The Wedding Blessed by the Dead (1)
Rattle. Rattle.
The low shiver of the wheels rolls through the quiet inside the carriage. Rattle, a wash of voices, rattle. Listen closely, though, and the faint, lively chatter of a crowd threads between the sounds of the wheels.
With a soft rustle I ease the curtain aside and look out through the narrow gap at the street beyond.
People.
The streets of the royal capital, Erka, are packed with excited crowds, all of them streaming toward a single place.
"Put the curtain down."
At the sharp voice, I let go of the fabric at once.
…
I look around the carriage. Red velvet covers the seats, and gold and crimson patterns are worked lavishly across the interior, as if to advertise the owner's rank.
"What are you glancing around for?"
"Nothing, my lady."
"…Hmph."
The owner of the voice turns her head sharply back to the right, thoroughly displeased.
I can't look outside, and I can't look around the carriage, so my eyes settle, naturally, on the woman seated across from me.
Red-gold hair with a glossy sheen, twin tails curled at the ends like drills. Large eyes that sharpen slightly at the outer corners, and irises that seem to burn. A nose as proudly straight as her pride. Full lips made all the more striking by a deep coat of red lipstick. A lavish red dress chosen to match the color of her eyes. Even the deep furrow between her brows cannot dare to dim her beauty.
Her name is Esmela Herta.
She is the young lady of ducal House Herta—an old and storied house even among the duchies, headed by the kingdom's chancellor, Terid Herta—and the villainess of the main route in the romance-fantasy otome game Romance in Arkesia ~The Four Jewels~.
Yes. This is the world of that game.
Today is exactly four years after the ending, and…
…
"What? Why are you staring a hole through me?"
"…If I've offended you, I apologize."
She picks up the black feathered fan she had set to her right, snaps it open, and hides her face behind it.
…Well, then.
…it is the day of the wedding between her former fiancé, Crown Prince Roberje Arkesia, and the heroine, Yuria.
The carriage stops.
Knock, knock.
"We've arrived."
The knock comes with the coachman's voice from outside. I open the door at once, step down, and stand before it with my right hand already offered.
"…"
Without a word she lays her gloved hand lightly on my palm and descends with grace, her face still hidden behind the fan.
"Wait on the north road of the square."
Her heels click. She gives the coachman his orders and walks on ahead, expression prim. I fall in a little behind her on the right, and the Herta guards who have been waiting here hurry after her, falling in around us as escort.
Walking behind Esmela, I look around. This is the square at the heart of the royal capital, Erka—vast enough that you would have to lay two decent soccer stadiums end to end just to compare the size. That whole expanse is now packed with people who have come to watch the crown prince's wedding.
We are heading for the seats of honor. Kingdom soldiers have cordoned off one section of the square and stand in a line, keeping the commoners out. In the middle of that space a temporary structure rises, the royal crest painted in gold upon its walls, standing tall as if to flaunt its dignity. It is about as high as a three-story building, and the top is broad enough for dozens of people. That is the place reserved for the king, the queen, and the rest of the royal family—and the place where the crown prince's wedding will be held.
Flanking it stand two slightly lower temporary buildings, their walls hung with cloth richly embroidered in gold. Above those open-roofed structures, separate seats of honor have been prepared for the high nobles and officials.
"The rest of you, go wait where the carriage is."
Esmela gives the order to the guards.
"Yes, my lady."
The captain of the escort answers and leads the guards off behind the seats of honor. Esmela glances up at the seats, then climbs the stairs to the click of her heels.
When we reach the seats of honor, ornate wooden chairs stand in two rows, set with wide spaces between them. With little time left before the ceremony, most of the chairs are already taken.
"Lady Esmela, eldest daughter of House Herta, has arrived."
The moment the attendant speaks her name, the murmuring dies at once.
Knock, knock.
I rap on the great door before me, the one with the splendid golden handle.
"Enter."
I open the door with care, step inside, and bow deeply to the middle-aged man seated at an enormous desk, reading documents.
"You sent for me, my lord?"
"You're here. Come closer."
