The Princess Worried
The princess worried.
We had both been left standing there, faces burning red, and it looked like we were about to spend a long, awkward stretch of time in silence—
*Grroowl—*
"Ah. I think it's finally over."
Thankfully (?) the Crown Prince, who had stepped out of the drawing room, returned before long.
"Your Highness, what in the world has been over since a moment ago..."
"If you don't know, then hold your tongue. That's exactly why I told you you have no wife."
"... "
He had brought someone with him, who appeared to be the imperial court physician.
"Small Sun of the Empire. It is an honor to be in the presence of His Highness the Crown Prince—"
I reflexively began to offer the greeting I had failed to give earlier.
"Spare me the formality. In fact, the thanks is owed by us to you, not the other way around."
Mikhail waved his hand, cutting short my attempt to greet him.
"First of all, I owe you an apology."
"... "
"Our palace security was lax, and it brought harm to you and the Princess."
"......Not at all."
It was no polite fig leaf of an apology, either.
In the original novel, the attempted assassination of the Saintess was one of those cases whose mastermind was never brought to light.
Mikhail, the protagonist, had tried everything to find the culprit for Estelle's sake—his heroine—but in the end he never managed it, and the matter simply fizzled out.
And that meant something.
Even I, who had read the original novel, had no idea who the culprit was.
Only the author who wrote this story could have known—and since I dropped the novel before the author ever got around to unraveling the mystery behind this incident, I was out of luck.
I had no knowledge of the culprit's identity or motive whatsoever.
And if even a transmigrator like me knew nothing, then Mikhail—who had spent, at most, a single day investigating—could hardly be expected to have figured it out.
It was unfair to pin this incident on Mikhail's failure.
"No—I should have paid closer attention to security. The fault is mine."
"... "
Mikhail himself, however, didn't seem to see it that way.
"Thanks to the Saintess—who was only supposed to arrive today—happening to be there, you were at least able to keep your dignity."
"......Is that so?"
As I had expected, the reason I'd awakened from a poisoned arrow in a single day was the Saintess.
In any ordinary circumstance, it wouldn't have been strange for me to be saddled with lifelong aftereffects.
But the sacred power of the Saintess—who wielded the strongest divine power in the Empire—was beyond imagination.
That explained why I was opening my eyes right now.
"......Though if we're being precise, the assassins who attacked you are presumed to have come because of the Saintess in the first place."
"... "
"If the outcome is good, then all's well that ends well, no? Haha."
Mikhail let out a hearty laugh, as if to say a good result was all that mattered.
'......Was he always this kind of person?'
In the original novel I'd read, he was portrayed as the archetypal hero—someone who always stood for justice and fought for the weak.
So why did he now feel like some easygoing boy-next-door?
I was still reeling from the gulf between the novel I'd devoured and the scene unfolding before me.
"Lord Zernias?"
"......Yes?"
"Your fiancée is looking at me like she wants to kill me. Aren't you going to help?"
"... "
Mikhail had sent me a distress call.
I turned to Rebecca beside me at those words.
"... "
The princess's gaze was, in fact, brimming with killing intent.
As if she wanted to tear the mouth of the Crown Prince right off his face for saying such things.
"Princess."
"......What."
"One wrong move and you'll be dragged off for treason."
I had no desire to lose my beloved fiancée to a charge of treason, so I did my best to rein her in.
"......Me? Against him?"
"... "
Rebecca merely looked back at me as if I'd said something genuinely absurd.
A face that said: you surely don't mean that yourself, so why do I?
At that expression, Mikhail thumped his own chest with wounded indignation.
"You see this, Watson? Must the Crown Prince endure treatment like this?"
"Close your mouth."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Even that was cut short by the princess's icy reply.
"......The two of you know each other?"
I was thoroughly confused.
Setting aside the gulf between the protagonist in my memory and the Mikhail before me—
In the original novel, Mikhail and Rebecca were supposed to meet today, on the second day of the Imperial Banquet.
So the Crown Prince and the princess should be meeting for the first time right now.
"Princess, no matter how you feel, I am the Crown Prince—"
"I told you to close that mouth."
"... "
Wasn't that the picture of anything but strangers—more like bickering siblings who couldn't stand each other?
I couldn't even begin to guess how badly the original plot had warped.
Perhaps she noticed the incomprehension written all over my face.
"......It was because of Father. I had no choice but to get to know him."
Rebecca answered the very question I'd been silently struggling with.
"'No choice'? I wish you'd consider how that sounds to the person listening. It's not as though I sought out the Princess because I wanted to know her."
"And whose fault is that?"
"... "
The two of them seemed remarkably close, all things considered.
'Did the author just write badly?'
It made everything I'd read of The Crown Prince Wields a Sword feel like a pack of lies.
The Crown Prince, getting thoroughly beaten down by the princess as if it were a pity to even watch, finally managed to regain his footing.
"......In any case, to continue where we left off. The royal court believes this incident was originally aimed at the Saintess."
"... "
"You believe the same, don't you?"
