Tea in the Winter Garden
Jared, as if refusing to be outdone by Bayul's initiative, answered a beat late. "Cezario will be joining us too, I assume?"
Only Cezario remained. He had been watching the exchange between Bayul and the Crown Prince with an ill-disguised, resentful look in his eyes, and now he nodded as though it went without saying.
"Of course. How could I possibly disobey the Crown Prince's command?"
"Oh? Did my words come across as a command?"
"Did they not? I was lost in thought for a moment, that's all…"
"Lost in thought?"
"My sincerest apologies. You were enjoying your conversation so thoroughly that you'd quite forgotten your surroundings, and I found myself deeply concerned that an unnecessary intrusion might be stealing Your Highness's precious time, so I…"
He groveled endlessly, but there were thorns in every word. Translated into plain speech, his meaning was clear: If you invited me here just to treat me like a borrowed grain sack, why did you bother calling me at all?
"Well, to my ears, it sounds like a rebuke—that it's terribly rude to invite a guest and then ignore him. Am I right?"
Where Cezario had circled around for a flank attack, the Crown Prince chose the direct route. When he struck back without bothering to hide his displeasure, Cezario bowed his head low and denied it.
"Your Highness, it is a misunderstanding! I would never say such a thing!"
Just then, the male gardener who had escorted Bayul hurried in and reported, "Your Highness, Her Imperial Highness Princess Grace has arrived."
"Grace?"
At this hour, the girl should have been sitting down to her afternoon tea. When the Crown Prince asked back in bewilderment, the gardener added, "Princess Hwiwol has come with her."
Princess Hwiwol?
Bayul knew of her, too. He had never seen her in person, but he'd learned about her in history class. The miracle only daughter of the Ga Kingdom, born to parents who had already raised five sons. Doted on by her father, King Mumu, beyond all measure, she had turned fifteen this very year. Apparently she had come to the Empire to celebrate the Crown Prince's coming-of-age.
"Show them in."
If it were only his sister, he would have sent her away, but with Princess Hwiwol along, he couldn't. Alone, Grace would have known perfectly well she'd be turned away—so the clever little sister had resorted to a sly trick. Crown Prince Lindemann let out a short sigh and had no choice but to grant permission.
And then Bayul saw it: Jared and Cezario gazing at each other with bright, eager eyes, as though the entire confrontation moments ago had never happened.
Refreshments had been laid out in the adjoining room—a rather unusual space, impossible to say whether it was indoors or out, with two of its four sides opening directly onto the garden.
The walls and ceiling were entirely covered in living vines and wooden trellis, while the floor was neatly carpeted with colorful flowers and soft green grass. The only furniture was a round table and chairs carved from a single log, left almost untouched—just the barest minimum of shaping, nature itself given a seat at the table.
"Welcome to the Winter Garden."
The Crown Prince's tone had changed, perhaps because of Princess Hwiwol. He graciously pulled out a chair for her.
"Thank you, Crown Prince Lindemann."
Princess Hwiwol gave a slight nod and took her seat first.
"This place is called the Winter Garden because winter is said to be the season when it looks most beautiful. We often come here to receive honored guests, or when we wish to clear our heads. There is no finer setting for afternoon tea, I assure you."
"The Winter Garden. For some reason, I find myself fond of the name. It's lovely even now—so I can't help wondering what it must look like then."
At the Crown Prince's explanation, Princess Hwiwol glanced around the garden and sighed in admiration. She spoke not in the Ga tongue but in the Imperial common tongue, and with such flawless command that, were it not for the distinctive coloring and features of her people, one might have mistaken her for an Imperial herself.
"If you're curious, just come back in winter! No wait—why don't you just stay here with me until winter comes?"
Princess Grace reacted so vehemently that her pink hair nearly shook. Hwiwol's visit to the imperial palace was a gift from heaven, descended like a sudden rain upon her tedious daily life. It would be no exaggeration to say that, at this moment, Princess Grace's greatest wish in life was for Hwiwol to stay as long as possible.
"Grace, we have other guests. You should use honorifics."
"Oppa, this isn't an official occasion. Why bother? Hwiwol is my closest friend. Honorifics with a friend? That's just weird. Isn't it, Lord Bayul?"
Having retorted to her brother's reprimand with a sullen face, Princess Grace suddenly turned to Bayul for support.
"Well… I don't mind, either way."
When the flustered Bayul answered hesitantly, Grace seized on it at once. "See? You're wonderful in every other way, oppa, but sometimes you're just too stiff and stuffy. You never used to be like this—you've changed as you've gotten older. Don't tell me you'll be like that with my new sister-in-law someday too."
Whew. Who's ever going to rein you in?
He said nothing, but the Crown Prince's expression said it all. Pressing hard at his temple like a man suffering a splitting headache, he lowered his head.
"Speaking of which, aren't you going to introduce him?"
Princess Grace's blue eyes sparkled as she looked at Bayul. This was the decisive reason she had dragged Hwiwol all the way here to find her brother today.
"And who was it that spoke to him first without giving me a chance to do so?"
"That was an unavoidable choice, made in service of legitimately asserting my will."
She does enunciate beautifully, I'll give her that.
"…Bayul, this is Grace. As you've no doubt guessed, she's remarkably immature for a princess of the realm."
"Oppa!"
"But she's warm-hearted and kind at her core, so I'd ask you not to judge her harshly."
Princess Grace's fiercely knitted brows smoothed back into place at her brother's final words. Though he scolded his sister, the look in Lindemann's eyes as he regarded her never once stopped being warm.
'Her Imperial Highness Princess Grace, who turns fifteen this year, is, unlike His Highness the Crown Prince, a rather particular and eccentric young lady. His Majesty showers her with such affection that he often says he wouldn't mind a thousand of her.
