A Father's Hardest Lesson
"Shall we dig deeper into the Chairman, Eli's adoptive father? The Valerie family founded Carrington Academy, so if we look into them, I imagine quite a wealth of records will turn up."
"He cut down Duke Hector's son with a single stroke. Handed him a humiliation of staggering proportions. Retaliation is bound to follow — there's no way he doesn't know that."
"For a man who holds the position of Chairman to claim ignorance would be absurd."
"Exactly."
Carrington Academy was not a place that could be dismissed as merely teaching students their lessons. It was the empire's premier institution, charged with cultivating the talent that would carry the nation's future, and vested with the authority to speak out boldly whenever disputes arose between the imperial family and the noble factions.
The family that had built such an academy and safeguarded it for more than two hundred years was the House of Valerie.
They held no rival in politics, having risen to nobility purely on the strength of acknowledged merit. Perhaps it was that unshakable grit and confidence that made them certain they could handle the likes of Duke Hector without breaking a sweat.
"I only hope no stray sparks fly Bayul's way."
Even now, recalling the incident at the night market made the Duke's chest tighten. That his son had been treated in such a manner — it astonished him, and as a father, it set his blood boiling.
"You made the difference in strength unmistakably clear. They won't dare come anywhere near for a good while yet, so set your mind at ease."
Sadad, too, had witnessed firsthand the duel between Commander Yeager and Hayes. He had long known how capable Hayes was, but that day she had been, even by his reckoning, magnificent. He was genuinely proud of her — a junior who had surpassed his own skill.
"The real problem is that chances keep arising for Duke Hector to save face. Even a cornered rat will bite the cat, you know."
Being an unavoidable father, the Duke remained deeply uneasy all the same.
"His reckless son keeps the father running in circles. Frankly, I don't see it as a bad thing for us. It seems I'll be free to enjoy my own time for a while."
"Did I ever promise to grant you a vacation?"
The Duke had no memory of anything of the sort.
"That's not what I mean. You'll be busy smoothing things over here and there for some time, which means you'll be neglecting our duties, won't you? So I was thinking — I might try my hand at this thing called courtship. Any objection?"
"...Courtship?"
In all the years since Sadad had been taken on as his aide-de-camp, the Duke had never once seen him pursue a woman. When Duke Randert knit his brow, Sadad answered with perfect confidence.
"For all I look like this, I'm every bit as popular as Your Grace. Do you have any idea how the ladies in town flutter their lashes at me the moment I step outside?"
"Did they? You're certain that's not just your imagination?"
Such matters held no interest for the Duke, and so he had never once witnessed any of it.
"Well, there's nothing strange about a young man courting. Do your best, then."
Sadad's mouth curled upward so sharply that he might as well have announced he already had someone in mind. It would be a blessing if things didn't fall apart.
"More to the point — any word yet from Liam?"
"It seems there is much to coordinate over His Majesty the Emperor's wedding. With Crown Prince Lindemann's coming-of-age ceremony concluded, the royal marriage that remains must now be seen through."
"I left the noble faction's lords to handle things alone and fled here by myself. I admit I feel somewhat guilty about it."
"Your Grace says that every single time. There's no need for fresh apologies now. I'm sure His Excellency Liam will manage splendidly on his own. Had Your Grace been there, you'd only have gotten in the way."
It was comfort with teeth in it. Anyone else overhearing might have taken offense at such insolence toward Duke Randert, but the Duke knew it was Sadad's peculiar way of showing affection, and so he merely let out a dry chuckle and let it pass.
"I hear a congratulatory delegation may be arriving from the Dwyer Empire. How are things over there these days?"
"Gathering and sifting through the intelligence, nothing appears to have changed. There are rumors that Emperor Royan himself intends to come, but surely that's not possible?"
Royan — the very architect of the Ten-Year War, the crown prince whom Mercenary King Barachel had treasured above all else in his lifetime.
