The Queen's Grisly Gift
A low voice crushed the garden.
"You've already seen it installed, haven't you?"
His blue gaze grazed the messenger's throat. The man's face instantly drained to a sickly blue.
"Th-that..."
"That?"
Victor didn't raise his voice.
He merely countered with chilling calm.
The trembling messenger finally bowed his head and fled like a whipped dog.
Without even a single meal.
"What kind of statue did they even... send?"
She wanted to yank off the draped white cloth, but somehow couldn't bring herself to touch it.
Victor let out a low sigh and gestured to the servants. A signal to remove the cloth.
"The Queen is, shall we say, somewhat unstable."
"Ah."
"We'll melt it down, so don't worry."
What emerged was a bronze sculpture of a man and woman.
The man was unmistakably Victor, even to a casual glance. But the woman leaning into his embrace was impossible to identify—not because she was unfamiliar, but because she had no eyes, no nose, no mouth.
Is that woman meant to represent the Queen herself?
A hollow laugh escaped her.
She'd have to face the woman in the capital someday, but it wouldn't be easy.
"The Queen has quite the twisted taste."
"A headache of an existence."
"Does the Queen like you?"
Contempt flashed across Victor's face at Ibel's question.
"Like? It's closer to wanting to cage me and do as she pleases."
Even a handsome man's life was tough.
Ibel meant to let it go at that.
No reason to keep that monstrosity in the garden, after all.
But she froze when she glimpsed the back of the statue.
"Wait—hold it still."
Ibel halted the servants about to move it again and stepped closer, bending at the waist.
She rarely stooped like this, but there was no helping it.
These are the letters from the hourglass. No doubt about it.
Unreadable script.
Why were they engraved here?
"Victor, can we make a rubbing of this inscription?"
The characters were so tiny they were nearly invisible to the naked eye—easy to miss entirely on a cursory glance.
Like the fine print in a contract's terms of service.
She'd spotted them only because she'd seen them before.
"Set it down and fetch Matthias."
Victor didn't dismiss her words lightly.
Better to investigate thoroughly before melting it—even if they ended up doing just that.
Ibel wasn't one for idle chatter.
"Hmm... I'm not familiar with this either. It looks like ancient script, but from a very brief period of use."
The summoned Matthias examined the original, stroked his chin, and began making a rubbing.
"We'll store the statue in the warehouse for now. I'll look into the script."
"Then, Victor—how about including Florian and Giev?"
And just like that, a team of three was formed on the spot.
"Giev's good with ciphers, and Florian excels at organizing records. They'll be helpful."
Victor approved Ibel's addition immediately.
"Sound judgment. Move the statue to the lowest warehouse level. Restrict access."
The servants hauled it away once more.
Only after the jolting sounds faded did Ibel exhale heavily.
The same ancient script as the hourglass, but where those letters had felt serene and warm, these... did not.
They writhe like living things, pulsing with emotion.
Malice that squeezed her chest just looking at it.
Desperate longing. Clinging obsession.
Even she, who rarely harbored negative feelings toward people, instantly despised the Queen.
"Where did you see those letters before?"
Once the others dispersed, Victor asked quietly. Ibel answered without hiding anything—there was no point.
"They're the same as on the hourglass. If no one knows about them, I was planning to visit Baba Elpha after the wedding."
Grasp at any straw.
Fortunately, Victor didn't object to seeking out the gypsy crone.
"It could be dangerous, so go with me. And don't eat or drink anything she offers."
That was all he said.
Ibel had no intention of blindly accepting treats from a woman called a witch.
"After the wedding, then."
"Yes. Good. After the ceremony, we should venture into the streets anyway—meet the people, hear their stories firsthand."
Hm.
But why wasn't he going?
Victor was staring at her fixedly.
Intently, for over five seconds.
Wondering what was wrong, she leaned in—and he furrowed his brow, reaching out to press a hand to her forehead.
"Victor?"
"Ibel, you have a fever."
"Huh?"
A fever?
Me?
"No way."
"You do. Your cheeks are redder than usual—I suspected as much."
She doubted herself, but Victor stated it firmly.
"Rest until dinner. No thinking. I'll invite Lady Eberstein here to handle the preparations."
This was persuasion veering into command.
Can I... really rest?
As Ibel's eyes darted, she realized his worried face was too close.
Last time a suspicious man got this near, her heart hadn't pounded like this.
Am I crazy? Am I actually sick? Or is my heart broken?
Thump, thump, thump!
Something was wrong with her heart.
As heat rose to her pale skin, flushing her face, Victor's concern deepened.
"This won't do. Close the clinic for now? A doctor's health comes first."
"I-I was planning to anyway. And I'm not sick."
"Your heart's racing too fast."
He took her wrist lightly, frowning as he declared it.
Flustered excitement had turned her into the patient, but Ibel said nothing—like she'd swallowed honey.
Better to let him think that.
I decided not to get greedy.
Heading to the bedroom with Victor, Ibel gazed up at the distant sky.
The daytime moon caught her eye.
For some reason, greed kept piling up in this life, which was troubling.
If she had to let it go someday, she'd need to release it all at once.
I wonder if I can...
* * *
The Bayern territory buzzed like a festival for the ducal wedding.
Even deep into the night, the streets echoed with laughter.
The ducal house had sent funds to every major tavern for free drinks and set up whole roasted pigs in every square for anyone hungry.
Harvest season was near, hearts were full, and no one had to pay for sides.
People gathered in clusters, clinking glasses.
"Long live His Grace!"
"Long live the Duchess!"
"Hahaha!"
A man passed leisurely through men dancing drunkenly, staggering in delight.
He didn't refuse an invitation to join the dance—spun a full circle with a grin—nor the arm slung over his shoulder offering beer, which he downed in hearty gulps.
Blending seamlessly into the crowd, he slipped into an alley—and vanished like mist.
His pursuers, Bayern agents, were left staring blankly. It happened in an instant.
"Check the walls! There might be a hidden door. You—up on the roof. See if anyone's moving above."
As agents scrambled to obey, a gaggle of boys barreled through, cluttering their view.
One agent glared, then grabbed an old man emerging from a door—only for him to be just an old man.
"Damn it. What tricks is he using?"
"...They're probably muttering something like that right now."
At that moment, Gaspar had already melted back into the crowd.