from her in person, did he?
In my previous life, the invitation had simply arrived at our estate. Subtle differences from that timeline had begun to sprout here and there.
But I hadn't paid them much mind. An invitation hardly seemed like a serious problem, because I had assumed that as long as I was at Cassion's side, I would get in.
Who on earth would stop me when the prince himself is vouching for my identity?
But I had grown complacent. The gatekeeper was a die-hard stickler for the rules.
If I'd known this would happen, I'd have stolen an invitation if that's what it took.
"You must present an invitation."
By the tenth time I'd heard that wretched word out of the gatekeeper's mouth, Cassion had taken hold of my skirt hem, pulled me back, and stepped out in front of me.
"Even if I vouch for her myself?"
In the royal palace, a royal's face was invitation enough.
"That will not be possible."
But the gatekeeper refused him, stiff as stone. Cassion's fists clenched hard enough for the tendons to stand out.
Just what does that bastard take Cassion for!
I could stomach the insolent man no longer, and just as I moved to step in, an unexpected remark left Cassion's lips.
"That is an order. Open the door."
Small but resolute—had his voice been only a little louder, it might have carried genuine majesty. In that tone, Cassion issued his command to the gatekeeper.
"I am sorry, but without an invitation..."
"I will take responsibility, so open the door. Do you dare defy the command of your prince?"
At a loss, the gatekeeper could only dart his eyes about.
"Or do you believe I mean harm to His Majesty and the rest of my family?"
"No, Your Highness! How could I ever think such a thing!"
"Then why refuse entry to someone I have vouched for? Invitations are required for the banquet so that those of confirmed standing may be admitted, are they not?"
The gatekeeper was being crushed by the small boy before him. Every word out of Cassion's mouth was unassailably correct; all the man could do was gulp, unable to muster any reply.
"Have you judged the person I vouch for to be dangerous? Because that would mean you do not trust me."
"That is not what I—"
"Then aren't you the one making me out to be an unfilial son?"
"No, Your Highness!"
The gatekeeper denied it desperately. By Cassion's logic, the man had just branded his prince a traitor plotting the king's murder—and that amounted to a slander upon the royal family itself.
The crime of defaming royalty was far too heavy to be spoken of lightly.
"If not, then open it."
Cassion did not yield. I could see the fine hairs at the nape of his neck standing on end.
He must be wound tight as a bowstring.
Outwardly he faced the knight as if it cost him nothing—but what must it be like inside?
The knight's refusal was not merely a refusal. Through the gatekeeper, Cassion would have realized all over again that although he was a prince, his existence counted for very little.
It must feel wretched.
And yet he refused to retreat, standing his ground against the gatekeeper for my sake. It made me proud of him.
"I said I will take responsibility. Open the door."
Spit through gritted teeth like a final ultimatum, those words brought a flash of arrogance sweeping across the gatekeeper's face.
In the end, he stepped aside. The knight jerked his chin at the attendants who worked the doors, and the massive doors that had seemed they would never open swung inward.
Within drifted elegant music utterly at odds with the confrontation we had just endured, chandeliers so lavish they dazzled the eye, and the aroma of food tempting enough to lure even the fullest stomach—punctuated now and then by a peal of laughter.
It was a world entirely apart from the one Cassion and I were standing in.
As if by prior agreement, Cassion and I straightened our backs and lifted our chins. Hands clasped tight, we stepped into that crowd of people brimming with hidden agendas. Behind us sounded the heavy thud of the great doors closing.
Clatter. Count Kolkos's fork hit the floor. His gaze had locked onto the entrance, and the smile that had filled his face slowly drained away.
"Count Kolkos, is something troubling you?"
Julia asked. The count could not manage an answer; his mouth merely worked soundlessly. Julia turned her head to follow his gaze.
She was not the only one. Every gaze inside Astro Hall converged on a single point—and all around, eyes went wide.
"Prince... Cassion?"
"I heard the Third Prince was absent on account of his health."
"That's what I heard as well. He has never once appeared at a royal function..."
"And isn't that Lady Ehrenberg beside him?"
"The Third Prince and Lady Ehrenberg, together?"
A stir rippled through the assembled nobility. Cassion and Diana were entering the banquet hall side by side, the very picture of intimacy.
Julia's teeth ground together.
How did those two get in here?
She clamped down hard on the corners of her mouth to keep her smile in place. The spies she had planted on Cassion had reported that he was staying quietly at the palace, and the rat hole Diana had been slipping in and out of had been sealed shut.
The palace entry ledger she had checked just that morning had contained not a single name resembling Diana Viola Ehrenberg.
Then how in the world—!
Julia chewed the inside of her cheek raw. Unless she kept an iron grip on herself, she was liable to disgrace herself by shrieking on the spot.
She fixed a burning stare on Diana and Cassion. Sensing the chill of that gaze, Diana lifted her head, and the moment her eyes met Julia's across the air, she broke into a radiant smile.
It was a smile guaranteed to inflame Julia's fury—one she could never welcome.
Julia racked her brain for some way to drive the pair out. Then King Karman rose from his seat.
"You're late, Cassion. Welcome, Lady Ehrenberg."
He greeted the two of them as though their arrival had been arranged in advance—this, despite the fact that not a single seat in the vast hall had been set for them.
But that was a trifling matter.
"We are short of chairs. Have some brought."
A mere three words. With three words from Karman, the problem was solved—and the moment seats appeared for Cassion and Diana, Julia's chance to expel them evaporated.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
Stock courtesies were exchanged, and once Diana and Cassion took their seats, the meal resumed. But not a soul could keep their mind on the food. The nobles were too busy sneaking glances at the pair, while Julia, Dayson, and Count Kolkos were too choked by shock and fury to swallow a single bite.
"It seems the palace chefs have lost their touch."
Karman remarked. The nobles' heads snapped up in unison to look at him.
"How could that possibly be? The cuisine is superb, Your Majesty."
"Then why is it that so few of you are eating? You all look as though this table displeases you. Don't tell me someone here truly finds it uncomfortable?"
Karman was asking, with none of his usual subtlety, whether Cassion and Diana were unwelcome guests.
And who in that room would raise a hand and say yes—that the two of them had come uninvited?
The presence or absence of an invitation no longer mattered. The king himself had given them chairs, an act that carried far more weight than any invitation Julia could send.
"In any case, you are late, Cassion."
The look Karman turned on Cassion was not a warm one. Yet neither was it entirely devoid of feeling. It was the tone of any ordinary father chiding a son who had done wrong—and at it, Cassion's fists clenched tight. Beneath the tablecloth, Diana gave the back of his hand a gentle pat.
Cassion found Karman detestable. The man knew perfectly well that Cassion had not been invited. So why scold him for being late?
Cassion deliberated. What would happen if he said it here—that he had received no invitation, not only today, but every single time?
Wouldn't that amount to admitting I am the royal family's ugly duckling?
Then how would the nobles react?
Would they pity me?
Cassion lowered his head, the corner of his mouth curling upward.
Not a chance. They would only look down on me all the more.
He understood then what answer he ought to give. Still, he wanted to ask Diana first—wanted to know whether it was all right to say such a thing.
Cassion turned to call for her. But there was no need. Diana was already looking at him—only at him.
Her gaze had answered his question before he could ask it.
Do as you wish, Your Highness.
In those steady eyes—promising to shoulder whatever consequences came, right alongside him—courage welled up from the very bottom of Cassion's chest.