Crossing the wide room toward that weighty voice, I steal a glance around. A red carpet lies underfoot, its border worked with lavish gold embroidery. Enormous bookshelves stand along one wall, packed full of books. The desk is a deep brown, set with its back to the window, and at the center of its front panel a fire-breathing salamander—the symbol of House Herta—is painted in gold.
This is the office of the head of House Herta. The man who summoned me here is that very head: Duke Terid Herta, chancellor of the Kingdom of Arkesia.
I stop about three paces from his desk. Hair and beard of a red that seems to burn. A firm jaw, a sharp gaze. He has the kind of presence that makes anyone looking at him shrink.
When I turn my eyes slightly away from him, they meet those of Chief Butler Zikhaim, standing behind the duke and to his left, watching me with a dry, expressionless face. A thin old man with a goatee, gold-rimmed glasses, and a fastidious air. He oversees not only the butlers but, in practice, nearly every matter inside the mansion—the chancellor of House Herta, you might say.
"Renit."
"Yes, my lord."
I turn my gaze back to Duke Terid.
"What did you call me for?"
"It's been over two years since you entered House Herta, hasn't it? Is that right?"
"It is."
Why bring this up all of a sudden? This is the first time he has summoned me to the office alone, and I can't begin to guess his intent.
"As a rule, I leave the management of the servants entirely to Zikhaim. A house head can hardly keep a personal eye on nearly a hundred of them."
He sets down the documents in his hand and turns his two red eyes on me.
"But I remember you as an exception. Do you know why?"
Caught off guard, I scramble for the answer he wants.
"Uh… because Lady Esmela named me herself and had me hired?"
"That's part of it. And?"
"Because I finished the apprenticeship in three months—half the average?"
"Yes. Isn't there more?"
"Because… less than a year and a half after becoming a butler, I was promoted to Lady Esmela's exclusive butler…?"
"Yes. You know it well."
He nods at my words, then scowls as if in earnest and takes me to task.
"You rattle off your own praises without a moment's hesitation. For all that modest look of yours, you're rather fond of showing off, aren't you?"
"Ah—no. I'm sorry."
The moment I apologize, his face clears and he laughs, loud and hearty.
"Ha ha! It was a joke."
A joke…
It may be a joke to you, a duke and the head of the house, but I'm a commoner and a mere butler. My fate swings on every word out of your mouth.
"As you said, the path you've walked since coming to this mansion isn't merely exceptional. It's unreal. Let's see. At first…"
When the duke pauses, I swallow dryly before I know it.
"Yes. About this time, two years ago. Esmela went out to help cull a flock of wyverns, came back, and suddenly announced she'd found a decent talent there and all but forced a recommendation that you be made a butler of House Herta."
He rises slowly and comes out from behind the desk.
"According to the chief butler, no one welcomed you at first. A boy of barely fifteen, brought in as a butler, and on Esmela's recommendation, no less. Of course the other servants took you for someone dropped in over their heads."
I don't know what attitude to take, so I listen to the duke in silence. A glance to the side confirms that the chief butler is still expressionless, utterly unmoved.
"But you beat the suspicion and jealousy around you with ability alone. You completed our house's butler training—notorious for its severity—in a short time, and you carried out a butler's duties to perfection, nothing like a novice."
The master's unhurried steps turn toward me.
"And most remarkable of all was a martial strength no one would believe belonged to a boy not yet come of age. I hear that among the butlers, no one but the chief butler can beat you in a fight or with a sword. Is that right?"
"No, my lord. You praise me too highly."
"Hmm. Excessive modesty is a poison. You ought to know how to accept a just compliment with thanks."
"…I'm sorry."
Brag and I get scolded. Act humble and I get scolded… Keeping time with him is seriously hard.
"In any case, once the servants had watched your ability up close, not one of them raised an objection when Esmela bestowed the hilt of the house's sword on you and raised you to exclusive butler."
The master stops in front of me. Now he and I stand face to face.
"That is the story of you after you entered this mansion, assembled from the chief butler's testimony and my own memory. Is it correct?"