"......I do."
I wasn't merely thinking it—I was certain.
In the original novel, the ones the assassins had targeted were Estelle.
"Though we haven't determined why they attacked you and the Princess instead of the Saintess."
"... "
"Have you any suspicions?"
Mikhail's eyes sharpened.
This was the Mikhail I remembered.
More forgiving than anyone in private matters, but sharper than any blade in official ones.
A man like a keenly honed sword. Mikhail Schuelgart.
"......I'm sorry."
And yet what left my mouth was a denial that I knew nothing.
Not only was I truly ignorant of the matter—but even if I had known, this was a case that was meant to remain forever shrouded in mystery.
Even with knowledge, it was not something I could have spoken of.
"......I see. Understood."
Mikhail stepped back a pace, as if he had no other choice.
"I'll leave Watson with you. See to your recovery."
"......Thank you, Your Highness."
"Then I shall head to the banquet hall ahead of you."
"Go on ahead, Your Highness."
With the farewell of the court physician named Watson, the Crown Prince left the drawing room.
"Your condition is fine. You may head straight to the banquet hall and enjoy the rest of the evening."
"......Is that so?"
Thankfully, the verdict from the imperial physician who examined my body was a positive one.
"Yes. The Saintess's divine power truly is remarkable. A poisoned arrow like that would have finished off an ordinary man."
"... "
"Well then, I shall take my leave."
"A brief thanks, but thank you."
"The gratitude should go to the Princess, not to me, my lord. She never left your side the entire time you lay unconscious."
With the physician's parting words—directing my thanks toward Rebecca instead of himself—
"... "
"... "
The drawing room was left to the princess and me once more.
'......How am I supposed to break the ice here?'
The situation was excruciatingly awkward.
There was so much I wanted to ask.
What had that fierce embrace meant? How on earth had she come to know the Crown Prince?
Had she truly stayed by my side the whole time I was unconscious, just as Watson had said?
......If she really had.
What had been going through her mind?
Countless questions passed through my head.
After an endless stretch of deliberation—
"......Did you worry about me?"
"... "
The question that escaped my lips was, in the end, whether she had worried for me.
Worry.
The trembling anxiety of fearing something might go wrong.
Between Rebecca and me—who had done nothing but fight every time we met—there could be no less fitting word.
But the situation had changed, at least somewhat.
Before I collapsed from that arrow, I had said something that amounted to a confession.
That every word I'd used to cut her down had been a lie. That every mortifying thing I'd said all this time had been the truth.
I couldn't know whether Rebecca had taken those words to heart, or dismissed them as an excuse to escape that moment.
But as far as I was concerned, I had said everything that could be said.
And then—
"......Would you rather I hadn't?"
"... "
"An idiot like you took an arrow in my place. Of course I worried."
"......I see."
Thankfully, my sincerity seemed to have gotten through to her.
"Weaker than me in every way, and yet. What on earth were you thinking, taking that arrow?"
Her mouth hurled insults, but her face was tinged a faint, embarrassed red.
"What would you have done if I were really gone..."
"You're quite right, Princess. I seem to have had extraordinary luck."
"......Pardon?"
"After all, I have so beautiful and strong a woman as my fiancée."
Whooosh—
Rebecca's face went scarlet in an instant.
Now that she knew my words carried no lie—only pure sincerity—the blush was probably fiercer than ever.
"If my beautiful fiancée hadn't been there, I might already be gone from this world."
And so I didn't stop showering her with praise.
"Because you held off the assassins while I lay unconscious, His Highness the Crown Prince arrived without delay, after all."
"... "
Watching Rebecca's cheeks grow redder with every sentence I finished was, I had to admit, a rather delightful experience.
"In effect, you are nothing less than the savior of my life."
"......If you know that, then treat me well."
Rebecca said it with an air of haughty grace—if you know you owe me, then act accordingly.
In my eyes, the princess still couldn't meet my gaze out of embarrassment, all while wearing that pouty expression.
Which is why—
"So then, I'll make my wish."
"......Pardon?"
She was so lovable I thought I might lose my mind.
"What on earth are you—"
Rebecca stared at me as if I'd suddenly started spouting nonsense.
"Didn't I win our dance contest yesterday?"
"... "
It was true. I still had one Wish Ticket remaining.
Whatever had happened along the way, the victor of yesterday's waltz duel had been me.
"......What's your wish, then."
Rebecca, who knew that fact as well as I did, asked after my wish without protest.
"A simple one. Hold me like you did earlier."
I boldly (?) demanded the same embrace as before.
"......You know you're despicable, right?"
The princess approached slowly to grant my demand, though she never once stopped her barrage of insults.
"The world of competition is a cold one. That's simply how it is."
"... "
As always, the jab dealt me no damage whatsoever.
Ba-dump... ba-dump...
That warm embrace, where each of us could hear the other's heartbeat—
It continued on and on, until my parents and the Duke and Duchess of Valencia—who had heard I'd awakened—pushed open the door and came in.