The Grand Duchess Had Witnessed It
A voice rang out — small, perhaps, but carrying my meaning with unmistakable clarity.
"…Who's there?"
At that moment, only a single thought surfaced in my mind.
…I'm done for.
The realization that I had badly derailed the original story. That thought alone filled my head to bursting.
It wasn't as though I'd wanted to be caught by the Saintess. Quite the opposite — I had wandered the garden in search of Rebecca, holding my breath and moving as silently as I could precisely so I wouldn't be found.
Crack—
And of course, I had to step on a fallen branch lying in the garden.
There was no way Estelle, sorting through her thoughts alone, could have missed that sound.
"Who is it?"
"…"
Once I had fully accepted that I'd been caught, my next step was some very serious deliberation.
…Should I run?
I genuinely weighed whether it might be best to pretend I'd heard nothing and quietly slip away.
From Estelle's perspective, I would look like a lunatic bolting the instant she discovered my presence — but surely that beat twisting the original plot beyond repair. Or so I solemnly told myself.
And yet, despite all that deliberation…
"…Good evening."
What I chose to do was step into view as though nothing had happened.
The reason was simple. Even if I fled from this spot, I still hadn't found Rebecca, who was supposed to have headed toward the garden by now.
If I went back without the Grand Duchess, the flow of the original story would fall apart all the same.
So I showed myself. Even if I couldn't exactly hold my head high while doing it.
"You are…?"
Astonishingly, Estelle already seemed to know who I was.
"…You know me?"
I hadn't done a single thing connected to the Church, as far as I could recall. How on earth did Estelle, the Saintess herself, know a mere Count's son like me…
"Yes! Your waltz left quite the impression on me earlier!"
"…Ah."
My face burned.
What on earth had possessed my past self to pull a stunt like that? Rebecca's provocation may have been insufferable, but still.
I found myself cursing the me of just a few hours ago.
"How should I put it… it was almost romantic. The sight of you catching your fiancée just as she was about to fall — it's stayed with me ever since."
Whether or not she knew I was dying of embarrassment, Estelle cheerfully kept sharing her impressions.
And as I listened to the Saintess's heartfelt, utterly sincere review…
"…Is that so."
I wanted nothing more than to crawl into a mouse hole. Was this what a sinner felt during confession?
My mood soured considerably.
"Really, it's true. I half thought I was watching a play that made my heart flutter."
"…"
If she'd overheard even a fraction of what Rebecca and I had actually said to each other, she never would have said such a thing.
I briefly debated explaining to this beaming Saintess just how childish our exchange had been — enough to make five-year-olds weep in shame — but for the sake of preserving her pure innocence, I decided against bringing it up.
Ignorance is bliss, after all, and not without reason.
Estelle, of course, had no way of knowing any of this, and simply carried on.
"…I was envious."
Her voice had turned noticeably somber.
"…Pardon?"
"The way the two of you carried on without caring so much about how others saw you."
As she said it, Estelle's expression darkened ever so slightly, as if she truly did mean it.
"Sometimes I wish I could act without thinking of other people's eyes… but it never quite works out that way."
"…"
Kind to everyone, forever smiling brightly — that was the Saintess.
And that was Estelle as a character in The Crown Prince Wields a Sword.
She had grown up within the Church's walls from childhood, without the shelter of parents, and from the moment her sacred power awakened, she had been drilled endlessly in nothing but the graces and etiquette befitting the next Saintess.
So perhaps it was only natural that she would look at Rebecca and me and feel a pang of envy.
After all, she had never once known what it was like to live free of other people's gazes.
"…I'm sorry. I've gone on far too long about something boring, haven't I?"
"…"
"You're someone I've only just met, and I've been rambling about nonsense."
Estelle was forcing a smile — but that sadness I could sense in her eyes, was that just my imagination?
No, it wasn't. In the original story, Estelle's rock-bottom self-esteem had been mentioned more than once.
And the one who resolved it — who saved Estelle from her abnormally low sense of self-worth — was the protagonist, Mikhail.
Estelle. You have meaning simply in being who you are.
I could still remember the scene where Mikhail won her heart with that toe-curling line of his.
It was one of the passages that had struck me most deeply when I read it — and, incidentally, the scene that made a great many readers break out in goosebumps(?).
Where he was or what he was doing right now, however, was anyone's guess.
…Why isn't he here yet?
Come to think of it, something was off.
By now, Mikhail should have been making his appearance right on schedule, just like in the original.
But far from Mikhail, there wasn't a soul in sight besides Estelle and me.
If only to stop the assassins who would come for the Saintess's life, Mikhail needed to be here.
I could step in if it came to that, I supposed — but my skills were woefully inadequate compared to Mikhail's or Rebecca's.
There was no way I could hold off assassins alone.
"…Hello?"
"…Yes?"
"What has you so deep in thought?"
Apparently I'd been lost in my head for quite some time.
