The Knight Commander, Jerome Crowner (1)
The throne succession struggle.
The mere phrase brought the metallic tang of blood to the tip of my nose. I scowled at the grim words tumbling so casually from Sage's lips.
"Why must you say something so ominous?"
"Ominous? I'm only stating the truth."
"His Highness Edwin merely wishes to gain enough strength so that no one can push him around—purely and simply—"
Sage cut me off without warning.
"Purely and simply want to get stronger? He'll be devoured whole by the other princes long before that happens."
To remain pure meant remaining unbroken. Could Edwin, stripped of all backing, truly pursue strength with such innocence?
"I hear the Emperor showers his favor and resources only on those he deems fit to succeed him," Sage remarked, folding his arms and tilting his chin up. "And Edwin was struck from that list an eternity ago." A chilly sneer touched his lips. "So just how do you plan to make him strong? What, have him waddle duck-walks across his bedroom floor? Or will you teach him how to butcher people, just like you?"
"I..."
"I don't know why in the world you're playing nanny to an imperial prince all of a sudden," he muttered, twisting his broom-like beard between his fingers. "But if you genuinely want to give him what he desires, you'd better build a proper foundation first."
He wasn't wrong. To cultivate the boy's strength safely without outside interference, imperial backing was essential.
Which means Edwin first has to catch the Emperor's eye.
It didn't need to be magnificent, but they needed an occasion—an event compelling enough to force the Emperor to acknowledge Edwin as a worthy prince.
Is that truly my only choice, then?
I arched an eyebrow and fixed Sage with a sharp glare. "...You said to build a foundation first, didn't you?"
"H-Huh? Y-Yeah, I did."
"I was already planning to do so without your prompting. So kindly keep your useless advice to yourself."
"Hmph! Useless advice, you say?" Sage shrank back momentarily under my icy gaze, only to puff up his chest and resume his teasing. "Oh, and just what were you planning to do? Go ahead, enlighten me! His Imperial Majesty wouldn't spare a second for the nanny of a child he abandoned, now would he~?"
My dismissal seemed to have bruised his pride. I quietly clenched my fist as the old sage prattled on.
"Or are you going about it your usual way? Sneaking into the palace at dead of night to hold a blade to the Emperor's throat and threaten him?"
The thought had been crossing my mind for a while now: bringing this old man back from the Plague Village might have been a monumental mistake.
"You mentioned His Highness needs another master."
"Aye, though whether you can actually find one is another matter entirely." Sage dug in his ear with a thoroughly indifferent expression. "Who knows if anyone would dare teach him, terrified as they are of provoking the other royals."
"You need not worry about that." I locked eyes with him, determination blazing in my gaze. "I'll carve out a way. Just like I did when I saved your life."
Sage flinched at the audible grinding of my teeth.
"H-Hahaha! Grinding your teeth at such a tender age will wear them down to stumps, you know! Ahaha! Well, now that our little chat is over, back to my proper duties! Almost forgot I had branches to prune, ahaha!"
Pointedly avoiding my eyes, he scurried out of the library.
After he slipped away, I stood rooted in place for a long time, steeling my resolve.
If only to wipe that smug grin off that old coot's face...
I would make Edwin strong. No matter what it took.
The following day, taking advantage of a lull in Edwin's schedule, I headed over to the annex.
"Now that you're the head maid, shouldn't you be leaving kitchen work to others?"
"Their Highnesses love my cooking so much that even if I wanted to stop, I simply couldn't..." Catherine, who had been diligently kneading dough, looked up in surprise when she saw me. "What brings you to the annex at this hour, Rachel? Did Her Highness Emilia ask you to play horsey again, so you ran away?"
"...Do you truly believe I fled all the way here because I fear crawling on all fours?"
"Then did you pick another fight with the gardener?"
"A fight? As if a mere gardener could ever match a nanny."
I picked up an apple from a nearby basket and took a crisp bite. Catherine shot me a side-eye and sighed.
"Goodness, please don't bully the gardener so much. Do you have any idea how heartbreaking it is to watch an elderly gentleman bending his frail back over yard work every single day?"
"He's far more resilient than he looks. You needn't worry."
"You really are terribly coldhearted sometimes! Do you know how frail an old man's body is?"
Coming from the woman who initially shrieked and demanded why I'd dragged a homeless vagrant home.
"At his age, bones grow brittle, muscles waste away, and even moving around is an ordeal! The slightest injury or overwork could be the end of him! Elderly folks pass away far more easily than young people like us!"
Well, in my experience, the elderly weren't always the first or easiest to die. After all, I had been murdered in my youth—stabbed in the back with a venomous blade by my own lover and consumed by fire.
As I quietly munched on my apple without replying, Catherine pivoted toward me.
