Returning to the Beginning (3)

"Let's go."

War might break out. But only if Father knew the truth.

Poor man—his senses were sharper than anyone's when it came to the sword, but hopelessly dull when it came to women. Probably because he loved Mother so deeply. That's why he dismissed it as impossible, never even thinking to investigate.

I knew the truth. At this point in time, Father had no idea what had happened at the palace.

Judging by his reaction back then, Father truly knew nothing of the details at this point. That's why, before some major incident exploded, I needed to check his perception once more.

I slipped into Father's study. The household was in a frenzy preparing for the unexpected guests. No one would bat an eye if I entered the study. Father might warn me not to go poking around, but I could always make up some excuse.

Creeeak.

I opened the study door and approached Father's desk. The drawer was secured with a numbered lock.

1130.

'Too easy a password.'

It was the number symbolizing the margrave's love for his wife—not Mother's birthday, but the day they first met, or so I recalled. Father had told me himself when he passed the study on to me. If I got caught later—

"Father, I thought you'd set it to the day you first met Mother, to commemorate it."

"...That doesn't excuse you rummaging through my drawers. Confined to your room for the day."

"Yes, sir."

Flatter him a bit, and he'd let it slide. There was no treasonous material here anyway.

Click.

I picked the lock and opened the drawer. It was stuffed with crumpled parchments.

"Oh."

A familiar name.

'Sir Robert filed the report.'

A loyal vassal to both the kingdom and Father. The report, in his neat handwriting, bore the traces of painstaking effort to remain objective and neutral.

"...Therefore, we cannot rule out the cautious possibility that His Majesty's hand made contact with the countess's chest..."

'Safe.'

To sum up the densely packed report:

1. At the royal banquet, the king and Mother were alone on the terrace.

2. Mother stumbled, and the king caught her.

3. The king embraced her from behind like a lover—with wandering hands.

'Perfect pretext to kick off an affair scandal.'

Too blatant for a mere accident, especially given the king's bold touch. According to the report, they stayed like that—pressed close—for a full five seconds, and he even pulled her tighter once more. Multiple nobles had witnessed it, so Father would be a fool not to rage.

Of course—

'The sneering bastards will mock him anyway.'

Social circles in the capital would be abuzz. Calling him a coward holing up in his study while his wife ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was groped by another man. A spineless wretch who couldn't even raise his voice against the king.

That mockery would come back to bite them ten years later, in the form of treason. Father had kept a mental list of every whisperer, executing or torturing them into broken husks.

They'd die regardless—not necessarily by Father's hand, but because of their loose tongues. I didn't care about their fates, but—

'[The princess] is different.'

She worried me. The princess. Would she really come here? If the queen had tagged along, she'd probably brought her too.

"Ah."

Come to think of it.

'The queen and Father were lovers once.'

…….

"What a mess."

I shoved the parchment back into the drawer and relocked it.

'Love triangles are terrifying.'

Nothing creates more extreme situations than human emotions—especially when fueled by infatuation or love. People rampage like uncontrolled airships, and when they explode, the fallout is catastrophic. And right now, it was brewing between the kingdom's top authority and the margrave.

An unpredictable bomb, but surprisingly, it could be contained better than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠expected. Father didn't know the truth. To bury it, the king and Mother would beg his forgiveness. Plenty had seen the back-hug, but they'd risk everything to hide what came after.

If it came out? Father would lop off the king's head on the spot.

'Not a bad outcome.'

Even if it meant execution for treason, it might be better than Empire domination.

'Without this incompetent king, the future could brighten.'

Thinking of how this fool would ruin the kingdom for the next decade, dying now might be mercy.

'What about the queen, though? She's tricky.'

The queen was someone to avoid too. Just thinking about her sent chills down my spine—she was dangerous in every way.

'How is the princess the only normal one?'

The princess.

Come to think of it.

"Is today our first meeting?"

If history held and the queen had come to persuade Father, she'd have brought her along.

"...Heh."

As the household tensed, I felt a flicker of tension myself.

My lifesaver. The one ruined and broken because of me.

And my—

"Princess Naria."

If there was a god, I prayed—just this once—that history would unfold as it should. With that desperate wish for our reunion, I left the study.

Father had lost his mind.

To what degree? The king of a nation had come all the way to the borderlands, and he hadn't even gone out to greet him.

"Your Majesty."

So I stepped up.

"Hm."