After Emperor Barachel declared his surrender to Duke Randert at the Battle of Lennox and formally passed the throne to his son, the two empires, as if such bloodshed had never been, abruptly agreed to a ceasefire. And it was Crown Prince Royan, not Barachel, who had appeared at the table to sign that truce.
To Royan, Duke Randert was nothing less than his father's destroyer. Whatever the outcome of the Ten-Year War, the Duke had personally severed both of Emperor Barachel's arms and legs, leaving him a cripple.
Which meant that if Emperor Royan truly paid a visit, the occasion would be an exceedingly uncomfortable one.
"Oh, and by the way — word has it that Crown Prince Lindemann keeps asking about Hayes. Were you aware?"
"...About Hayes?"
"Yes. Her age to begin with, whether she's married or not — he's shown considerable interest, down to her personal affairs."
"He takes after His Majesty the Emperor, that one. He must have sensed something watching Hayes's duel."
He was a man who preferred to take up sword and shield and throw his body into the work rather than sit and be taught. If a man born to belong in the martial world had the misfortune of being born into the imperial family, then this was it. It was only natural for the Crown Prince to take an interest in Hayes.
"My instincts say otherwise, my lord."
"And what exactly are you trying to say?"
"Wasn't Hayes rather dashing that day?"
"......?"
"There's no guarantee she won't steal hearts. Her skill aside, she wasn't the only reason men lost their souls staring — her beauty turned more than a few heads."
"So what you're telling me is that the Crown Prince has lost his heart to Hayes?"
"Summing it up, yes, roughly."
Sadad had served at the Duke's side since he was very young. He had been in a position of learning then, of course, but now he carried out so much of the work that he could rightly be called the Duke's private secretary.
His one flaw, if it could be called that, was that in company he was remarkably tight-lipped — yet perhaps because he had been kept close for so long, when the two of them were alone he would occasionally frolic about like a child.
The Duke trusted him not merely for his capable hands, but for his quick eye in reading a situation precisely. If Sadad saw it that way, nine times out of ten he was right.
"I should send word to Liam."
"The letter has no doubt already arrived."
That much is nothing by now, surely.
Having moved of his own accord before any order was given, Sadad tilted his chin up with a smug look.
"Crown Prince Lindemann is not the sort to give up on anything easily."
"I know it well. I also know full well that he'd make a poor groom for Hayes."
It was never a match that could come to pass in the first place. What crown prince in all the world could fall in love with a knight and marry her? The nobles would never permit such a thing.
"Keep it in check."
"Understood."
"You've made a proper record of everything that needs doing?"
At the Duke's question, Sadad gave his notebook a little wag. Keeping notes was second nature to a man like him; everything he needed for writing was carried on his person like an extension of his own body.
Tap, tap.
Just then, accompanied by a knock, Head Butler Cunning appeared at the door with a smile.
"My lord, Seon has come to see you."
"Seon?"
"The boy who was struck by the lightning."
"Ah. Has he made a full recovery, then?"
At the welcome news, Duke Randert's expression brightened.
"He was desperate to convey his thanks to you in person, my lord, so I told him to wait. Do you have the time now?"
"Your timing is impeccable. We had just finished the report and were about to leave."
Sadad rose in good humor.
"Then I shall see you tomorrow."
He offered the Duke a respectful bow and promptly made way.
"Come in."
The boy called Seon, who had been waiting outside the door, stepped into the study utterly frozen stiff.
To him, this was glory without end. Having his life spared alone left him so grateful he hardly knew where to put himself — and now to be granted an audience, to offer his greetings face to face, stirred feelings too immense for words. It was an event so extraordinary that if he told his friends, not one of them would believe him.
"G-good day, my lord! I—I am called Seon!"
Nerves had gotten the better of him, and his voice came out far too loud. With shoulders hunched to his ears and feet pressed tightly together, he looked for all the world ready to wet himself on the spot.
"Yes, it's good to see you healthy. Will you sit there?"
"Th-thank you!"