Estelle had drifted close to me without my even noticing — I hadn't heard a word she said.
"Thank you for listening to a stranger's venting today. I feel a little lighter for it."
Seen up close, Estelle's expression was brighter than before.
Perhaps this was exactly what the Saintess needed.
Someone who would listen to her without regard for her status or background. Someone she could pour her heart out to without consequence.
That was what she, burdened with the weighty title of 'Saintess,' must have been longing for.
Maybe that was why —
"…Don't mention it."
"Yes?"
"I didn't think of it as venting at all."
That was my answer to her thanks — from someone who had meant only to listen quietly to the Saintess.
"There is no one alive who has no hardships."
"…"
"Everyone believes their own burdens are the heaviest, that they alone are the most unfortunate person in the world."
"…"
"What matters, I suppose, is whether you give up and call it too much to bear — or endure it to the end and see it through."
"…Pfft."
Pwahahaha—
Having heard me out to the last word, Estelle burst out laughing.
It was a tomboyish cackle in perfect contrast to the measured Saintess who had been speaking so calmly just moments before.
That, I suspected, was Estelle's true nature.
She had simply been forced to hide it all this time because of her station and her title.
After all, a 'Saintess' was expected to be that kind of person.
"…No one's ever said that to me before."
"…"
It went without saying.
Who on earth would dare offer that kind of advice to the Saintess?
The only reason I could say it at all was because Estelle believed I didn't know who she was.
If she had known that I knew her true identity, I never could have gotten away with such words.
Not unless I wanted to be dragged off by the Church on charges of blasphemy.
"Thank you."
"…Pardon?"
"Thanks to you, I feel a little braver. After all, I'm the one enduring it to the end and seeing it through."
Honestly, I hadn't put that much thought into what I'd said. But if that was how she took it, all the better.
After all, there was nothing — not one single thing — wrong with the original story's characters drawing strength from my terrible way with words.
For the record, I wasn't particularly fond of Mikhail, given that he'd framed Rebecca's family for treason in the original. But separate from that, I genuinely wished for him and all the heroines to live happy lives.
I was, to that degree, one of the many readers who had thoroughly enjoyed The Crown Prince Wields a Sword.
Perhaps she read the goodwill on my face, because Estelle smiled and said,
"Since this must be fate — may I ask your name?"
"…My name is hardly anything precious."
"Who knows? I might turn out to be of great help to you someday."
That much, at least, was true. The help of the 'Saintess' herself — it would have been stranger if it didn't help.
Who could say — perhaps when the Valencia family was eventually framed for treason, her aid might be exactly what saved them.
"…"
And yet I hesitated to answer, because…
If I gave her my name here, the story would drift truly, irreversibly far from the original plot.
Merely conversing with the Saintess had already bent the story plenty. Handing over my name felt like crossing the point of no return.
And then —
"I'm Estelle."
"…I beg your pardon?"
"My name. It's Estelle."
That was the moment the Saintess went and blurted out her own name without the slightest caution.
I was dumbfounded.
…Are you really supposed to just hand out your name like that?
Estelle might have been a common name, fine. But surely the Saintess didn't go around telling anyone and everyone what she was called.
Just how deeply had my barely-advice-that-wasn't advice landed with her?
"And you?"
"…"
"I've told you mine — surely you're not planning to withhold yours?"
Unable to defy a Saintess who would so underhandedly leverage the fact that she'd given her name first, I —
"…Albert."
Had no choice but to give her mine.
The one small mercy was that I'd withheld my family name.
Albert wasn't as common as Estelle, to be sure, but it wasn't rare enough that a little searching wouldn't turn it up.
It was my own timid(?) act of rebellion.
"Albert… What a lovely name."
Fortunately, the Saintess didn't press for my house either.
"…Thank you."
Only then could I finally breathe a sigh of relief.
"I intend to stay out here a while longer. Will you be heading back first?"
Estelle seemed to hope I'd keep her company a little while longer.
"…Yes. My original purpose here wasn't a garden stroll."
I had no appetite for bending the original story any further. I'd already twisted it more than enough.
From here on, it would be Mikhail, not I, who kept the Saintess company.
"Your original purpose? And what was that, exactly?"
"I was looking for my fiancée."
"Your fiancée… you mean the young lady with the striking red twin-tails?"
"…How do you know that so precisely?"
Something felt wrong.
Sure, the Saintess had watched the Grand Duchess and me dance at the banquet earlier — but from a brief dance alone, there was no way she could describe Rebecca's appearance in that much detail.
An inexplicable sense of dread washed over me.
And unfortunately…
"Well… because she's standing right over there?"
"…I'm sorry, what?"
That particular sense of dread had never once been wrong.
At the end of Estelle's pointing finger, Rebecca was standing exactly as promised.
"…"
Wearing an expression of utter, absolute shock.
I had watched Rebecca wear countless expressions over the past three years — and I could say with confidence that I had never once seen her make that face.