"Rachel! Are you even listening to me? It's going in one ear and right out the other, isn't it!"
She thrust her face directly into my line of sight. Looking back at me was a gentle yet stubbornly earnest face.
Good grief, did she knead the dough with her forehead?
Patches of white flour dusted her cheeks and nose. Reaching out, I brushed away the powder clinging to her skin.
"Understood. I hear you loud and clear, so please wash your face first. At this rate, we could shove your head into the oven and pull out a loaf of bread."
"Is that dreadful remark supposed to be a joke? It isn't funny in the slightest!" Catherine pulled a face of sheer horror at whatever gruesome image popped into her mind, shaking flour from her hands.
A shame; I thought it had been a rather clever quip.
"Besides, I was just about to go wash the curtains anyway. I suppose I can wash my face while I'm at it."
"I stopped by to let you know I have an errand to run."
"Pardon?" Catherine tilted her head, puzzled. "Are you heading outside the castle again?"
"No, not this time."
"Then where are you off to?"
I tossed the withered apple core into the trash bin and offered a wry smirk.
"The Gloria Knights."
"...Quite extravagant, isn't it?"
Under the midday sun, the Gloria Knights Headquarters gleamed with blinding opulence. Crimson banners hung from every pillar, each lavishly embroidered with the golden lion that symbolized the order. Unlike Edwin's neglected palace, this place glittered with ostentatious wealth—and the sight annoyed me to no end.
No matter how renowned the knight order is, outshining an imperial prince's residence is absurd.
Shouldn't someone charge them with Lese-Majesty against Imperial Blood?
As I stood scowling at the fortress-like residence with my arms crossed, a knight stationed at the main gates approached me.
"It seems a fair lady graces our order with her presence. Might you be looking for someone?"
Good grief. His delivery was so astoundingly greasy I nearly bit my tongue.
Never in my life had a knight spoken to me with such chivalrous courtesy.
Back then, it was always one of two extremes: charging at me with murderous fury, or trembling so hard they nearly wet their breeches.
Perhaps that was why this novel treatment felt so deeply jarring.
Keeping my expression carefully composed, I took a look at the speaker. He was a young knight of unremarkable appearance. Judging by the brooch pinned to his shoulder, he was indeed an active member of the Gloria Knights.
Full plate armor when he isn't even on the battlefield.
Was it strict military discipline, or sheer ostentation?
When I offered no immediate reply, the young knight grew flustered and bowed slightly.
"My lady, if I have caused you any discomfort—"
"No, you were right. I'm here on business with the knight order."
"May I inquire what business brings you here, my lady?"
"I've come to see your commander. Duke Jerome Crowner."
The knight's jaw went slack, and he stammered in disbelief.
"Pardon? F-Forgive me, but what relationship do you have with the Commander...?"
Well, our history ran deep indeed, but bringing up the distant past was hardly an option.
"I am Rachel Brown, nanny to the Third Prince."
At the word nanny, the knight's eyes widened to the size of saucers. His expression practically screamed that he was completely bewildered.
"I've come to present a request to the Commander. Would you grant me entrance?"
When I offered a warm, polite smile, the knight's tension softened just a fraction.
"P-Please wait here for a moment. I shall return shortly, my lady!"
With that, he dashed behind the gates at top speed.
Before long, the knight reappeared.
"The Commander has granted an audience. Please follow me, my lady."
I gave a slight nod and trailed behind him through the gates.
The moment we crossed the threshold, an impeccably manicured rose garden caught my eye.
Right. The red rose is the sigil of House Crowner.
Watching the sea of crimson blossoms stain the garden, a peculiar sensation washed over me. It felt as though I had stepped into an entirely separate palace nestled within the Ventrum Imperial Palace itself.
The knight led me to a grand drawing room.
"Please wait here for a moment. The Commander will join you shortly."
With a polite bow, he vanished down the hallway.
Left alone with nothing else to do, I leisurely inspected my surroundings.
As expected of a ducal house, they're practically rotting in gold.
Every piece of furniture in the room was crafted from the finest rosewood, and even the curtains draping the tall windows were spun from the premier silk imported from the Kingdom of Asha.
Edwin and Emilia barely have enough of that fabric for their formal attire.
I never dreamed I would suffer the indignity of class disparity within the very walls of the imperial palace. My lips twitched into a sour grimace.
Just then, heavy footsteps echoed from the corridor.
He's here.
The heavy double doors swung wide at the exact moment I turned around.
"So, I hear a guest has arrived?"
His presence was overwhelming, yet relaxed—like a predator casually returning from an afternoon stroll.
His name was Jerome Crowner.
Lord of the Gloria Knights, sole elder brother of the Empress, and head of the Crowner Ducal House.