Merely being offered a seat drew gratitude from a face brimming with emotion. At the boy's unspoiled, guileless manner, Duke Randert found himself smiling warmly despite himself.
"Cunning, bring us some refreshments, would you?"
"At once, my lord. Then I shall leave you to your conversation."
Once the butler withdrew, only the Duke and Seon remained — and that seemed to press upon the boy all the more, his face flushing gradually redder.
"I ought to open the window."
As Duke Randert lifted the sash, the sound of drumming rain poured in loud and clear.
Arf! Arf-arf!
Apparently the noise had offended him, for Jasper, who had been lying quietly in a corner, sprang up at once and began to bark.
"Wah! You startled me!"
Seon, who had had no idea Jasper was even there, let out a shriek of surprise.
"Jasper, hush!"
"Arf-arf! Arf-arf-arf-arf!"
When the beast refused to obey, the Duke had no choice but to fish a strip of dried meat from the drawer and toss it. Quick as a bird, Jasper bounded up, snatched the jerky midair, and trotted back to his spot, gnawing away contentedly.
"Is— is his name Jasper?"
Gathering his courage, Seon asked the Duke his first question.
"It is. My son's guard dog."
"Ah — you mean young Lord Bayul?"
"Yes. You know of my son?"
"I've never met him, but I once overheard what my teacher said of him."
"From Father Juan?"
"Yes, my lord. He treated me for a very long time."
At first, Seon had believed it all to be simply the priest's grace. But when he learned that it was the lord of the land himself who had rescued him, carried him in, and even called upon Amarun to save his life, his gratitude had kept him sleepless for days. However he turned the question over, he could find no answer for how he might ever repay such a debt.
"Tell me, then — what does Father Juan say of Bayul?"
"He said he is a man of great will."
"Will?"
"Yes, my lord. He said the young lord is one who refuses to settle for the reality before him, who always strives to move forward. And so he urged me never to abandon my own will — that I must believe, firmly and of my own accord, that I could surely become well."
"...I see."
"And he told me that the young lord has gone to study at Carrington Academy for now, so I would only be able to meet him when summer vacation came. If ever the chance allows, I should like to offer him my thanks as well. It was he who planted in me the resolve and the hope to overcome my illness."
"Arf! Arf-arf-arf-arf!"
Whether the hound had somehow understood that Bayul was coming, Jasper abandoned his jerky mid-chew and let out a raucous howl.
Summer was drawing near — the time when the Academy would break for vacation, too.
I'm glad I came to the Academy. At first the classes and dormitory life were so unfamiliar it flustered me, but now everything has become a joy.
That was what his son had said to him at the imperial palace, thanking him. And so the Duke, in turn, had grown anxious. What if Bayul came to love it there so much that he no longer wished to return to Hamilton? What if he still believed, even now, that he had been cast out?
As a father, he need only command his son to come home — and yet to Duke Randert, that remained the most difficult lesson of all.
His son, who had left the imperial palace without even a farewell, quietly weighed on his mind. The crush of duties might have explained it, but he had wanted to see his son's face just once more before he went, and he had failed to, and that stung.
His feelings were strange, too. Something had shifted since the day he sent Bayul off to Carrington. His son now had somewhere to return to that was not Hamilton — and while that filled the Duke with pride, some part of him, he couldn't say why, felt a quiet pang of loss.
He had sent the boy out to leave the shelter of his father's embrace and learn the world. But now that it was actually happening, paradoxically, he ached with the parting.
Was this the heart of every parent who ever raised a child?
Bayil, watch over your brother for me.
Whenever the Duke thought of the son who had gone ahead, an ache still gathered in one corner of his chest. But the grief that once felt as though it would tear him apart had faded, at long last, to something far more bearable.
He would keep overcoming it, just as he had until now.
To protect and raise well the one son who remained to him — that was the only pride Duke Randert could offer, someday, to the wife and to Bayil he would meet again beyond this life.