You will encounter many situations in her company that might seem disrespectful. When that happens, do not be startled—handle it deftly and with grace. It is only because she lacks judgment; her nature is not a bad one.
Incidentally, the Crown Prince and the Princess are quite close, for all their squabbling. Half-siblings, yes, but perhaps because they're all each other has, they've gotten along well since they were small.'
His uncle's words had been true to the letter. On the surface the two bickered and snapped at each other constantly, but between the jabs, their genuine affection for one another kept showing through. Watching them, Bayul found himself smiling for no particular reason.
"I am Bayul Romanov von Randert. It is an infinite honor to be received by Her Imperial Highness Princess Grace."
Bayul rose from his seat and offered a formal bow.
"I've been dying of curiosity! Wondering what sort of person Duke Randert's son might be! I was supposed to wait until the banquet tomorrow, but the moment I heard oppa had invited you, I simply couldn't sit still a moment longer—so here I am!"
Princess Grace clasped her hands together, looking for all the world as though she'd just been delivered a miracle.
"…And has your curiosity been satisfied, then?"
"No! I have mountains and mountains of questions—how could it possibly be?"
"You… mean, about me?"
"Yes! What sort of food does Duke Randert like? Meat? Fish? Vegetables? What does he do with his days when he's at Hamilton? Is he one to sleep in? How many hours a day does the knights' training take? He does actually sleep at night, right?"
Huh?
As Bayul stared at Princess Grace in open bewilderment at the barrage of questions about his father, Crown Prince Lindemann drew in the sigh he'd been holding and cut in.
"Grace, you really should restrain yourself."
"Oppa, this is the golden opportunity to gather intel on Duke Randert! Who could know him better than his own son, Lord Bayul? This is my chance to learn everything there is to know about the Duke!"
Right. She was Duke Randert's most devoted fan. Ever since the year she turned seven, when she read the Duke's biography in the imperial library, she had adored him from afar to this very day.
Reckless as a whirlwind and at times utterly insufferable, she nonetheless behaved with impeccable decorum the instant she stood before Duke Randert—a two-faced act that never failed to plunge Crown Prince Lindemann into fits of self-doubt.
"Bayul, just let it roll off you. This one's admired the Duke for ages."
"Oh, is that so? Roll off me? Do you have any idea how long I've wondered about these things! Oppa, how can you!"
"Grace."
"What!"
"Shouldn't you think of Princess Hwiwol?"
"Oh, right! I forgot."
Come to think of it, the introductions weren't finished. Her eagerness had run away with her—her boundless adoration for the Duke, rather—and only after unleashing her torrent of questions did she realize it.
"Princess Hwiwol, this is Bayul, son of Duke Randert—as you heard just before. This is Jared, eldest son of House Hector, and Cezario, second son of Marquis Drow."
This was the moment they had been waiting for. The instant the Crown Prince's introductions ended, Jared and Cezario made their strongest pitch for her attention.
So it was because of Princess Hwiwol.
Now I understand what that sudden burst of friendliness was for. Even a naive soul like Bayul couldn't fail to see it. The way Jared and Cezario looked at Princess Hwiwol—that was longing. That was raw ambition.
Perhaps it was her status as a princess of a foreign kingdom—and of the Ga Kingdom, whose king treasured her above all else, a rock-solid pedigree. Or perhaps it was her exotic, breathtaking beauty. Bayul couldn't say which.
Only that either one, on its own, was more than enough to bewitch the pair of them.
Hwiwol.
In the Ga tongue, it meant Beautiful Moon. But even without the name, Bayul had thought of the moon the moment he first saw her.
A presence that rose alone and unashamed in the pitch-dark night sky, casting light into the darkness. Princess Hwiwol's beauty had a depth to it that made her fifteen years seem irrelevant.
Two black eyes, gleaming like obsidian, met Bayul's gaze squarely. The golden hue of her skin, unseen anywhere in the Empire, lent her an air at once unfamiliar and mysterious. Her long, luxuriant black hair fell to her waist, smooth and lustrous as woven silk. Her petite red lips glistened softly, as though she had just tasted a ripe, fresh fruit.
"Forgive me for the late introduction. I am Hwiwol. I can only hope our unannounced joining has not put the three of you out."
"Out? Not at all—it is we who are honored to meet you, Princess Hwiwol!"
"You are every bit the beauty I'd heard of. I must have had a good dream last night, for such fortune to find me. It is a glory beyond words to meet you."
"And I'm delighted to meet the three of you in person as well. You especially, Lord Bayul—I've been curious about you for some time."
"…Pardon?"
"Grace has talked my ears off about you."
She was being diplomatic; in truth, it had been closer to brainwashing. Most of it had been about Duke Randert, but as his blood relation, Bayul had come up often enough too.
"I can't have said that much."
At his friend's sulky protest, Princess Hwiwol only smiled—but Bayul could privately guess what hardships lay behind that smile.
"Princess Hwiwol, you must have endured such hardship coming all this way. Living alone in a foreign land can be no easy thing. Is there anything you lack, anything at all? Please tell me—however small my means, I should like to help."
"What could I possibly lack? If anything, I'm living so comfortably it's almost a scandal. Still, thank you for asking, Lord Jared."
When Princess Hwiwol called him by name, Jared's mouth split into a helpless, gaping grin.
"Lord Bayul! What does it feel like to have Duke Randert for a father? To be born and discover your father is the Duke Randert! Just what virtues did you pile up in a past life to win such luck? I am so jealous I could scream!"
Apparently deciding the introductions were over, Princess Grace's question offensive resumed in full force.