Unmarried, 21, Powerful — Part 3
The fact that the club members had come to the estate was steeped in the Emperor's will, which meant his eyes and ears were blanketed across the whole domain. At that level of scrutiny, it was safer here than even the Imperial Capital mansion under Mukgwangdae's watch.
Of course, I couldn't simply relax and credit the Emperor for the club members' safety. A man who had been grinding himself into the dirt back in the capital suddenly easing off and taking a break would be a provocation. It would be as good as declaring outright, I know Your Majesty is watching, so I'll be resting now.
The Emperor was already at the peak of his paranoia and his obsession with imperial authority. For a subordinate to catch on to a plan the Emperor had never spoken of and try to game it? That was a one-way ticket to a thrashing for sheer impudence. History was littered with ministers who had tried to climb onto their sovereign's head—and ended up ascending somewhere far less pleasant.
"This is Erich's home, so just stay quiet and don't put yourselves under pressure."
"Oh dear. I suppose I'll have to hurry back to the Imperial Capital, then."
Even better if he did.
In any case, I needed to show the Emperor's eyes and ears—wherever they were—that I was working hard. Which was why I was personally escorting the club members to their rooms.
Truthfully, I had only come because Mother invited me, so there was no real need for me to do this. But the thought that the Emperor was watching made it impossible to sit still. Your Majesty, you are watching, aren't you? See how diligent I am.
"Mar, this will be your room."
"……."
"Mar?"
"Ah, I'm sorry. I was lost in thought for a moment."
"It's fine. It happens."
I had assigned rooms to the Baking Club and to Irina, and finally guided Margeta as well—but unlike usual, she couldn't seem to focus at all.
Ever since entering the lord's castle, her gaze had been drifting this way and that, and even now she was completely absorbed in whatever she was thinking. I just hoped it wasn't some kind of problem.
"If you need anything, just call for a servant. Coming to me is fine, too."
"I will. Thank you for looking after us, Young Master Karl."
I nodded once at Margeta's soft smile and moved on. Time for me to get to my own business.
Before the room assignments, Mother had asked me to join her for tea once the guiding was done. When Mother called, a son went. What else was he supposed to do?
I didn't think she'd send for me this quickly.
Still, the sooner the matter was finished, the better. The sooner I could go back.
Mother was waiting in the rear garden of the lord's castle. The tea table was already set, refreshments prepared. Had I taken too long?
"Mother."
"You're here. Sit down."
As I took the seat across from her, a maid promptly poured the tea. A glance around showed the head maid behind Mother, and about six more maids assisting. Rather a lot of people for a tea party of two.
"Head Maid. I trust you've been well."
I offered a light greeting first. Servant or not, the head maid held the miraculous triple title of head maid, nanny, and Mother's childhood friend—someone even the butler wouldn't dare handle carelessly.
"Hearing Young Lord inquire after me, I feel as though any fatigue I had has simply vanished."
"I'm glad to hear it."
The head maid answered with a smile so warm it melted the heart of anyone who saw it. From her perspective, I was like a son she had watched since infancy, so that was natural enough.
I still can't get used to it.
From my side, her goodwill was almost embarrassing to receive. Nanny or not, I had never actually been raised by her.
People called her the nanny, so I went along with it—but honestly, there was no real attachment there. I could barely feel any for my own parents; feeling any for a nanny would have been stranger still.
So while Erich dutifully called her Nanny, I insisted on "Head Maid." She had looked a little hurt by that at first, but she seemed to take it as adolescent rebellion and accepted it soon enough.
Still in my rebellious phase at twenty-one?
A nanny's heart for a child really was endlessly generous.
"How were the guests?"
"No complaints. I've assigned servants to them as well, so you needn't worry."
"That's a relief. I was fretting over whether we could satisfy such distinguished people."
I lowered my gaze slightly at the head maid's smile as Mother's voice reached me. A faint weariness ran through it—she must have suffered quite a bit over this invitation.
Well, of course. A gathering meant for her son alone had suddenly filled with royalty and a princess of a foreign kingdom. Even I, the one being invited, had been worried enough; how much worse must it have been for the host herself?
"They're gracious and good-humored people. They'll simply stay as guests and leave without incident."
I offered the words as comfort, knowing full well how much she must have fretted. Being the one who suffered because of that lot myself, I understood her feelings all too well.
And while those brats had a genuine talent for making a person grab the back of their neck, they weren't the type to throw their rank around, raise hell, or show off how picky they could be. They really would just play at being guests and go home.
Put like that, though, they almost sounded like those idealized highborns from a painting. The problem was that they never showed that ideal side to the civil servants under them.
"Thank you for saying so."
Still, Mother seemed a little more at ease; she answered with a small smile. The head maid behind her was wearing a fond smile for some reason as well, but I decided to ignore that.
"…Have you been keeping well?"
After that small smile, Mother fell silent for a moment before finally managing to speak. It was a pity that, having finally opened her mouth, all she managed was another greeting.
The head maid seemed equally pained; she gave Mother a light poke in the back, and only then did Mother look flustered, as if she had just realized her mistake. We had already exchanged greetings in front of the castle. Why ask twice in a single day?
"Of course. It would be a sorry sight if a man of House Crassius turned out frail."
"Yes. That's… that's right. You're quite right."
What is this.
What on earth was this?
I couldn't grasp the context. I had no idea what subject she was trying to broach.
I glanced at the head maid, wondering if she knew something—but she only wore a conflicted expression of her own.