"…It's exaggerated in places, but on the whole, yes."
Listening to my life story come out of the master's mouth, I am now genuinely dying of curiosity. What on earth is he building up to, laying the groundwork this long?
"I have a request to make in person of a talent this excellent—and of the exclusive butler my Esmela so plainly favors."
Here it comes.
I don't know what he will ask, but whatever it is, I hope it's something within my ability. I lower my eyes and wait for his next words.
"Six days from now. Early morning. Pirke Square, in the southeast district of the capital. You remember, I trust?"
…
Ah. So that's what this is.
As if I could forget.
"Yes. The date and place of the wedding of His Highness Crown Prince Roberje and his fiancée, Lady Yuria."
"Yes. And our Esmela is to attend that wedding as well. Zikhaim, how is her party composed?"
"The exclusive butler, Renit; five guards of House Herta; and one coachman."
The chief butler answers almost before the question has finished leaving the duke's mouth. His voice is as dry as his face.
"Isn't that too few?"
"I thought so as well, and suggested to Lady Esmela that an additional butler or maid accompany her. She refused, saying they would only be in the way."
"Is that so… That's our Esmela. To think she's even acquired humility. She's grown up before I knew it. All grown up. Heh heh heh!"
…The duke's seamless drift into full doting-father mode nearly leaves me dazed for a moment.
The lady is twenty-four. If she still hadn't grown up, that would be its own problem.
I am swallowing the retort I want to make when the master suddenly walks straight up to me. A glossy black shoe steps into the line of my lowered gaze.
"Which is why I am asking you."
The master's voice drops into a grave, low register.
"From the start of the wedding to the end there will be no other butler and no maids, and the guards and the coachman cannot accompany her as far as the seats of honor. The only one who can stay at our precious Esmela's side and protect her is you."
"Will you not be attending, my lord?"
"Are you telling me to watch the people who made my daughter weep tears of blood receive the guests' blessings and look happy at their wedding?"
He glares at me, eyes blazing with anger.
"No, that isn't what I meant…"
"…Ahem. Forgive me. A few days before the wedding, I must leave the capital to investigate an anomaly that occurred in the city of Pedina. Zikhaim will of course be going with me."
…Anyone could hear that the second reason is an excuse invented so he can skip the wedding. As if it were even remotely plausible for a kingdom's chancellor to go investigate, in person, an incident that happened outside the capital.
"In any case, Renit. I still cannot forget it. Four years ago—the insult that worthless crown prince and that commoner vixen dealt our Esmela. How could I forget?"
For an instant the chief butler seems to flinch at worthless crown prince and commoner vixen. Must be my imagination.
"But Esmela has forgiven even those wicked wretches with a generous heart, and means to attend their wedding and bless their future. Doesn't she?"
This time I clearly see the chief butler flinch harder at wicked wretches. It was not my imagination.
"I, Duke Terid Herta, as her father, am worried beyond measure. I lie awake at night, fearing that other nobles at the wedding—people who don't know their place—will drag up what happened then, and mock Esmela, and speak ill of her."
"Wh-who would dare do something so insane to the lady of ducal House Herta…"
"That is where your role becomes important!"
"Y-yes?"
"If anyone insults my daughter, you are to dispose of them."
"…Dispose of them?"
"Run them through with your sword."
"A noble? Me, a mere commoner butler?"
"I will take responsibility!"
"No—how could even you take responsibility for that, my lord?!"
"Haa…"
I let out a long sigh as I shut the office door behind me.
The master had run so wild with worry for his daughter that the chief butler and I barely managed to talk him down. Only after I promised him, over and over, that I would serve Lady Esmela with everything I had at the wedding was I finally allowed to leave.
Duke Terid really is a hopelessly doting father.
…Well, it isn't that I can't understand. She is going to her former fiancé's wedding, after all. Of course he would worry that something might wound Esmela's heart.
But still. Who among the guests would dare insult Esmela, the lady of ducal House Herta—to her face, no less?
The thing that actually needs worrying about, to my mind…
"…is Esmela tormenting herself."