Saint Geo Nostrum. King of this nation, Nostrum. A handsome middle-aged man with golden hair, blue eyes, and a thick beard. Midlife charm, perhaps—but all his talents were poured into his looks.

"And who might you be?"

"If you'll permit an introduction, I speak for the House of Gibraltar."

Courteous, but testing the waters. A ten-year-old greeting the king in his family's stead.

"Even if the margrave is furious, sending a child like this...?"

Would this man—mocked as the Incompetent King since his coronation—grasp it?

"Even so, to insult me like—"

"Your Majesty."

The sharp-featured black-haired beauty at the Incompetent King's side snapped open her fan, cutting him off.

"........."

Her whisper was too soft for me to hear, but I could guess the content. Supplementing the king's lacking political acumen.

'Carmen Morgania Nostrum. The Grand Duke of Morgania's cherished only child.'

Among those I knew, she ranked in the top three for political savvy. The world didn't call her 'the queen' behind closed doors for nothing.

"Ahem... You're 'Grey,' aren't you?"

"Yes. Grey Gibraltar. I see the golden sun of Nostrum."

"...Hahaha!"

King Saint Geo burst into boisterous laughter.

"Right. You're Charlotte's... You have your mother's eyes. The shape is just like hers."

"Thank you. And my apologies."

"Apologies?"

"I've relayed your words to Father several times, but he insists on receiving you 'above.'"

"Hm...!"

Even as host, you don't tell a king, 'Come up here.'

"You'll have to go, Your Majesty."

But the queen nudged him from behind.

"At least this time, you've committed a grave error."

"Hm...!"

"You said it yourself on the journey. If not in public view, you'd kneel to the margrave."

Was it okay to say that in my hearing?

'No. She's pressuring me.'

He's come prepared to kneel, so don't ask for more.

'Why aim it at a ten-year-old?'

Even if Father asked, there was no reason to endure the queen's pettiness—

'There is.'

I was my father and mother's son. To the king, the son of the woman he still harbored feelings for.

And to the queen—

'The son who stole her first love.'

No different from King Saint Geo's position.

'What a mess.'

I'd once sponsored an opera where the playwrights wove such tales.

—What happens when the leads pair off, and the supporting roles couple up?

The answer was this. The supporting man projected his lost love onto her.

The supporting woman saw both her beloved and the woman who'd taken him.

'Personally, the queen's side is preferable.'

I was used to gazes of hatred and contempt. Seeing her stare through me at Mother instead? Utterly repulsive.

"This way, please."

"...Who taught you kingdom etiquette?"

She switched to formal speech, catching me off guard for a moment.

"I hear you're the princess's age."

Those words carried layers of meaning, and I knew them well.

—The margrave and his wife neglect etiquette training?

—We know you're ten?

—No tutor in Gibraltar would know royal protocol?

—Yet you handle the king so flawlessly?

—When did you learn this?

'She's worried her intel network has a gap.'

Exhausting life she led, propping up the Incompetent King's wits. Her chosen path as queen—she'd bear that crown's weight until the kingdom fell.

'Anyone else, I'd let her headache. But I owe her from the future.'

I bowed to Queen Carmen with foreign etiquette.

"...Empire protocol?"

"Fortunately, the family library had books on etiquette."

"......You studied them alone in secret? Why?"

"Carmen."

Saint Geo looked bored, gesturing upward lazily.

"The kid probably skimmed some old book. Let's go up. Alone would be... awkward."

"......."

Carmen eyed me suspiciously still, but I flashed the sunniest smile I could muster—like him.

"...Tch."

The son of the woman she hated.

"We'll talk again later."

But the son of the man she'd loved.

"Oh, right. No need to guide us. I know his room."

"Pardon?"

Queen Carmen suddenly blocked my path.

"You have another role. Over there—behind."

She pointed behind her.

"Escort the princess and have her rest in the rose garden."

I wanted to question how she knew about the rose garden, but the sight of the girl in a pristine white dress, stepping down from the carriage hand-in-hand with her maid, left me speechless.

"Grey Gibraltar?"

"...You resemble Her Majesty ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so much—truly beautiful."

"...Crimson doesn't say such things often."

Different from Father, but she didn't seem displeased by the praise echoing his.

"Then."

"As you command."

As the king and queen ascended the central stairs of the count's castle, I approached slowly.

More formally than ever.

"Princess Naria."

Because this moment—the one I'd replayed endlessly since returning to the past—was finally here.

"A pleasure to meet you."

The girl before me now was more beautiful than anyone. More than all the rest.