"Speaking of which, about Erich—"
In the end, after some internal debate, I decided to speak first. If I just sat there in silence, Mother might finish the tea without ever getting to the point. I needed to keep the conversation going with other topics until she was ready to talk.
So I sold out Erich. Sorry, little brother. Just lend me your name for a moment—for Mother and me.
It was strange. I had already arranged what I wanted to say to Karl, yet my mouth would not move. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I needed to say.
I can't go on like this.
I had summoned a busy child. A child who had only just finished his work. The proper thing was to achieve my purpose quickly and send him back—and even that would barely be enough.
And yet, in front of that child, I had only repeated empty greetings. Laura must have found it absurd; the way she poked my back from behind made me burn with shame.
I can't do this.
This was meant to be a place for an honest conversation with Karl. A place where I had gathered the courage to mend a relationship that could not even be called a normal one between mother and son.
"They're gracious and good-humored people. They'll simply stay as guests and leave without incident."
And hadn't that child even noticed my worry and spoken first to comfort me? I was so grateful—but this was wrong. A mother was supposed to protect her child, not receive consideration from him. I was the one who should be holding him.
But how?
The moment I tried to say the words I had prepared, my lips would not part.
Did I even have the right to do this now? That question would not leave my head.
"House Crassius has its own way. We have lived by it, and that is why we have earned the Imperial favor."
The words Billy had spoken each time our two beloved sons—Karl and Erich—were born.
That House Crassius had its methods, and that he would take charge of how the boys were raised. I had simply answered that I understood. The two children would inherit Crassius. If the house had a way, it was right to follow it.
"A wife's role is important as well. It would be troublesome if the children had somewhere to run and cling to."
And I was told that during their training years, I must not be too warm with them. I could not understand it. Not to cherish these small, precious children? How could that make any sense?
But the living proof stood right before my eyes. Billy had been raised that way. His father, his grandfather, his great-grandfather, and every generation before them—all of them had been raised that way. And the result was three hundred years of a prestigious martial house: Crassius.
It clearly worked. So was it right for me to go against three centuries of history? Would I, out of stubbornness and guilt, ruin a three-hundred-year house? And beyond that—would I destroy the boys' futures, and my relationship with Billy as well?
"All right. If that's what's best for the children."
In the end, I followed Billy's words. Looking back now, I had been so young then—so foolish. If Billy said something like that to me today, I would grab him by the collar and shake him. Showing affection to my children was the most natural thing in the world.
After that, I never held the boys in front of them. I only watched from behind. When they were hurt, I had a servant send medicinal herbs. When the training grew harsh, I spoke to the chef and paid careful attention to their meals. If it looked like they might catch a cold, I sent a priest.
And each time, I felt proud inside. Yes, I love my children. I am always watching over them. I am doing my duty as a mother.
What a foolish thought. Children preferred a single stroke of a parent's hand, a single embrace, far more than any of that. And by the time I realized it, it was far too late.
"I'm fine. Please don't worry."
Five years ago, Karl had lost consciousness after a fall from his horse. Thankfully he woke before long—but I still cannot forget the look on his face when he opened his eyes again.
A face that seemed to be looking at a stranger. Eyes that seemed to see not a mother, but some other being entirely. As if he were resenting me for only worrying when my son was at the point of death.
After that, I could no longer cling to the hypocrisy of caring for the children from behind. And yet I also lacked the courage to step forward and beg forgiveness.
And time, indifferent to a sinner's hesitation, simply kept flowing. My child was gradually becoming someone I did not know. Or rather—had I ever known anything about him to begin with?
"Yusenia. How long are you going to keep this up?"
The days when I clung to the excuse and comfort that Karl was too busy to see me, forcing myself to stay silent. The empty days after Erich left for the Academy as well. Unable to watch any longer, Laura finally spoke. How long was I going to do this? How long was I going to look away?
She scolded me for a long time after that. From Laura's perspective as the boys' nanny, a birth mother who got on so poorly with her children must have looked truly pathetic.
Still, thanks to Laura, I found the courage. All right. At the very least, let me beg forgiveness for as long as I spent turning my back on those children. And if that was not enough, then for even longer.
And blessedly, Karl and Erich had come to the estate. They had given a chance to a worthless person who would have had nothing to say even if they had cursed her and sworn never to deal with her again.
"Speaking of which, about Erich—"
And in the place I had arranged to ask each of them for forgiveness separately, Karl brought up Erich.
It was moving. A mother and an older brother talking about a younger brother's life at the Academy. How warm and ordinary a scene that was. Was I even allowed to enjoy something like this?
"I hope he finds someone at the Academy whose heart matches his."
Caught up in that joy, I forgot even that I was a sinner and opened my mouth—
"Is that so?"
Karl's expression stiffened, ever so slightly. As if to ask whether I had any right to say such a thing.
I felt as though tears might fall.
Mother's words left me speechless.
Someone whose heart matches his?
Erich did have someone he held in his heart. The fatal problem was that it was one-sided, not mutual.
What do I do?
Was I allowed to tell her that Erich was locked in fierce competition with one imperial prince, two royal princes, and a candidate for sainthood?
Hiding a child's affairs from a parent was unfilial—but causing them worry was unfilial too. So was keeping my mouth shut the filial thing to do? But then, was hiding a child's affairs really filial at all?
Shit.
For a moment I sank into genuine, serious deliberation. It was far too difficult a problem…